The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 56

ONE YEAR LATER

I took Ricky Mason's arrest as a signal that the story was meandering towards its conclusion. Though shot twice at close range with high-powered police rounds in the right lung and abdomen, Mason recovered from his injuries. After a week in the hospital, authorities remanded him to San Diego County's jail facilities. He made the journey in a walking boot for the broken bones in his foot, courtesy of yours truly. Soon after, medical professionals released Mason to incarceration with the jail's general population.

Marci obtained permission for me to visit Mark Christensen in the hospital, where he'd gone for follow-up surgery after emergency operations a year ago had saved his life. I went to see how he was doing, but I also wanted answers to ask questions puzzling me from the moment they took him out of that wooden box.

Mark was propped up on pillows, one leg cuffed to his hospital bed, an immobilization brace strapped across his chests and abdomen to support his neck, shoulder and right arm. His left hand was tucked up behind his head as though he'd been watching television. A police officer was seated outside his door, absorbed in a movie on his cell phone.

"Hello, Mark, it's good to see you again," I said as I approached his left side and stood at the bed's safety rail.

"I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances, but the alternative would have been much worse," Mark said. "I'm told I owe you my gratitude for discovering me in that box and saving my life."

"One of many surprises that day," I replied. "I am glad you survived – I admit I had doubts when I saw you lying there. How are you doing? Have they given you a long-term prognosis?"

"I think the judge will have a lot to say about that," Mark replied. "But if you mean health-wise, the stabbing severed a bundle of nerves in my right shoulder, and I've lost any control of my elbow, arm, hands, and fingers on that side. All they can do is stabilize things and try to stimulate nerve growth, see if they'll repair themselves over time. I'll be in therapy of some kind pretty much as long as I live," Mark said. "But I'm adjusting. As you might have heard, I have bigger problems."

Mark pointed at his cuffed ankle.

"I don't understand why you ran from Chicago," I said. "When I left, you seemed ready to make things right. If you'd cooperated, given the self-defense aspects of your involvement in the killing, there was a decent chance you wouldn't get much prison time, mostly probation. Brian Pierce's letters made it clear he came to kill one of you and set you up to take the blame for other crimes. Why take off, and especially, why come back to San Diego, and to Ricky Mason of all people?"

"After you left the diner, I couldn't sleep thinking about being in jail," Mark said. "I'm not cut out for that. Look, I've been a big guy all of my life. There are always people around wanting to take me on to show how tough they are. I'm not a fighter. And I'm claustrophobic as hell. If losing blood didn't kill me, being helpless and trapped in that box would have.

"Plus, I wanted to go back to San Diego, where my friends are. Chicago's no place to spend the winter."

"But why reach out to Ricky Mason?" I asked, still perplexed.

"I wanted him to know I was back," Mark explained, "so seeing me wouldn't be a surprise, otherwise he might think I pulled a fast one. And he's the only person I knew who'd have access to resources I needed to stay out of sight, maybe get a lawyer. I thought if I told him that you were onto us, he'd take the warning as a favor and reciprocate. It was the only leverage I had.

"I never thought he'd try to kill me. C'mon, I was twice his size and we'd slept together. He promised me some money if I came to his place, but he was on me with that knife as soon as I stepped through his door. I never saw it coming."