"Protect you from what?" he repeated. He waited for her answer, not trusting himself to raise his hands from the counter.
She dipped her head, looked away, and then turned her back to him, her arms loose at her sides.
"You're right," she said. "I shouldn't have come here. The office would have been better."
"Beth, if you tell me who or what you're afraid of, I may be able to help you. But you realize the position we're both in here."
She took a deep breath that stiffened her, and shook her head. She walked back to the kitchen table, sat down, and dabbed the corners of her eyes with a napkin. "Let's stick to your business, Lou. I'll take care of mine."
Mason said, "Good enough," though he kept his place at the counter. "Tell me about last Friday night. Why were you out with Jack Cullan?"
"He asked me out. We're both single. He was a very interesting man, well read and charming when he wanted to be."
Mason heard the words but didn't believe them. "You're telling me that in the middle of a scandal that has Cullan bribing you, the two of you decide to go out on a date? Are you nuts?"
Beth leaned back in her chair. "I'm forty-three years old. I've been married and divorced twice and I have no children. I don't even have a damn dog! Most men act like they're afraid of me. I must come across as a blond beauty bitch. Jack Cullan asked and I said yes. There's no crime in that."
"There's no sense in it either."
"We didn't talk about the Dream Casino or any other Gaming Commission business. Rachel Firestone was the only one beating the scandal drum, and no one was listening to her. Until Jack was killed, the rest of the media wasn't paying any attention. We would have had a pleasant evening and no one would have written or said anything about it."
"If it was all so pleasant," Mason asked her, "why did you throw a drink in Cullan's face?"
"I said that Jack could be charming if he wanted to. He could also be crude when he made certain suggestions. I told him I wasn't interested. He called me a cock-teaser."
"That's it? He called you a name?"
"He threatened me. He threatened to ruin me."
"How? I've heard that Cullan collected dirt on his friends and enemies to make certain they did as he asked. Did he have a file on you?"
"He didn't say and I don't know. I haven't led a perfect life, but I never took a bribe. He just said he would do it, that I wouldn't see it coming, and that no one but the two of us would know that it had been him. That was too much. I'd had two husbands who had tried that crap on me, and I wasn't going to put up with it from him."
"So why didn't you press charges after he hit you?"
"Having dinner with Jack and listening to music afterward was a nonevent. Filing criminal charges against him for assault would have been a media circus. No, thanks. It was better to chalk it up to one more bad judgment about the men whose company I keep."
Mason moved from the counter to the table, choosing a chair close to hers. "My client is the owner of the bar. His name is Blues and he's my friend. He saved my life and I'm trying to save his. Did you see Jack Cullan scratch the back of Blues's hands when he grabbed Cullan from behind?"
Beth thought for a moment and shook her head slightly. "I'm sorry, Lou," she said. "I was pretty upset. I just don't remember."
Mason waited for her to say more, but she didn't. "Okay. What happened after you left the bar?"
"Jack took me home. He dropped me off. He didn't apologize and I didn't invite him upstairs."
"Did you stay home the rest of the night?"
The red returned to her face, though not from the cold.
She stood and circled around him, stopping back at her chair. "My God, Lou! You're asking me if I killed him?"
"I'm doing my job, Beth, and you know it. I'm sure the cops asked you the same question."
Beth glared at Mason and headed for the door. He followed her. She jammed her arms into the sleeves of her coat and twisted her scarf around her neck. "I didn't kill him. I'm sorry I went out with the son of a bitch, but I didn't kill him. I'm sorry I came here tonight."
"I'm not sorry," Mason said without thinking. "I don't want it to be you."
Bern 's eyes moistened again. She wiped them with her gloves and left him without saying another word.
Mason walked into his living room and sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor next to Tuffy's bed. She trotted onto her pillow, turned three times, scratched at the pillow, and lay down, her head on Mason's leg. He scratched her behind her ears and thought about the last two days.
His working theory was that Cullan's murder was linked to the Dream Casino deal, a theory that led to three suspects-Ed Fiora, Billy Sunshine, and Beth Harrell. Fiora had refused to talk to him but had sent Tony Manzerio to deliver a message. The mayor had played politics and had sent Amy White to plead his case and ask Mason to protect him from whatever was in Cullan's secret files.
Beth Harrell had made a house call and come on to him every way possible without taking her clothes off. Though she was long on motive and short on alibi, Mason had meant it when he had told her that he hoped it wasn't her. He slipped his hand under Tuffy's face and aimed her head at his.
"What do you think? Can I save Blues and still get the girl?"
Tuffy raised her paw and pushed his hand away, then pawed him again until he resumed scratching behind her ears.
"It's all about you, isn't it?" he asked the dog. "Well, at least you're honest about it. No one else is."
Chapter Thirteen
Patrick Ortiz called Mason on Monday morning and asked if he could meet with him and Leonard Campbell at eleven.
"What's the occasion? You guys ready to surrender, or what?" Mason asked.
"Eleven o'clock," Ortiz answered, and hung up.
Mason didn't think they were ready to surrender. He did think they were ready to negotiate, or at least make the offer that Tony Manzerio had encouraged him to take during their slow dance in the parking lot.
The meeting with Campbell and Ortiz bothered him for a couple of reasons. He knew Blues wouldn't take a plea, and he didn't want to tell Blues that Ed Fiora had threatened to have them both killed if he didn't. Mason would have to tell Blues about the prosecutor's offer. From there, he wasn't certain what he would tell Blues.
He didn't like the prosecutor deciding to oppose bail or summoning him for a meeting to deliver an offer his client wouldn't accept. Mason was glad that he represented the defendant. He just hated being on the defensive. He slapped his hand on his desk, taking his frustration out on an inanimate object that stung his hand in return. That's solo practice, he thought to himself. Even his desk gave him a hard time.
The prosecuting attorney's office was located on the first floor of the Jackson County Courthouse. Mason signed in at the receptionist's desk when he arrived, printing his name, address, and telephone number and the name of the person he'd come to see. Four other people were already waiting. Two of them were dressed in lawyer's uniforms and were tapping on their Palm Riots as if they were sending SOS signals. The other two were an elderly man and woman who both clutched the prosecutor's brochure on how to avoid home-remodeling scams. From their ruined looks, Mason concluded that they had waited too long to take the prosecutor's advice.
The receptionist was a young black woman with big hair that had been styled into heavily gelled ribbons that flipped and curled like a miniature roller coaster from one ear to the other. Her long fingernails were painted bright yellow. She kept her back to him while playing solitaire on her computer screen and talking on her telephone headset. Her conversation was limited to "Get out!" and "You go, girl!" Had her name been Margaret, he wouldn't have stayed. Fortunately, according to the nameplate on her desk, her name was LaTisha, so Mason decided to gut it out and stand at her desk until she gave in and noticed him.