Joel Goldman - Deadlocked

"It didn't seem like the right time for introductions. I'm sorry for your loss," he added, hoping the sentiment was more comforting to her than it had been to Nick.

Mary looked around, craning her head up to the second floor. "Is this really your office?"

Mason grimaced, not usually embarrassed by his modest digs. "I'm up on the second floor. Are you here to see me?"

"If you have time for me. I mean, I didn't call for an appointment, so I understand if you don't."

"You're in luck," he said.

Mason led her inside, up the back stairway, down the hall past the open door to Blues's office. Blues sat at his desk reading his mail, not looking up. Mason continued on, unlocked his office, picked his mail up off the floor, and turned on the lights before he noticed Mary still standing in front of Blues's office, her eyes riveted on him.

"Mrs. Kowalczyk?" Mason asked.

Mary gave Blues a last hard look. "That man," she said as Mason closed the door behind her. "Do you know him? Did he use to be a police officer? A detective?"

"As a matter of fact, he did. That's Blues. His real name is Wilson Bluestone Junior. He owns the bar and this building," Mason answered, finally making the connection Mary had made.

"He is a terrible man," Mary said, leaving no room for debate. "He treated my son like he was the worst scum imaginable, throwing him against the wall like he was a dangerous criminal when all he was, was a boy taken advantage of by his friend."

Mary's words poured out, carrying venom that welled deep inside her. Mason knew that Blues probably did throw her son against the wall and treat him like a dangerous criminal because that's undoubtedly what Blues thought when he and Harry arrested the boy for double homicide. Blues was never gentle. A mother convinced that her son had been wrongfully executed would never forgive anyone who had a hand in his death. There was no point in defending Blues.

"Have a seat, Mrs. Kowalczyk," Mason said, pointing to the sofa. "What can I do for you?"

She sat, barely filling the corner of the sofa, her feet just touching the floor. "You mustn't discuss our business with that man," she said. "I won't allow it!"

Mason walked around his office, opening the blinds on the windows that overlooked Broadway, fishing two bottles of water out of the small refrigerator behind his desk, giving Mary time to cool down, not wanting to tell her that, so far, there was only her business, not their business. He handed her a bottle of water and sat in a leather chair at one end of the sofa.

"Everything we discuss is confidential, Mrs. Kowalczyk," he said, leaving out that Blues often worked with him when he needed special expertise in violence or protection. "How can I help you?"

Mary put her unopened bottle of water on the butler's table in front of the sofa, wiping the moisture from the bottle on her pants. Straightening her narrow back, leveling her chin at Mason, she told him. "My son was innocent. I want you to prove it."

Mason rolled his bottle of water between his hands, fumbling with the cap, taking a sip. He was never surprised by what people in trouble asked him to do. If their lives were on the line, they'd ask for the stars and settle for the moon. Mary Kowalczyk's trouble had come and gone. No celestial magic would change that, though he knew she wouldn't be convinced. He tried a different tack.

"Mrs. Kowalczyk," he began.

"Please," she interrupted. "Call me Mary," she said, forcing a smile over her grief.

"Mary," Mason began again, gently. "The other night, there was a priest. I couldn't help but overhear what he told you. He said that your son confessed."

Mary waved her hand. "Father Steve is a fine priest, a good man. He was taking care of Ryan the only way he could. It was important that Ryan make confession before he was taken from me."

Mason was even less certain of Catholic tradition than Jewish tradition. "I'm sure that was the case. But the priest- Father Steve-said that Ryan confessed to everything. It sounded like he was talking about the murders."

"Nonsense," Mary answered. "My son was innocent. Father Steve thought it would be easier for me if I thought Ryan was guilty. Ryan never lied to me. I was his mother. I would have known. That boy was innocent and he was murdered no different than that poor couple, the Byrnes. Only the law killed my son."

"Are you asking me to sue someone for your son's death?"

Mary turned red. "Dear me, no, Mr. Mason. I don't want blood money. I owe it to Ryan, to let him rest easy in heaven. I can't have his life back but I'll have his innocence."

"Without some kind of trial to determine your son's innocence, the most I could do is investigate the case and tell you what I think."

"That's not what I want. I want the governor to pardon Ryan. I've read up on it. He can do it even after they took my son from me."

Mason sat back in his chair, looking at Mary Kowalczyk. She was a small woman made smaller by her thin, tired face, and the grief she wore like makeup. Her pants were worn at the knees, the cuffs and collar of her blouse frayed, the heels of her shoes scuffed flat. She wore a gold cross around her neck, though Mason was certain it wasn't real gold. Her dark eyes flashed, mirroring her determination. Saving her son's life had been her entire life. Saving his memory was all she

had left.

"Is that it?" Mason asked.

"No. There is one other thing. I want you to prove that Whitney King killed those people. That boy should not be allowed to live another day pretending he had nothing to do with the killings!"

"I don't suppose I could interest you in the moon and the stars instead."

"Mr. Mason," she snapped, "I recognized your name when I heard the prosecuting attorney introduce you to the warden, but I couldn't remember why. It came to me yesterday. I've read about you in the papers. If you tell me you could get me the moon and the stars, I'd believe you. I only want justice for my son. I'll take it from you or I'll take it myself if I have to. Please don't make a joke out of that."

Mason rose, circling his office once again, passing the books on his shelves that laid out the law, the files for clients who depended on him, the dry erase board where he worked out the puzzles of his cases, stopping behind his desk. He rubbed his hand across his chest, feeling the scar left by the surgeon who'd saved his life after he'd been stabbed ten months earlier. He'd nearly died saving the life of Abby Lieberman, the woman he loved. Mary Kowalczyk only wanted him to save the memory of the son she loved. That didn't sound so tough. He looked at her again, wondering if there was more than grief behind her threat to take justice in her own hands.

"I'll start with the court file. See where it goes," he said, not wanting to over promise.

"I can pay you," Mary said. "My husband bought a life insurance policy for Ryan when he was born. It was for ten thousand dollars."

Mason shook his head. "You keep that money."

"I'd sooner burn it than spend it on myself, Mr. Mason. Either you take it and do the job right or I'll give it to the church."

"You don't give up, do you Mary?" he said.

"Not when I'm right, Mr. Mason."

"Please," he told her. "Call me Lou."

"Who was that woman?" Blues asked, walking into Mason's office unannounced, his tall, muscled frame shrinking the space between the door and Mason's desk.

Mason stood in front of his dry erase board, studying the names of Ryan Kowalczyk and Whitney King written in blue connected by red lines to the names of Graham and Elizabeth Byrnes. Mason was a visual thinker, preferring to chart the progress of a case on his board, crisscrossing the connections between people, places, and things until he found the pattern that tied them all together. He wrote Mary Kowalczyk's name, circled it in green and tied it to Ryan, doing the same with Nick and his parents.