Lou Mason Mystery 03-Cold Truth (27 page)

Bowen's desk job was deputy chief of police. His office was on the top floor of police headquarters, two doors down from the chief. The walls were lined with commendations and photographs with dignitaries. His desk was thick with paper. The Arch dominated the landscape beyond the windows behind his desk, reducing the Mississippi River to an afterthought.

"Harry Ryman said you used to work narcotics," Mason said.

"That was back when I thought it was fun to get shot at," Bowen said. "My wife didn't mind that so much, or the pierced ears. She drew the line at tattoos, so I went into management," he said with the forced laugh of a joke told too often.

"What can you tell us about Robert Davenport and Terry Nix?"

Bowen picked up a file from his desk. "I had somebody dig this out after I talked to Harry," Bowen said. "One of the perks of this job is that you can actually make somebody do something if it's about a two-bit bust twenty years ago. Davenport and Nix were small-time dealers. One of the cops screwed up the warrant and the case got thrown out. End of story," he said.

"You run into either one of them again?"

"Nope," Bowen answered. "We kept tabs on them for a little while. The bust cost Nix his job and he left town. I don't know what happened to Davenport."

"Where did Nix work?" Mason asked.

"That was the part that made me remember him when Harry called," Bowen said. "Nix was a substance-abuse counselor working at Caulfield Medical Center. The guy was supposed to be treating people and he was selling them dope. Can you believe it?"

"Yeah," Mason said. "I can. If you have a picture of Nix from when he was arrested, I could use a copy."

"No problem. Making copies is one of my secretary's specialties. There's one other thing you might be interested in based on what Harry told me about your case,"

Bowen said.

"What's that?"

"We heard rumors at the time that Nix had another sideline brokering illegal adoptions. Some of the girls he counseled were pregnant, and he offered them cash or drugs if they sold their babies. Nix left town before we could prove anything. You snag this guy or need some help, let me know," Bowen said, writing his home phone number on a business card and handing it to Mason.

"Count on it," Mason said.

A security guard stopped Mason and Abby in the lobby of the
Post Dispatch
building, making them sign in, produce identification, and wait while he called Tony Kramer.

"So much for shaking him up. I understand the need for security, but do we look like terrorists?" Abby asked, resuming the jittery pacing she'd done at the hospital.

"When your old boyfriend finds out you're waiting in the lobby, he might prefer someone with a bomb. He's probably got a wife, three kids, and a dog, none of whom know they have a relative about to climb out of the woodpile. And when he sees you bouncing off the walls, he'll figure you're here to ask for child support."

"I can't help it," she said, tapping her fingers on crossed arms. "First my uncle, then the hospital, now Tony. That's a lot of baggage to unpack."

"Abby? Abby Lieberman?" Tony Kramer said from behind them. Abby and Mason turned around. "I took the stairs," Kramer said, pointing to the door at his back.

Abby brushed her hair back, smoothed her blouse, and smiled weakly. "Hello, Tony. Long time."

Kramer exhaled, hiking his trousers around his spreading middle, tugging at his beard. "Just a couple of lifetimes," he said, waiting for Abby to fill the void, neither of them knowing what to say.

Mason broke the awkward silence. "I'm Lou Mason, a friend of Abby's. Is there someplace here where we can talk privately."

"Are you kidding?" Kramer asked. "At a newspaper? What's this about, Abby?"

"It's not what you think, Tony. It's about . . ."

Tony raised his hand. "Let's go for a walk."

The newspaper's offices were downtown on Tucker Boulevard. Tony led them down Tucker, turning left on Cole. Mason gave Abby and Tony room, letting Abby break the ice as he trailed behind them, Tony looking over his shoulder at Mason as she spoke, Mason waving back at him, trying to picture them as teenagers, shutting the image down when it heated up.

They stopped in Carr Square Park. Tony was breathing heavily after the short walk, glancing around for witnesses as Mason caught up with them. "I want nothing to do with this, Mason," he said so quietly the birds couldn't hear. "You understand that. I've got a very nice life here. Abby and I made a mistake. We were kids and kids make mistakes. Giving that baby up for adoption was best for everyone."

