Read Lou Mason Mystery - 01 - Motion to Kill for Free Online Page A

Sullivan?”
    Mason stopped pacing. “That’s only part of it. I’ve got a case that the firm won’t take. I’m going out on my own so I can handle it.”
    “That’s your idea of a defense?”
    “I’ll tell you what. You subpoena every memo Sullivan ever wrote about O’Malley. This is the only one you’ll find, if he even wrote it. I’ve been through those files. Sullivan got things done. He didn’t write memos. And he wouldn’t wait to fire me or his mother because of the damn retreat.”
    “So why did he write the memo?”
    “To set me up.”
    “Why wouldn’t he just get rid of the documents himself? And why would he need to set you up?”
    Mason didn’t answer. He sat on the arm of the sofa and let her think out loud, nodding as she said it.
    “If you get rid of the documents and get caught, the memo gives him plausible deniability. If you refused, he could get rid of the evidence and still blame you if anyone ever found out. In the meantime, you’re gone.”
    “Now, you, Sheriff, you put on one hell of a defense.”
    “Then show me the documents.”
    “I can’t.”
    “You’ve got to get over this privilege stuff. This is a murder investigation until the coroner tells me differently, and you’re working your way up the suspect list.”
    “It’s not just the privilege. I’ve been through those files. I don’t know what documents he’s talking about. Let me know when the coroner makes up his mind. I’m going home.”
    She handed him Sullivan’s briefcase. “I’ll let you return this to Mrs. Sullivan. Drive safely.”
    He hoped that she meant it.

CHAPTER NINE
     
    Straight, flat roads are hard to find in the Ozarks. Two-lane county roads and state highways bob and weave like a punch-drunk fighter across and around the hilly countryside. Mason plugged his iPhone into the car radio, letting Bettye LaVette sing him home as he maneuvered his Acura in and out of small packs of slow-moving cars.
    He took Highway 52 west through Eldon and on to the junction with Highway 5, where he headed north, hoping to leave the plodding traffic behind. Soon a black Escalade pulled up behind him, rode his rear end long enough to get Mason’s attention, then bolted past him and another car, cutting back into the northbound lane just in time to avoid an oncoming RV.
    The car in front of Mason turned off the highway a few minutes later. Mason caught a glimpse of the Escalade and closed the distance until a quarter of a mile separated them. Content to cruise at seventy, he let go the chase.
    Ten minutes later, the Escalade slowed until Mason was within a couple of car lengths, the rolling grade preventing him from passing. They reached a level stretch of road when the driver of the Escalade stuck his hand out the window and waved Mason to go around.
    He eased into the southbound lane and accelerated, pulling alongside the Escalade. He started to wave his thanks when he saw that the window was up and tinted so dark he couldn’t see the driver, who was matching Mason’s pace, freezing him in the southbound lane.
    Mason pushed the Acura harder, unable to gain any ground and unwilling to drop back. He was hot enough, tired enough, and annoyed enough to keep pushing and not notice that the road had bottomed out like the trough of a wave. As they started back up the next hill, an air horn bellowed from a southbound flatbed tractor-trailer loaded with hay bales bearing down on Mason from the crest of the hill.
    Mason answered with a squeal from his own horn, but neither driver changed course. At their combined speeds, he realized the truck would be in his lap before he could pass the Escalade. Mason hit his brakes, intending to swerve back into his lane behind the Escalade, only to see the Escalade slow down, hanging him out in the wrong lane, threatening to turn him into a hood ornament.
    The truck was close enough that Mason could see the driver, mouth opened wide, screaming at him and waving his hand, telling Mason