"Give her some dinner and put it on my check," he told the waiter.

The waiter returned to the counter, leaned over to the woman, and spoke too softly for Mason to hear. A moment later, the woman shuffled off the stool, gave Mason a poisonous glare, and disappeared down Main Street. The waiter shook his head as if cursing himself for not knowing any better. Mason had tried taking a page from his aunt Claire's book, only to realize that it was now a different book tided No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.

Mason didn't trust Shirley Parker to leave Cullan's files where they were until he showed up with a subpoena the next morning. He didn't know whether there was another entrance to the barbershop, and he couldn't watch both Shirley and the barbershop all night. Nor was Mason thrilled at the prospect of spending the night in the diner, pissing off homeless people. The simplest solution was to make a deal with the prosecutor. Mason would tell Ortiz about the files in return for Ortiz's promise to share the contents with him. Ortiz would track down Judge Carter and get a search warrant before Shirley Parker had a chance to come up with plan B.

Mason's deal with Ortiz for Cullan's files would cancel the ones he'd made with Rachel and Amy and more than disappoint Fiora. Mason dialed Patrick Ortiz's direct-dial number on his cell phone, not surprised that Ortiz was still working long after most county employees had gone home.

"Ortiz," he said, answering on the second ring.

"Patrick, it's Lou Mason. I've got a great deal for you."

"Too late," Ortiz said. "I told you the plea bargain was off the table if we went to the preliminary hearing."

"Forget the plea bargain. I'm going to make you the hero in this case. Jack Cullan was blackmailing Beth Harrell and a lot of other people, maybe including the mayor. I've found the files he kept on those people."

"So you're calling to report a crime committed by a dead man?"

"I'm calling to tell you to get a search warrant for those files so you can prevent them from disappearing. Those files are evidence in Cullan's murder. The killer is probably someone whom Cullan was blackmailing."

"Your client is the killer, Lou. Did Cullan have a file on him?"

"No. Listen, Patrick. Cullan's secretary has those files squirreled away in Tom Pendergast's old office on Main Street. She's an accessory to Cullan's blackmail. She knows that I know about the files and if you don't get a search warrant for them tonight, they'll be in a shredder before sunrise."

"Sorry, Lou. I'm not going to bother Judge Carter tonight on a bullshit story like that. You want to take it up with the judge tomorrow, give me a call. I've got work to do."

Mason wanted to throw his phone across the room when Ortiz hung up on him. Instead, he called the homicide division, hoping that Harry Ryman was working late. Carl Zimmerman answered instead.

"Carl, it's Lou Mason. Is Harry around?"

"Nope. He had to go see a witness; a guy he's been chasing for a couple of weeks. What's up?"

Mason hesitated. He intended to tell Harry the entire story and ask him to help baby-sit Cullan's files until Mason could talk to the judge in the morning. He even hoped that Harry would send a couple of uniformed cops to sit outside the barbershop all night. Mason didn't know Zimmerman well enough to ask for a favor like that, but he didn't have another choice. He decided to keep his story simple to convince Zimmerman that there was a good reason to help him out.

"Jack Cullan was blackmailing Beth Harrell. He kept secret files on her, the mayor, and Ed Fiora, plus a lot of other people. I've found Cullan's files but I can't get to them. The prosecutor won't ask Judge Carter for a search warrant tonight. If we wait until tomorrow, the files could be gone. I know you're convinced that my client killed Cullan, but there's a good chance something in those files will prove he didn't. I need your help to make sure nothing happens to them."

"Where are the files?" Zimmerman asked.

"In Tom Pendergast's old office above the barbershop at Twentieth and Main."

"Anybody there now?"

"No."

"Who else knows about the files?"

"Cullan's secretary, Shirley Parker. A cop named Toland, who was with you when you arrested Blues, knows that there's something in that office, but I don't think he knows what it is."

"Where are you now?"

"In a diner up the street from the barbershop."

"Sit tight, Lou. I just got hit with a call on a dead body in Swope Park. I'll meet you when I'm done with that. It may take me a couple of hours, but it's the best I can do."

"Thanks," Mason said.

A couple of hours passed and then another. Mason tried Harry's number again without any luck. He called the dispatcher, asking her to contact Harry and tell him to call Mason. When Harry didn't call, he left the same message for Zimmerman. He called his aunt Claire, who told him that she hadn't spoken to Harry all day. The waiter was eyeing Mason like he should start charging him rent for the booth when Mason's cell phone rang.

"Harry?" Mason asked.

"It's Zimmerman. What's going on?"

"I'm growing old in this diner. I think the waiter is about to add me to the menu."

"Leave him a big tip. I'm stuck in the park. Stay where you are and wait for me."

"Right," Mason said, having decided in the same instant that he couldn't wait any longer.

Mason left a ten-dollar tip for a five-dollar meal, and went to his car. His ex-wife had once given him a tool kit to keep in the trunk of his car. It was one of the first indications that they didn't know each other as well as their glands would have liked. Mason's tool of choice to fix anything was a hammer he could use to beat whatever was broken into submission. The rest of the tools were for guys who knew the difference between a flat head, and a Phillips head. Mason found the small flashlight at the bottom of the kit, and grinned when the batteries still worked. Grabbing the hammer and the flashlight, he closed the trunk and got ready to commit a felony for a second time that night.

Chapter Twenty-two

Mason walked south to Twenty-first and turned west, then north at an alley that ran behind the block that included the barbershop. He was looking for a back door or a window that he could open with his hammer. If he tripped the motion detector on the stairs, he'd have to be faster than the cops. As he clung to the shadows in the alley, he realized that Shirley Parker could have already taken Cullan's files out the back door, sticking him with a great case of he-said-she-said.

That possibility left Mason with a thin sweat and a twisted gut by the time he reached the rear of the barbershop. Sweeping the flashlight across the wall, he heaved a deep breath mixed with relief and frustration when he discovered there was no rear door, or rear window on the first floor. There was, however, a second-story window next to which a fire escape was embedded into the brick wall. The catwalk of the fire escape ran beneath the window to a ladder that descended halfway to the ground, just beyond Mason's reach.

Mason retrieved a commercial trash Dumpster he had passed in the alley, shoving it across the uneven pavement until it was directly beneath the ladder. Climbing on top of the Dumpster, he reached for the ladder, finding himself a foot shy of the bottom rung. Mason took off his jacket, stuffed the flashlight and the hammer into his belt, and backed up to the edge of the dumpster. Measuring the short step to the wall, his left leg bent forward, his right leg planted on his heel, he launched himself at the ladder with a quick burst.

The cold iron of the bottom rung froze against Mason's hands as he held on, gaining purchase with his feet against the brick wall. Mason pulled himself up each rung, his breath coming in sharp gasps more from the stinging iron than the effort, until his feet found the bottom rung. A moment later he was on the catwalk beneath the window, certain that he was about to be caught in a cross fire of searchlights while some cop demanded that he throw down his hammer before they opened up on him.