"I do understand that, Tony. I don't want to bring either you or Abby into this case, but my client is on trial for her life. That trumps everything."

"All I know is that a guy showed up at my dorm. I was a freshman in college for Christ's sake," Tony said. "He told me if I signed the waiver, I wouldn't have to pay child support. So I signed it."

Mason showed him the picture of Terry Nix. "Was this the guy?"

"You want me to remember a guy I saw one time over twenty years ago?" Tony asked. "I don't remember what I looked like twenty years ago. I'm sorry," he said to Abby. "That's the best I can do. I'm on deadline. I've got to get back to the paper."

Mason and Abby stopped at her uncle's house before leaving town to show him Terry Nix's picture. He wouldn't let them in, shaking his head at the photograph before slamming the door closed. Mason dropped Abby off shortly after eight o'clock that night, understanding when she didn't invite him in. She shouldered her bag, her lips tight, her face drained from a short trip that had taken her too far into her past.

Tuffy jumped Mason when he got home, forgiving him for leaving her to be fed by a neighbor while he was gone. Mason had brought Jordan's file home from the office. He spread it out on his kitchen table, searching it for missing pieces while he drank a beer for dinner.

Mason had read every word on every page too many times to count. He didn't expect the words to change, but he knew that their importance could as he learned more about his case. The trick was to figure out what had changed. He finished his beer and started another, picking up Gina Davenport's autopsy report.

He forced himself to pay attention to each of the pathologist's findings, including the weight and color of each internal organ, the splintering of Gina's skull, and the pulverizing impact on her brain when she hit the pavement. He read the description of Gina's reproductive system twice, the second time out loud, to make certain he understood what he was reading.

Mason called his Aunt Claire. "Female anatomy is not my strong point," he told her.

"I'm so sorry," Claire said. "I thought by now you were more experienced."

"I'm good with the surface structures," he assured her. "Help me out with the internal stuff."

"You are such a sophisticated man," his aunt said. "How can I help?"

"If a woman's fallopian tubes are blocked, she can't get pregnant, right?"

"Good guess," Claire said. "Next question."

"A congenital abnormality is one from birth. That means that a woman who was born with her fallopian tubes blocked could never get pregnant. Still right?"

Claire sharpened her tone. "Get to the point."

"I just read Gina Davenport's autopsy report for the tenth time. She had a congenital abnormality that caused blockage of her fallopian tubes. She couldn't get pregnant, but the city of St. Louis issued a birth certificate for her daughter, Emily, showing Gina as the mother."

"Gina couldn't have given birth," Claire said.

"Exactly. Plus, Emily's birth certificate says that she was born at Caulfield Medical Center in St. Louis. That makes Gina the only mother in the history of the hospital that didn't sign the maternity ward Baby Book," Mason said, explaining what they had learned at the hospital.

"You said that the hospital has no record that Abby was ever a patient there," Claire repeated. "Didn't you?"

"That's what they say, even though Abby's signature is in the Baby Book."

"Why would Gina Davenport falsify the birth of a baby? Why not adopt?" Claire asked.

"Because no court was going to allow a couple to adopt a baby when the father was a drug addict," Mason explained. "Gina Davenport bought a baby and claimed it as her own because that's the only way she could get one. She and her husband probably left St. Louis at the same time so that no one would become suspicious."

Claire followed the implications of Mason's theory. "You're suggesting that Gina Davenport bought Abby's baby along with a phony birth certificate and that she managed to get rid of Abby's medical records in the process. You know what that means if you're right?"

"Yes," Mason said. "It means that Abby's daughter is dead."

Mason's theory was so disastrous for Abby that he couldn't tell her unless he was certain. Even then, he didn't know how he would do it. He shoved that prospect to the side and focused on the implications for his defense of Jordan.

He was now convinced that the phone call Abby received about finding her daughter had set in motion the chain of events that ended with the murders of Gina Davenport and Trent Hackett. That was the only way to tie the available evidence together.

