Lou Mason Mystery 03-Cold Truth (35 page)

Mason's hands slid down the bars, his grip holding at their base, his feet scraping the side of the house. Abby shouted for him, reaching through the bars, her hand clasping his wrist.

"I've got you," she said, pulling him up enough that he could throw his leg onto the ledge, then helping him back over the rail.

"I killed him," Abby said.

"Don't apologize," Mason told her.

"You deserve each other," Samantha told Mason and Abby. "I pity the fool that tries to come between the two of you."

The fire was out, the crime-scene technicians were finished, Centurion's and Nix's bodies were on their way to the morgue. Even the press had gone home, its insatiable appetite slaked for another news cycle. Dawn was close. Mason and Abby leaned against his car, arms interlocked, neither letting the other go.

"Thanks for your help," Mason told Samantha.

"What help?" she said. "I took your bait about Centurion escaping through the woods so you could put on your cape and save the day," she teased.

"Works every time," Mason said. "Have you talked to Ortiz?"

"Yeah. He'll wait until he gets my report to make a final decision, but he agrees that it's an easy call. Centurion was justifiable homicide. No charges. He says you'll have enough trouble with Sanctuary's insurance company that he's not going to bother with an arson investigation."

"What did he say about Jordan?"

Samantha shook her head, not hiding her exasperation. "The same thing I've been telling you. Jordan's case led to the investigation of Centurion and Nix. That happens all the time, one crime exposes another. It doesn't mean the two are related or that Jordan is innocent."

"So you're not going to reopen the investigation, even after what I told you about St. Louis?"

"Ortiz said he'd look at it next week, but he wants you to know he's getting ready for trial."

"Swell," Mason answered. "Can you have someone drive Abby's car back to her place?"

Abby interrupted, "I don't need anyone to drive my car."

"I just thought," Mason began.

"Then don't. I saved you, remember," she said, kissing his forehead.

"Like I said," Samantha replied. "You two deserve each other."

They chose Mason's house, Abby scrubbing the blood from Mason's body, Mason washing her with gentle strokes, knowing the stain of killing someone never comes out, no matter how justified the act. Their lovemaking was desperate with the fresh memory of nearly losing each other.

"I love you," he told afterward, tangled in her arms.

"I know," she said. "I couldn't live with all of this if you didn't."

He propped himself on one elbow. "What about you? Do you love me?"

She lay on her back, stroking his face. "You know I do. Do you need me to say it?"

"Yeah, it has a nice ring to it," he answered.

"I love you, Lou. Now, forever, and always."

They slept until late morning, Tuffy climbing into bed between them, whimpering, thumping their legs with her tail.

"What's she saying?" Abby mumbled, covering her morning breath with the sheet.

"I think she's trying to tell us that dogs don't do brunch," Mason answered. "Come on, dog," he said, rubbing Tuffy's nose. "Chow time."

Abby joined him in the kitchen wearing a pair of Mason's sweats, cinched tight at the waist, and one of his rugby shirts that fit her like a tent. He was standing at the sink wearing boxer shorts and a hooded sweatshirt that zipped in the front, watching Tuffy chase scents in the backyard, an early frost melting into a thin ground fog speckled with sunlight as the day warmed. Abby hugged him from behind, slipping her hands under his sweatshirt, pulling him close.

"What do we do now?" she asked, her wistful tone casting the question in capital letters.

He covered her hands with his, raising them to his heart, pressing her hands down to feel it beating. "Live," he answered.

"It's not that simple," she said. "I killed a man. I know I did it to save you, and I'd do it again, but how do I live with that?"

"Living is the first choice you have to make. Getting up every day, going to work, doing your job, coming home. Loving me. Do that every day, and it gets easier."

"But I won't forget," she said.

"You're not supposed to," he told her. "But each day you live your life, you understand even more why you did it. That's how you live with it."

"Is that what you did?" she asked. "I mean after, you know, you . . ."

