Rachel's article wove the Pendergast angle into the facts, giving the story a gangland flavor that linked two twenty-first-century murders with a long-dead twentieth-century kingpin. Rachel related the rumored existence of Cullan's confidential files and the suspicion that they contained embarrassing information on the city's leaders. She speculated on whether the files had been destroyed in the fire or whether the fire had been set to cover their theft. She described Shirley Parker as a never-married woman with no survivors whose only known employment had been for Jack Cullan. Mason decided that there was more tragedy in Shirley's epitaph than in her death.

As for him, Rachel played it straight. The caption under the photograph identified him as Blues's lawyer. The article offered no explanation for his presence in the barbershop, noting that he had declined to comment on the record, as had Harry Ryman when she had asked him whether Mason was a suspect in Shirley Parker's murder.

Off the record, Mason had told her the story, not wanting her to think he was a killer.

"I don't," she had told him when he had finished explaining what had happened. "A lousy burglar, yes, but a killer? I don't think so."

"Thanks for the endorsement," he had told her.

"So who did it? Who killed Cullan, blew up the barbershop, and killed Shirley Parker? And what happened to the files?"

"Like G.I. Joe says, knowing is half the battle," Mason had answered. "The other half is proving it. Ed Fiora is the leader in the clubhouse. Fiora may have been happy for Cullan to work his magic on the license for the Dream Casino. But who wants a lawyer with a file that could send him to the federal penitentiary? Plus he's got the muscle. Tony Manzerio probably gets his rocks off blowing stuff up. Fiora killed Cullan-or had him killed-to preserve the attorney-client privilege. Then, he sends Tony to talk to Shirley and she gives up the files. Tony snatches the files and kills Shirley."

Rachel had chewed on Mason's theory. "Yeah, but killing Shirley is too messy. Threaten her, buy her off, and send her out of town-which would have made sense. Killing her turns up the heat hotter than the fire. Fiora isn't that stupid."

"No plan ever goes down the way it's written. Something went wrong and Tony popped Shirley."

"So Fiora has the files?" Rachel had asked.

"They ain't at the public library."

"So how do you prove it?"

"Beats the hell out of me," Mason had answered.

Mickey Shanahan was sitting in Mason's desk chair, his feet propped on Mason's desk, drinking from a bottle of fresh orange juice, when Mason arrived just before ten o'clock.

"Is that my orange juice?" Mason asked him.

"Sorry, Lou," Mickey told him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "This woman dropped it off a while ago. Said she was your aunt. Said you should call her so she could chew your ass. Whatever you did, she's like totally pissed, man. What's goin' on?"

"First, that is my orange juice. Second, my aunt is probably upset that I got trapped in a burning barbershop with a dead body. Third, when did you move into my office?"

"Sorry, again, boss," Mickey said, this time taking his feet off of Mason's desk. "I give on the OJ. But you've got to tell me about the barbershop and the body. That is too much! And you're the one who hired me to use your computer to check out Ed Fiora. That was yesterday. You left me here without the key. I didn't want to leave the place unlocked and I didn't know when you were coming back, so I stayed."

"All night?"

"That sofa's not bad. And the orange juice is pretty good."

Mickey was wearing the same faded jeans and denim shirt under a black crew-neck sweater as he had worn the day before. He had scruffy stubble on his chin and above his lip, though his cheeks were smooth and his unwashed hair looked like it had been finger-combed.

"Mickey, where do you live?"

Mickey brushed his sweater as if to freshen his dignity. "I've got a place not far from here."

"What about clients? I haven't seen a single client in or out of your office in six months. What's up with that?"

"It's been a little slow," Mickey said. "I'm expecting things to pick up. This case will be a big boost."

Mason got a quick picture of a kid barely off the street who thought he had scammed Blues on the office lease and had probably been living at the bar ever since. Mason doubted that Mickey had fooled Blues from the moment he'd said hello. Mason reached into his wallet and took out a twenty.

"I haven't had breakfast. Would you mind picking something up for me? Get yourself something too if you want."

"Hey, no problem, boss. I'll probably stop at home and get cleaned up if that's okay."

"You bet. Did you find anything out about Fiora?"

"A lot of smoke, not much fire. It's all here in a report I did for you."

"Give me the highlights."

"I've covered the public-record stuff, property ownership, lawsuits, stuff like that. The Gaming Commission files could be the real bonanza."

"Why?"

"I found two things in those records that are the keys to the information universe. Fiora's Social Security number and bank accounts. It will take some time, but I'll eventually be able to follow the money."

"Is that legal?"

"Hey, you're the lawyer. Do you really want to know?"

"No, I really don't. What's the bottom line?"

"Fiora is a big football fan. Just like the mayor. I did some checking on him too."

Mickey handed him a typed report with printouts from the Internet attached. Mason thumbed through it, impressed by the level of detail and organization. He reached into his wallet again and handed Mickey two fifties.

"We haven't talked salary yet. This will cover yesterday until we have time to work out the details."

Mickey folded the fifties and stuck them in his pocket with a nonchalance that clashed with the hunger in his eyes. "Works for me. I'll have to see where I'm at on my other clients before I can commit to anything full-time."

"Sure. I understand. Check your schedule and let me know. I'm probably going to need somebody at least until Blues's case is over. If you're not available, I'll have to run an ad. That's always a pain in the ass."

Mickey pursed his lips and nodded, realizing that they were playing each other. "So, what's the story on the barbershop and the body?"

"Buy yourself a newspaper and read all about it. Come to work for me full-time and we'll talk."

Mickey smiled and said, "Catch you later, boss."

Mason, certain that he would, settled into his desk chair, checked out the traffic on Broadway, and read Mickey's report.

The relationship between Fiora and the mayor was more complicated than a backwoods family tree and was, in the end, filled with enough smoke that there had to be a fire somewhere. The Dream Casino bought a wide array of goods and services to make dreams come true for its customers, including food, laundry, carpets, paint, security equipment, slot machines, lighting, liquor, and beer. The Dream had an exclusive contract with a local beer distributor owned by Donovan Jenkins.

Jenkins, a former wide receiver for the Kansas City Chiefs, had been Billy Sunshine's favorite target. Jenkins had retired from football a year after the mayor had quit, and bought the beer distributorship. He'd been a steady political supporter of his old quarterback, making modest campaign contributions. A month after Jenkins had inked the exclusive deal with Fiora, mayor Sunshine had refinanced the $250,000 mortgage on his house. The mayor's new lender was Donovan Jenkins. Mickey speculated at the end of his report that the mayor wasn't making house payments like regular folks.

Mason picked up his phone and dialed Rachel Firestone's number at the Star. "What do you know about the mortgage on Mayor Sunshine's house?" he asked her.