Terry Nix was the only person Mason could think of that knew the Davenports had purchased their child, though he also knew that at least one other person had to be involved. While he believed that Terry Nix stole Abby's medical records to cover up the illegal adoption, Mason doubted that Nix also forged Emily's birth certificate. That required help from someone working in the city's Vital Records department. Mason found Roy Bowen's business card and called him at home.

"You don't waste time, do you?" Bowen told him.

"I don't have time to waste," Mason said, explaining what he was looking for.

"I'll see what I can do," Bowen told him. "They may not keep records that far back. This may take a while."

Mason gave Tuffy fresh water and promised to take her on a long walk in the morning. Tuffy sniffed the water and wandered off, not impressed, ignoring Mason's pat on the back as he left again. How, Mason wondered, could he ever manage a long-term relationship with a woman if his dog could make him feel guilty for ignoring her?

Mason didn't find Robert Davenport at home, so he headed for his studio. It was almost ten o'clock when he parked a block away after finding the street barricaded by police officers. Satellite trucks from local TV stations lined the curb. Mason ducked his head when he saw Sherri Thomas and her Channel 6 cameraman. He was in no mood to make the late evening news.

"What's going on?" Mason asked one of the cops.

"Guy OD'd," the cop answered.

Mason knew the answer to his next question but asked it anyway. "Robert Davenport?"

The cop looked past him. "No names released yet."

"Is Samantha Greer in charge of the investigation?"

"Yeah," the cop answered, paying more attention. "Who are you?"

"Lou Mason. Do me a favor, call Detective Greer. Tell her I'd like to talk to her."

The cop spoke into the radio clipped to his shirt, waving Mason through. Mason found Samantha waiting for him next to a sculpture planted on the lawn outside the studio. The sculpture was an irregular cone of bronze affixed nose-down to a polished black granite base. The police had set up bright lights around the studio to assist in the search for physical evidence. The beams collided with the sculpture, making it glow like an errant space probe just returned to earth.

"At least you can't blame this one on my client," Mason told her.

"It's hard for one person to kill everybody," she said.

Mason said, "One of the cops directing traffic said Davenport OD'd."

"Looks like it. What brings you here?" Samantha asked.

"Loose ends," Mason answered. "I'm getting ready for the preliminary hearing in the Trent Hackett murder. I had some questions for Robert."

"You accused Trent Hackett of killing Gina Davenport. Are you going to accuse Robert Davenport of killing Trent to avenge his wife's death?"

Mason shrugged. "It's a theory," he said, not wanting to thank Samantha for thinking of a red herring he'd overlooked.

"Don't bother," she told him. "Davenport was giving a lecture that night. He's got a hundred alibis. Tell your client to plead guilty and get this mess over with."

"She's not guilty, Sam," Mason said.

Samantha grimaced, grinding her heel in the grass. "It's me you're talking to Lou, not some fresh cop out of the academy, not some reporter who wants to make you the lead in her story. I'm a damn good cop. We both know the evidence against your client is enough to send her away forever. If you don't have something better by now than the smoke you've been blowing, call Ortiz and make a deal."

They were both right, Mason realized. He believed Jordan was innocent even though there was enough evidence to convict her. Samantha was also right that Mason's defense had so far been little more than a bluff. Mason saw no point in telling Samantha his newest theory, knowing that she would rightly dismiss it as the ravings of a lawyer whose latest scapegoat conveniently died of a drug overdose.

Mason got up early enough on Tuesday morning to take Tuffy on a grand tour of Loose Park, leaving her panting on her living room pillow, her bushy tail thumping against the floor in gratitude. Mason even thought the dog winked at him when he promised to be home in time to give her dinner.

The Cable Depot was his first stop. Jordan had told him that she had gone to Dr. Gina's office the Friday before Gina was murdered and that she had discovered her cell phone was missing after her therapy session with Gina. Arthur Hackett had told him that Gina had stopped at KWIN after her session with Jordan, making the radio station the likely place to start looking for Jordan's cell phone.