Read Online Lou Mason Mystery - 02 - The Last Witness by Joel Goldman - Free Book Online

his homeowner’s insurance company paid for the loss of his personal possessions, using part of it to pay the expenses for his childhood friend Tommy Douchant’s lawsuit. By the time Mason settled Tommy’s case and could afford to refurnish the house, he didn’t want to. Instead, he bought only the things he needed, which turned out to be the only things he wanted.
    He finished his row. The mist, the lake, and the ache in his body were gone. “Plan your row and row your plan” was the rower’s creed. He hadn’t followed that simple rule when he tried to reach Ed Fiora. Instead, he’d smart-assed his way into a one-punch knockdown that underscored what to expect if he insisted on not getting the message.
    After downing a bottle of Gatorade, he went outside for the morning paper. The wind had moved on to punish some other part of the country. A light cover of snow crunched under his feet. The subzero air was bracing. His dog, Tuffy, a German shepherd–collie mixed breed, joined him on the short walk to the end of his driveway. Her blond and black German shepherd colors were layered through her winter coat in a collie’s pattern, complete with a pure white thatch under her chin.
    Tuffy raced through the front yard, nose to the ground, sniffing for anything interesting. She found nothing and followed Mason back into the house, where the phone was ringing.
    “Hello.”
    “It’s Rachel Firestone. What did you think of my story?”
    “What story?”
    “Don’t tell me you don’t get the paper. The story is on the front page, above the fold.”
    “I just brought the paper in,” he said. “Give me a minute.”
    Rachel’s story recited Judge Pistone’s refusal to grant bail to Blues and Mason’s implied charge that unknown persons were applying pressure to get either a conviction or a plea bargain that would close the case of Jack Cullan’s murder as soon as possible. It tied Ed Fiora, Mayor Sunshine, and Beth Harrell into a tight circle around Cullan’s body and speculated aloud whether any of them would cooperate with Lou Mason in his defense of Wilson Bluestone, Jr., against a first-degree murder charge and possible death penalty. Fiora, the mayor, and Beth Harrell declined to comment.
    “You left out one thing,” he told her.
    “What?”
    “Off the record.”
    “Fine, fine. What?”
    “I think Fiora commented privately,” he said, telling her about his parking lot encounter.
    “Holy shit! Did you call the cops?”
    “What for? There were no witnesses. I couldn’t ID the guy or the car. Besides, I wouldn’t expect to get a sympathetic response. The cops are more likely to look for a cat stranded in a tree than for someone who kicked my ass. And I don’t want to read about that in tomorrow’s paper. I’ll figure some other way to get to Fiora. I don’t think he’ll respond well to being accused in the paper of ordering someone to assault me.”
    “My editor would be even less interested in getting sued. Did you have any luck with the mayor or Beth Harrell?”
    “Nope. I figure the mayor is the most likely to respond to bad press. I think Beth Harrell will see me because I was an irresistible student.”
    “Don’t sit by the phone. You’ll grow old. Listen, the mayor is speaking at the Salvation Army Christmas luncheon at the Hyatt today. I understand that the baked chicken is to die for.”
    “Any chance you’ll be stalking the mayor along with me?”
    “You can bet on it.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
     
    Mason’s first stop was the Jackson County Jail, a redbrick building on the east side of police headquarters. The exterior was perforated by longitudinal rows of rectangular windows big enough to satisfy court-mandated quality-of-incarceration living standards and small enough to make certain the inmates stayed there to enjoy them.
    The receptionist was a civilian employee who wore olive slacks and a pale blue shirt with epaulets on the shoulders to give the ensemble an official appearance.