Free Lou Mason Mystery - 01 - Motion to Kill by Joel Goldman Page B

out the front door and his belongings out a second-story window, both during a wind-lashed thunderstorm. Warren responded by pounding on the front door and throwing a rock through a window when she refused to let him back in. A neighbor called the police.
    Ellen explained to the police that she kicked her husband out for cheating on her and that she threw his clothes out because she was doing her spring cleaning. When she added that they were getting divorced and that the judge had granted her exclusive possession of the house, the police ushered her husband away, leaving his clothes to soak in the rain.
    When it stopped raining, she collected Warren’s clothes on the patio, where she said they would remain until they rotted. Mr. Philpott declined comment.
    Mason remembered Ellen Philpott, sitting in the courtroom for five days, first row behind the rail, far side from the jury box, a flexed smile fixed on the back of her husband’s neck. Her own neck, thin-skinned and thick veined, bobbing and weaving with the testimony. She nodded at Mason each morning as they assembled, as if they shared a secret. Mason wanted to ask her what the secret was but knew that Philpott’s lawyer wouldn’t let him talk with her. That was then. Mason decided to work a visit to Ellen into his schedule, hoping to make an angry, wronged spouse his new best friend.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
     
    Mason spent the rest of the day talking to clients. His secretary called at five fifteen to tell him that Kelly Holt was waiting to see him.
    “Sorry, I’m late,” she said as she sat across from him.
    “No problem. I couldn’t stand another sympathy call. Your timing was perfect. I apologize for acting like a jerk yesterday. It’s not every day that I get to identify my senior partner’s body.”
    Mason couldn’t decide if she looked better in or out of uniform. She was wearing an indigo suit, an open-necked, lime blouse, and a ruby and jade striped scarf. A gold clip held her hair snugly in back. It was a toss-up. Better yet, she wasn’t wearing a gold band to match her gold earrings and choker chain.
    “Forget it. I never get used to the bodies either.”
    “Last night you said that Sullivan was murdered. How do you know?”
    “Sorry, Counselor. It’s my turn to claim confidentiality.”
    “Why? Am I still a suspect?”
    “What do you think?”
    “That everybody’s a suspect until you catch the killer.”
    “Exactly. You can either confess or tell me who did it.”
    “I can’t do either. But I doubt that someone would try to kill me if I was the killer.” Mason told her about his drive back from the lake. “I’m parked in space number 110 in the parking garage. You can check the damage to my car and I can show you the place where I went off the road.”
    “I’ll do that. Why would Sullivan’s killer want to kill you?”
    “Maybe the killer thinks I know something that would identify him or her. Or maybe the killer thinks Sullivan told me something he doesn’t want anyone else to know. Or maybe it was just road rage.”
    Kelly answered with professional neutrality. “I can’t protect you up here. Do you want me to ask the local cops to put somebody on you?”
    Mason didn’t know whether to be pleased or frightened that she made the offer. If she believed him, she might not suspect him. But if she thought he needed protection, he might be in real danger. He was used to fighting through a pile of muddy rugby players battling over a slippery football. But he’d never played against a killer, and the prospect now didn’t seem real. And he didn’t like asking someone to take care of him.
    “Not yet,” he hedged. “I’m defending O’Malley. I’ve got to deal with a difficult client and a U.S. attorney who wants to put us out of business. I won’t have credibility with either if I’ve got a bodyguard following me around. Do you have any better suggestions?”
    “Just one. This is not amateur hour. Get someone else to represent