"Killed a man," he said, finishing her sentence. "It doesn't get easier to say the words, believe me. It's not like introducing yourself at a twelve-step meeting. Hi, my name is Lou and I'm a killer. And it's not one of those catchy pat-yourself-on-the-back slogans. Hi, my name is Lou. I'm my kid's dad, and I also kill people."

Mason turned around, keeping Abby's hands locked behind him, wiping a tear off her cheek. "Hi, my name is Abby. I love Lou Mason and I'll kill anyone that tries to hurt him," she said.

"That's another approach," Mason said. "You're better protection than taking my vitamins. I'm canceling my life insurance."

"How much life insurance do you have?" she asked with a sly smile.

"A lot," Mason said.

"Don't cancel it. I'm a reliable lover, but I wouldn't count on the killer thing."

"I'll sleep better knowing that. All the same, we need to talk about last night," he told her.

The police had questioned Mason and Abby separately, testing one version of the events against the other. When they finally got to Mason's house, the last thing they wanted to do was debrief one another.

"You told me not to go out there," Abby said. "I should have listened."

"You can't un-ring that bell. Tell me what happened."

Abby sighed, rolling away from Mason, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Coffee," she said. "I need coffee."

"Tea," he said. "I don't drink coffee."

"I'll start a list," she said. "At least make the tea strong."

"I'll brew, you talk."

"Okay," she said, rubbing her palms against her sleeves. "The kids were packing up when I got there and Nix was running around, yelling at them to hurry up. He acted like he didn't know who I was, but he hustled me down to his office before I could even tell him why I was there."

"He didn't want any of the kids to hear what you had to say," Mason said.

"He played dumb at first, which made me act dumber. I kept telling him what we knew, thinking that would make him talk. Instead, he got real jumpy. Then Centurion showed up carrying the bags with the drugs and the money and they started to argue like I wasn't even there. When I tried to slip out, Centurion slapped me and made Nix duct-tape me to the chair while he cooked up some crack and loaded the syringe. They were going to kill me," she said, the words catching in her throat.

Mason handed her a steaming cup of tea, Abby held it to her neck, fighting the chill from telling her story. "I know they were arguing about the dope and the cash," Mason said. "What did they say?"

"Centurion yelled at Nix for not telling me to leave earlier. He said they had to kill me since I'd seen the drugs and the money and that you would come after

him, but that they had no choice."

"What about Nix?"

Abby shook her head. "You were wrong about Nix. You said he was a make-love-not-war type. He laid into Centurion, telling him that the whole scam was his own idea, bragging about using pregnant girls to run drugs and as a source for babies. The bastard called the girls renewable resources. He was willing to split everything with Centurion, but Centurion wasn't going to give him anything. Centurion came there to kill Nix."

"Did they say anything about the Davenports?"

"Centurion said it was a good thing Gina and Robert were dead, so they couldn't testify. He called it the best luck they've had. Nix called Centurion an idiot. He said that Gina Davenport gave them credibility and that Robert bought drugs and peddled them to his students. He blamed Centurion for ruining everything."

"If Centurion didn't kill Gina and if Robert OD'd on his own, how did Centurion ruin anything?" Mason asked.

"Nix said he shouldn't have come after you, that he should have left you out of it and the cops would have left them alone."

"What did Centurion say?"

"That's the part I didn't understand," Abby said. "Centurion said he would have done it even if you hadn't caused him so much trouble. He said it was payback for someone else."

"Payback for someone else?" Mason asked.

Abby sipped her tea slowly. "Centurion said he was doing it for someone else that owed you big-time. Nix said that Centurion wasn't paid enough to risk their entire operation. Centurion said he didn't have a choice. Then you blew up the barn."

Mason tugged at the stubble on his chin, finally understanding why the car-jackers showed no interest when he told them about the baby ledger. They were just supposed to kill him. He searched his memory for someone who not only wanted him dead, but also had the money and means to convince Centurion to do it. Before he could match anyone to those exclusive criteria, Tuffy shimmied through the dog door, rubbing herself against Abby, shoving her nose into Mason's thigh, feinting toward the back door with a grab-the-leashand-let's-hit-the-road stutter step.

