Joel Goldman - Deadlocked

Mason took a step back from the bar. "And Samantha couldn't find her?"

"Janet Hook got married and divorced since the trial. Her last name was Curtis when she was convicted. If Sam ran her maiden name through the system, it'd be easy to miss her. I checked out the halfway house. It's off Twenty-seventh and Georgia. I talked to the woman who runs it. She confirmed that Janet is there. I'll talk with her tomorrow."

"Almost makes me want to pay for the beer," Mason said, grinning.

"I'll settle for you paying the rent," Blues said as Mason made for the back of the bar and the stairs to his office.

The door to his office was open. Mickey was using his computer, prowling cyberspace for the link between Whitney King and Damon Parker. Mason watched silently for a moment, feeling at last as if part of his life was coming together again. Mickey looked up from the computer screen, pivoting in his chair toward Mason.

"You spying on me, boss?" he asked, smiling.

"Just making sure you're not going to any of those must be over twenty-one Web sites. Find anything?"

"Not much. Whitney King sits on the Golden Years board of directors, but it's mostly a window dressing deal, an advisory board, not a governing board. Meets once a year so Damon Parker can tell them what a great guy he is, but Parker runs the show."

"What about money? Any off-the-books deals?"

"That stuff is harder. I've got to hack into the Golden Years accounting system, dig out bank account numbers, and chase the dough."

"And?" Mason asked.

"And I'm working on it," Mickey answered, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles. "I'm working on it."

Mason called Harry to tell him where he was. Harry reassured Mason that they were buttoned down for the night. All secure.

Blues, Mickey, and Mason divided the rest of the night into four-hour shifts, two of them staying up at a time so they could watch the front and back of the building. Nothing happened.

Mason was sprawled on the couch in his office when Mickey woke him at six on Sunday morning. He rolled upright, slumping against the cushions, rubbing the cobwebs out of his eyes.

"You're going to like this, boss," Mickey said, waving a handful of papers at him.

Mason flipped through the pages, getting lost in the rows of numbers, handing them back to Mickey. "Too early. You tell me."

"Damon Parker has a silent partner."

"Whitney King?" Mason asked.

"Nope. His mother." Mickey said. "She bought into Parker's company around fifteen years ago."

Mason pulled himself to the edge of the couch. "His mother? She's three bricks short of a load! She's been a patient there for fifteen years."

"I guess that's why Parker put her money in a special account," Mickey said. "He's been paying her like clockwork."

"Paying her? For what?"

"Her share of the profits, man. What else? She's an owner."

Blues had finished out a complete bath, including shower, on the second floor. Mickey took advantage of it to avoid renting an apartment, using his office as home. Mason was glad to use it to get clean, massaging Mickey's information while he showered. He wrapped a towel around his waist, using the mirror to take inventory. He hadn't shaved, and his dark beard coupled with the circles under his eyes and the still angry scar on his chest gave him the look of a person just one wrong step away from life on the street.

But it wasn't just the beard or the bags under his eyes. He was worn, the battles notching lines on his face. He didn't have to take on this fight, but he had. He'd deluded himself into thinking that this one would be different, more to convince Abby than himself. He'd dived into the dark water again and it was deeper than ever.

He let out a long, slow breath, taking his time as he went back to his office for the electric razor he kept in his desk. Mickey was sitting on the couch, holding a microphone that was plugged into Mason's laptop computer.

"Watch this, boss," Mickey said, tapping the keys. Mason's phone rang. "Go ahead. Answer it," Mickey told him. Mason picked up the receiver. "Come here, Watson. I need you," Mickey said, his voice coming through clearly on Mason's phone.

"How'd you do that?" Mason asked, putting the phone down.

"While you were sleeping, I signed you up for WiFi phone service with your laptop."

"Does that mean anything in English?" Mason asked.

Mickey grinned. "Making phone calls on the Internet is nothing new. Not many people do it because they're too used to regular phones. But it's free. No long distance charges."

"I've heard of that," Mason said. "I thought you had to use a phone line or a cable hookup to do that."

"That's the beauty of wireless Internet. You can get online without a cable or phone hookup and call anybody anywhere for nothing. I saw your laptop and decided to try it. Cool, huh?"

Mason stared at Mickey, then at the laptop, his mind focusing more sharply. "Maybe," he said. "How much does it cost?"

"Depends on the package you buy, but they're all flat-rate programs."

"Sounds like an overgrown cell phone," Mason said.

"Except it's got a security feature you can't get with cell phones," Mickey explained. "These calls can't be traced back to your phone number since the computer doesn't use one. It just uses an Internet service provider that bills everything to your account with no records of individual calls. You want to make a call to someone that won't show up on anybody's phone bill, this is the way to do it. The phone sex companies are pushing it big time."

"You mean," Mason said with growing interest, "the person you call gets a bill that shows an incoming call without any originating phone number?"

"You got it," Mickey said. "Cool, huh?" he repeated. "Very cool," Mason said. His phone rang a second time.

Mickey raised his hands in a not me gesture. "Mason," he answered. "You better get over here quick," Harry said. "Why? What happened?" "It's Mary," Harry said. "What's wrong with her?" Mason asked. "She wants to go to church."

Mary and Victoria were sitting on the couch in Claire's loft when Mason arrived ten minutes later. Their backs were straight, their feet on the floor, ankles crossed. Victoria cast a questioning look at Mason as if it was the first time she'd seen him. Her eyes fluttered as if she was trying to clear her sight. Mary was edgy, kneading her hands, reminding Mason of the first time he saw her. When Victoria reached for Mary's hand, Mason was not certain who was comforting whom.

Blues and Mickey came up the stairs a moment later. Mason looked at Blues.

"All clear," Blues said, answering Mason's unasked question.

Mary tightened up when she saw Blues, clenching her jaw and squaring her shoulders. "I told you I didn't want him involved," she said to Mason.

"Mary," he said, "a lot has happened since then. We need him."

"No! Not after what he did to my Ryan."

Mary's eyes narrowed, flashing anger and hate that put Mason back on his heels. He didn't blame her for the depth of her feelings, even if they were misplaced. Perhaps the strength of those emotions had sustained her all these years. One thing was certain. Mason wouldn't convince her otherwise. At least not yet.

"Blues," he said. "Take Mickey with you and go see Janet Hook. I want two witnesses to hear whatever she has to say."

The big man nodded, his face impassive. It was personal. He wouldn't pretend otherwise, but he was there for Mason, not for Mary who offered a grimly triumphant smile when they left.

Mason marveled at Mary, remembering the contradictions between his and Blues's images of her, concluding that Blues had at least a piece of her dead to rights. She was a woman with a gutsy, sharp-edged determination whose diminutive size was deceptive. Mason's rugby coach would have said she played bigger than she looked.