After showing himself out, Mason stopped at a convenience store, where he bought plastic bags and ice to apply to his chin. Al Douglas's office was in a suburban office park surrounded by woods and ringed by a bike path. Banners hung from light poles in the parking lot, depicting festive winter scenes that clashed with the barren trees. Mason sat in his car for half an hour, ministering to his chin and his ego, before going inside.

He was prepared to take a more temperate approach to husband number two when Al Douglas looked up at him from a drafting table a short time later. Douglas worked in an office without walls where no one had a private office. Mason assumed that the design was intended to build camaraderie, but judging from the beehive hum that greeted him, it bred whispers and rumors.

"You must be Lou Mason," Douglas said, extending his hand. "Baker called me. He said he'd already taken out your chin, but that I could have the rest of your face unless I was the shit bag you were looking for. Let's talk someplace quiet."

Douglas 's handshake was flaccid and damp. He slid off his drafting stool and looked up at Mason from a distance of at least six inches before he led Mason into a break room where two other people were huddled over a crossword puzzle. Douglas cleared his throat and waited. The puzzle people took their cue and left, closing the door behind them.

Douglas was round-shouldered, thin on top and thick around the middle. He wore half glasses that had slid two thirds of the way down his nose. He took off the glasses, letting them drop to his chest, where they dangled from a thin chain that looped around his neck.

"He really tagged you, didn't he?" Douglas said. "The sucker punch is Baker's specialty. He tried it once with me, but he misjudged how short I am. If he misses the first punch, he's finished."

Douglas 's story about Baker McKenzie was a verbal sucker punch; showing up Mason by telling Mason that he had ducked the same punch that had decked Mason. Though Douglas looked like the only thing he'd ever thrown in anger was a fit, Mason realized he had his own way of sneaking up on the opposition. Mason flashed on an image of Douglas hanging around an elementary school offering kids a ride home. Mason already disliked him.

Mason gently rubbed his tender jaw, feeling a knot beginning to swell beneath the skin. "I'll try to remember that when we have the rematch."

"You really should put some ice on that before you grow a second chin," Douglas suggested.

Mason said, "I'll do that. No offense, but you and Baker are not exactly cut from the same cloth. Baker has two last names and you have two first names. Other than that, I can't see the connection. How did both of you end up married to Beth Harrell?"

"She's a woman of extremes, and Baker and I are at the opposite end of several masculine scales. She tried both ends. The next guy will probably be in the middle. Strong, tough, but likes sunsets. I suppose you want to know about the pictures."

"If you don't mind," Mason said. "Do the pictures really exist?"

Douglas poured a cup of coffee and took a chilled bottle of water from a refrigerator. "Here," he said, handing the bottle to Mason. "Put that on your chin. Yes," he continued, "the pictures are real."

Mason rolled the bottle across his chin, increasingly wary of the soft predator look in Douglas 's eyes. He was tempted to offer Douglas a drink just to be sure the water wasn't poisoned. "Did Baker take the pictures?" Mason asked. Douglas shook his head. "You?" Mason asked.

"Neither one of us took them. Beth did. She put her camera on a tripod and used a timer. We were both into adult entertainment and she wanted to shock me, stir me up in some different way. I won't lie to you. It worked. She's a beautiful woman and the pictures were quite graphic. I hadn't gotten off like that since my first chat room."

"Did she do the same thing with Baker?"

"I don't know, but I doubt it. Beth always said that Baker screwed around, but only in the missionary position."

"You sound awfully philosophical for a guy who got dumped. You don't even sound angry with her."

"Guys like me never end up with women like Beth for very long. When she left me, it was like the clock struck midnight and I was back to being Al, the invisible man with the boffo porn collection. Except I had the pictures. So, I didn't get mad, I got off and then got even."

Douglas was blase enough about his relationship with Beth that Mason pegged him for a sociopath interested only in his own needs and indifferent to anyone else. His casual, unemotional vengeance was creepy. "You gave the pictures to Jack Cullan?"

Douglas shook his head again, permitting himself a smug satisfaction. "I sold them. I guess that really makes me the shit bag."

Mason resisted the impulse to shove Douglas 's chalky face into the back of his skull. He swallowed hard and forced the next question. "When did you sell the pictures to Cullan?"

"You want to hit me. I can tell from the way your jugular vein is throbbing. But you won't do it. I can tell that too. You're stuck with your conventional ethics. That's why people like me are able to do the things we do."

Mason measured his breaming. Douglas was a gut-sucking parasite with a sunny disposition. He bellied up to Douglas, crowding him into a corner. Douglas backed up, his hands suddenly shaking, causing him to spill his coffee on the front of his pants.

"You don't know me, Douglas, so don't assume too much. When did you sell the pictures to Cullan?"

"Okay, okay," Douglas said, holding up his hand in protest. "I sold him the pictures a couple of months ago. Satisfied?"

"Barely. If I find out you kept any copies of those pictures, or sold them or gave them away or posted them on the Internet, I'll come back here and turn you inside out."

Douglas found more courage when he realized Mason wasn't going to smack him. "I'd be more worried about Beth, if I were you. I kept the pictures, but she kept the gun."

Mason couldn't tell if Douglas was pimping him or not, but he couldn't resist the next question. "What gun?"

"Baker gave her a present when they got divorced since she wouldn't take any money or property. He told her she should use it with her next husband to get a better settlement. I settled very cheaply."

"Do you know what kind of gun it was?"

"A.38-caliber pistol," he answered with a grin that said he'd just gotten even with Beth all over again.

Chapter Twenty-five

Mason's new theory was that Fiora, the mayor, and Beth Harrell had all killed Jack Cullan, drawing straws to see who would hold him down while one of them shot him. They had such a good time that they played their game again with Shirley Parker. As a theory, it sucked, but it was easier than trying to pick a favorite.

Returning to his car, Mason called his office, curious whether Mickey had ever come back.

"Lou Mason and Associates," Mickey said.

"Associates are young lawyers who are overpaid and underworked. I don't recall hiring any associates. I'm sure I would have remembered," Mason told him.

"Chill out, boss. It's branding, like Coke or Kleenex. Gives the name some flair. Tells people we're going places."

"I catch you playing lawyer, I'll give you some real branding. Understood?"

"No problemo, man. Hey, you got a call from Judge Carter's administrative assistant, reminding you that she wants to see you and Ortiz first thing Monday morning, eight o'clock."

"The judge's assistant wasn't named Margaret, was she?" Mason asked.

"She didn't say. Why, do you think you know her?"

"Only if her name is Margaret. Are you still following Fiora's money trail?"