Chapter Eleven

Mason had left his topcoat in his car when he parked on the third level of the Hyatt's covered parking garage. Walking across the wet pavement, he regretted that decision as the bitter wind blew through the open exterior walls of the garage. Melting snow, laced with dirt and debris carried in from the street, mixed with the hot vapor from cooling engines, giving the garage a dank taste like a flooded basement. He slowed his pace, not wanting to be surprised by anyone who might step out of the shadows to deliver more advice on how to handle Blues's case.

Opening his car door, Mason pulled on his topcoat and settled into the Jeep. As Mason turned the key in the ignition, he heard someone rapping a gloved hand on the front passenger window. The sound carried a fleeting jolt of panic to his midsection until he saw Amy White motioning to him to unlock the door. Mason was less startled by Amy's appearance than he was by the Goliath from the night before, but he was getting tired of playing hide-and-seek. He unlocked the door and Amy joined him inside the car.

"If you lost the mayor, don't look at me. I left him with you," he told her.

"Cute. We need to talk."

"I tried that. It didn't work too well." Mason guessed that his closing shot about Jack Cullan's secret files had drained the mayor's Christmas cheer. He assumed that Amy White had followed him to his car to find out what he really knew. He saw no percentage in telling her how little he did know or in alleviating the mayor's anxiety.

"Listen, I'm sorry about what happened in the hotel," she said, "Blame me, not the mayor. I read Rachel Firestone's article in today's paper. She practically accused the mayor of trying to railroad your client onto death row. I had a feeling you might show up at one of the mayor's public appearances since he wouldn't see you at his office. I handled it the only way I could without having another incident."

"Wouldn't it have been a lot easier to make an appointment?"

"The mayor's schedule is so tight I can barely get in to see him."

Mason said, "That's bullshit. You just hoped I didn't have the balls to nail your boss in public. I've got to hand it to you, though. You guys were ready. Made it look like I was at the top of the mayor's Christmas list."

"I can put you there if you want me to," she said.

Mason looked at her. She'd arched an eyebrow and cocked her head to one side. It wasn't exactly a come-hither look. Amy was attractive in a subtle understated way. He had a fleeting image of her throwing off her glasses and letting her hair down, but the image didn't fit with her tightly wound mouth and hard stare. She didn't strike him as the kind of woman who would wet her lower lip with her tongue and open her thighs a provocative inch or two to make an offer he couldn't refuse. The arched-eyebrow-and-cocked-head look was probably her most seductive move. He rested his hands on the steering wheel, feeling the cold leather warm to his touch. He nodded his head, wondering if the quid pro quo would be in his budget. "Of course you can. In return for what? My firstborn male child?"

"Nothing so dramatic. Besides, Rachel Firestone would write a story that the mayor had fathered another child out of wedlock."

"She really gets under your skin, doesn't she?"

Amy said, "Rachel Firestone is the latest in a long line of Woodward and Bernstein wanna-bes. She confuses salacious gossip with news. She doesn't get under my skin. She just creates work for me to do. The mayor has done tremendous things for this city and she can't stand that."

"Save it, Amy. The mayor isn't George Washington or even George Bush. He won the Super Bowl and should have gone to Disney World instead of City Hall. I expected him to be more interested in who really killed Jack Cullan. After all, Cullan was his lawyer and his campaign treasurer. I would think that would buy some loyalty and a small interest in seeing that his killer is caught."

"The mayor believes that the killer has been caught. But he wants to be fair to your client. He's opposed to any rush to judgment."

"You can't possibly believe that and even if you do, you can't possibly expect me to believe it. If half of what Rachel Firestone has written about your boss and the Dream Casino is true, the odds are two to one that Cullan's murder is tied to that deal. We both know the best thing that could happen to the mayor is for my client to be convicted or plead guilty before Cullan's secret files end up on the front page of the Star."

"Do you have the files?" she asked him.

"What do you think?"

"I think if you did, they would already have been on the front page."

"And you can't let that happen, can you? That's why you followed me to my car. If I keep the mayor out of my case, will he name a street after me?"

"The mayor had nothing to do with Jack Cullan's death. There's no reason to throw mud at him. That won't save your client."

"Finding the killer will save my client. If the mayor wants to stay above the fray, I need his help. I need to know the whole story about the Dream Casino."

"The mayor can't help you. Even if he wanted to, I wouldn't let him. But I'll help you on one condition. If you find Cullan's files-assuming they really exist-I want to see the mayor's file before anyone else. If there's anything in it that will help your client, use it. If there isn't, I get the file and you agree that you never saw it."

Mason considered her offer. Amy knew he wouldn't back off, and she was sufficiently certain that Cullan's secret files were more than a rumor. She was the second person to make him an offer if he found the files. Like the deal he had made with Rachel, this one could also help Blues.

"Okay," he told her. "You've got a deal. Now tell me about the casino."

"Sorry to disappoint you. There's no story there. The casino deal is clean. The U.S. attorney, the prosecuting attorney, and the Gaming Commission have all come to the same conclusion. Ask me something I really can help you with."

Amy was correct that the federal, state, and local law-enforcement agencies had found no basis for an indictment, let alone an investigation. That didn't mean the deal was clean. It only meant that no one was willing to look at it hard enough. He decided to come at it from another direction.

"When was the last time you spoke with Jack Cullan?"

Amy shook her head. "Last Friday night," she said. "But that won't help your client."

Mason leaned toward Amy. "Let me make that decision. Besides, I'd rather know the bad facts now. Finding out in court ruins my day."

Amy pressed her back against the passenger door. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Jack called me at home Friday night. It was late, about midnight. He told me that he wanted a copy of the liquor license for a club called Blues on Broadway and he wanted to know all about the owner."

Mason felt the inside of the Jeep shrink as the case against Blues got a little tighter. "What else did he say?"

"He told me that the owner had roughed him up and that he was going to shut the bar down, teach the owner a lesson he wouldn't forget. I told him that I'd get him the records on Monday morning."

"Is that a service the mayor's office routinely provides?" Mason said with no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

"Favors are what I do," she told him without apology. "It wasn't illegal to provide him with records that are available to anyone who wants to walk into the office of the Director of Liquor Control."

"Do the police know about this?"

"Yes. I told them when they came to see the mayor about Jack. I hadn't had a chance to request the records before we found out that Jack had been killed."

"How did you find out about Cullan?"

"The chief of police called the mayor and said he had something important to discuss. He came to the mayor's office around ten o'clock Monday morning with a couple of detectives."