Mason chose a round table in the center of the first floor near the information desk. A circle of other tables ringed the one he had chosen. Study cubicles equipped with computer terminals abutted these tables. Beyond them, more tables and chairs were arrayed for newspaper and periodical fans. The walls rose twenty feet, giving the room a cavernous feel. More than the size of the space, Mason liked that there was no place for anyone to hide.
The woman working at the information desk looked like she hadn't left her post in years, her hair and skin the same color as the binding of the book she was reading. Mason had called Mickey from the parking lot. Settling in at his table with a polite nod to the librarian, he checked the cell phone clipped to his belt, reassured by its flashing green light that his phone-a-friend lifeline was hanging on. The cell phone, he wagered, had a stronger signal than did the librarian.
At eight forty-five, Terry Nix walked into the library wearing a rain poncho and a wide-brimmed canvas jungle hat cinched under his chin. Nix spotted Mason and joined him at his table, smiling the wide, crooked smile of the overly laid-back.
"Mason," he said with practiced surprise. "I didn't think I'd run into you here."
"You mean you left Paradise on a rainy Saturday night to come to the library to check out Chicken Soup for the Social Worker and just happened to catch me on my night out alone?"
"Life is full of the unexpected, Lou. It's a mysterious tapestry of interwoven threads-"
"Dipped in bullshit, Terry," Mason interrupted. "Are you naked under that poncho, or just using it to cover the tape recorder Centurion stapled to your testicles to record our innocent conversation?" Mason said loudly enough to rouse the librarian at the information desk.
She dropped her book, knocking over a bottle of water perched in her lap. Sporting a watermark that spread across the front of her faded jeans, she hustled from her chair to the bathroom, glaring at Mason as she passed. "We close in ten minutes," she said.
"You have a gift for chasing people away, Lou," Nix said. "I'll keep you guessing about what's under my poncho. I'm looking for a special book to pick up. Have you seen it?"
Mason reached inside his windbreaker, removing the ledger from the inside pocket. "This one is pretty boring," he said, waving the small book at Nix, "but you're welcome to give it a try. I couldn't get into it."
Nix shoved his hat off the back of his head, wiping his lips with his tongue and extending his hand to Mason palm-up to receive the ledger. Mason tapped the ledger against the edge of the table and wrapped his fingers around it, bending the spine. Nix winced, his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth, as if Mason was squeezing his throat.
"It's not for everyone," Nix managed. "That's why I need to know if you made any copies."
"Of this?" Mason asked, opening the ledger and spreading the covers to expose two pages of entries. "Why would I want copies of this? I don't even know what the hell it is."
Mason didn't expect an answer. He just wanted Nix to tell Centurion that he was an idiot who didn't understand the significance of what he had.
"It's a list of donors," Nix volunteered. "We need it for tax purposes so we can send everyone a tax deduction form."
Mason studied the pages, his lips pursed in mock concentration. "Makes sense. I'll buy it," he said, dropping the ledger on the table.
Terry Nix shot his hand across the table, coming down on Mason's hand that beat him to the ledger. "You have some issues you should deal with, Lou," Nix said. "Taunting and teasing are power games symptomatic of sexual dysfunction, you know that. I can recommend someone very good for you to see."
"What's it mean when a man wearing a poncho in the library tries to hold hands with another man?"
"Take it easy, Lou," Nix said, withdrawing his hand and easing back in his chair. "It means I was impatient, and I'm sorry. I can see you have something on your mind. Let's talk about it."
"For starters, why did you tell Jordan to confess to a crime she didn't commit?"
"I don't expect you to understand the intricacies of psychotherapy, Mason. Jordan was in a lot of pain. She needed to know if her parents would validate her existence by coming to her defense."
"You mean by pinning Gina's murder on Trent, making the parents choose one child over the other?"
"It's the oldest story in the Bible, beginning with Jacob and Esau," Nix said.
"You forgot that Jacob framed Esau, though he didn't try to get away with murder. If you used the same kind of therapy with Emily Davenport, I'm not surprised she killed herself."
Nix loosened the knot on his chin strap and pulled his hat off, setting it on the table. "Actually, I do take responsibility for Emily's death, though it's stretching the facts to call it suicide. She was pregnant, like a lot of girls we see. She wanted an abortion. I talked her out of it."
"You've got the sixties, touchy-feely, left-wing schtick down pat, Terry. I didn't figure you as pro-life."
"It's not about politics for me. It's about the person. Some girls can handle an abortion. Some can't. I didn't think Emily could. I thought she'd be better off having the baby and giving it up."
"She killed herself rather than have the baby?"
Nix shook his head. "She was doing crack. I told her the baby would be born an addict. I don't know what she was thinking. I walked in on her and Jordan."
"Jordan says she tried to save her but you accused her of shoving Emily out the window."
"I know what I saw. Centurion and I talked it over. Under the circumstances, we decided to let it go because of Jordan's condition at the time."
"What was her condition?" Mason asked.
"Don't you talk to your clients, Lou? She was pregnant too. Telling the police that Jordan killed Emily wouldn't have helped anyone, especially Jordan's baby."
Mason's hand covering the ledger went slack as he absorbed what Nix had said. Children having babies was no longer news. Those babies growing up to be children having babies made for too circular a world. From Abby to Jordan to Jordan's baby, he thought, at last willing to acknowledge the possibility that Abby was both mother and grandmother. He didn't resist when Terry Nix picked up the ledger and walked away.
Chapter 20
Mason sat for another moment after Nix left, ignoring the librarian's officious paper shuffling as she counted down the final minutes of the library's day. He wasn't surprised that Centurion sent Nix to retrieve the ledger, rather than put himself at risk. It didn't matter to Mason whether Nix recorded their meeting from the cover of his poncho since Mickey had been listening. Mason snapped the cell phone out of the cradle on his belt.
"Could you hear all that?" he asked.
"It was pin-drop quality," Mickey said. "Daphne had a tape recorder. I put the mike next to the phone. The recording has a hiss soundtrack, but it can probably be enhanced."
"Good job. Where's Jordan?"
"Upstairs. Daphne checks on her every fifteen minutes. She's driving Jordan crazy. You think Nix was bullshitting you about Emily and Jordan?" Mickey asked.
"Centurion, Nix, and Jordan tell pretty much the same story about Emily Davenport, except for the small detail about whether Emily jumped or Jordan pushed her. The part about Jordan having a baby should be easy enough to verify. On Monday, check the city's birth certificate records."
"Why not ask Jordan? Don't you think she'd remember?"
"I think she would have told me when I asked her about Emily, but she didn't. She's got a reason for not telling me, so I'd rather find out on my own until she's ready to talk about it. I'm beat. I'm going to get some dinner and go home. See you tomorrow."
The rain had stopped and the clouds had parted for the debut of a new moon when Mason walked out of the library, proving his aunt's adage that if you didn't like the weather in Kansas City, wait fifteen minutes and it would change. A warm breeze dried the air, carrying the smell of a barbecue joint a couple of blocks away that was renowned for its burnt ends, and answering Mason's question of what he would have for dinner.