"You're lucky the dog lets you live here," Abby said.

"We have an understanding," Mason said. "I provide the food and she makes sure I get enough exercise."

"You better let her take you on a walk. I've got to go home and clean up. Showering with you is too distracting."

"I've got to catch up with Mickey, Harry, and Blues. I'll call you later. Stay busy. It's harder when you're alone with nothing to do."

Abby kissed him. "I can do alone," she said, patting him on the chest. "But it's nice not to have to."

Mason took Tuffy for a spin in Loose Park, tracking down Blues with his cell phone.

"What have the Hacketts been up to?" Mason asked Blues.

"Harry and I met down the block from the Hacketts' house last night after Mickey called us. We watched the house for a couple of hours. They had a steady stream of visitors until about ten o'clock. People dropping by like somebody died."

"Two somebodies died," Mason said. "Centurion and Nix."

"Heard it on the news while I was sitting in my car peeing into a bottle with your name on it," Blues said. "Somebody in the Hacketts' house turned on a television. Big screen. I could see it from the street. They were watching the live reports from Sanctuary. Did you start that fire?"

"Got into the habit playing with matches when I was a kid. What happened after the news was over?"

"Company left. Then things got interesting. Arthur Hackett went for a drive. Harry and I flipped a coin and Harry got the old man. A few minutes later, Carol Hackett left, and I followed her. Arthur paid a visit to Paula Sutton and Carol got some late night legal advice from David Evans."

Mason stopped in his tracks, forcing Tuffy onto her haunches, straining to reach a squirrel. "Anybody have a sleep-over?"

"Nope. It didn't look like that kind of a visit to me. Harry said the same thing."

"Do you think Arthur knew that Carol went out too?"

"Hard to say. She got home before he did. If she didn't tell him, he wouldn't have known she was gone. Any idea what's going on?"

"It's coming together," Mason said, telling Blues what Roy Bowen had found out.

"You still have a pretty big hole in your story, you know that," Blues said.

"Yeah, the son. Trent doesn't fit into any of this. Neither does this," Mason added. "Centurion didn't set me up to be car-jacked and whacked because I was shining the light on his operation. Somebody paid him to do it."

"Who hates you that much?" Blues asked. "All the rich people you pissed off are in jail."

"Hard to imagine, isn't it," Mason answered. "Jimmie Camaya is the only person I can come up with who kills people to get even. Last time I saw him, we were buddies."

"Jimmie wanted you dead, he'd do it himself and make sure you knew it was him. So, it isn't him. Besides, Jimmie is a businessman and he's got no business with you since your old law firm ate itself alive."

"Then I'm back where I started. Which is no place."

"I'll tell you one thing," Blues said.

"Is this where you make me feel better?" Mason asked.

"Since you aren't dead and Centurion is, you better keep your head up and your eyes open or go home and lock your doors. What's it going to be?"

"House calls, but not at my house," Mason said, giving Blues his itinerary.

"I get overtime on weekends, you know that," Blues said.

"I've got to stay alive for you to get paid, you know that, don't you?"

"That's what makes me so good at what I do. You owe me too much money for me to let you get killed."

"Good," Mason said. "I'd rather owe you than cheat you out of it."

Things don't always work out. Mason knew that, had been raised on it, and had made a living because of it. People plan, pray, and connive and, still, things don't always work out. The brutal truth, Claire told him when he was ten and came home from the roller rink with a bloody nose, is that things generally don't work out, at least not the way people intend. Life is more ad-libbed than scripted, people more reactive than proactive, trouble more easily found than avoided.

That's the daily dynamic. People manage. The chaos takes on its own unpredictable charm. At the end of the line, most people shrug and say their lives could have been better, could have been worse, that they have no complaints that count and who would listen anyway.

That's most people. Mason knew that killers were different, whether they were thoughtful, vengeful, or impulsive, jealous, psychotic, or greedy. They demanded order, accountability, and control they imposed through the death of others. They did what they had to do or couldn't keep from doing. Just ask them. But tighten the circle around a killer and learn the meaning of nothing left to lose.