The Case of the Murdered MacKenzie: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Seven) by Howard Fast Page A

horrible.”
    â€œYes—” It flickered in his mind. It was a picture unreal, like a television screen out of focus, waving, the sought-for images mixed with images unsought. He had called himself witless, and properly as he thought about it now. Eve Mackenzie had been dealt into whatever game was being played here. A deal had been made with her agreement. That’s why she stood trial with such aplomb, and that’s why her bail had been ‘no more than a hundred thousand dollars, paid for by the Fenwick company, even as Fenwick had supplied her legal defense. The Fenwick Works, Mackenzie, his twin brother, Eve Mackenzie, a trial that was ridiculous and would be thrown out of court and then the book closed. But why the trial?
    â€œThey wanted the trial—” Masuto began.
    â€œWho, Masao?”
    â€œJust listen to me, Kati, and let me say it aloud and try to have it make sense. Eve Mackenzie hates her husband. She wants a divorce. He will not give her a divorce. There could be any number of reasons for that. They have a fight, not unusual, and she drives to Santa Barbara to spend the night with her sister. That night, Mackenzie’s twin shows up. Possibly, Mackenzie is not alone. He or they kill the twin. Maybe Scott is in on it, maybe not. What to do with the body? Notebook—frame Eve Mackenzie. But something is missing from the twin, a birthmark or operation scar. That gives Eve the upper hand. She will play ball for a price.”
    â€œWhat price could justify her lying to cover up for a murder?”
    â€œMy dear Kati, all women are not like you. She might have desired to divorce so desperately she would tell any lie to get it. She may want money. What do we know about her—or about any film star? The image we see on the screen is not the person.”
    â€œMasao?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œMay I be permitted a doubt?”
    Masuto smiled and nodded.
    â€œOf course it was on the news today. She said that the dead, man was not her husband. She did not keep a promise of silence. Then what happened to the deal you say she made?”
    â€œI don’t know. She might have been frightened, she might have felt that the others would double-cross her. Perhaps she feels it is time to look after herself.”
    â€œNone of it makes sense to, me,” Kati said. “Does it make sense to you, Masao?”
    â€œNo, not much.”
    â€œAnd if the case is dismissed, as you say, if it’s thrown out of court, will you go on looking for the murderer?”
    â€œI don’t know. That’s up to Captain Wainwright, and my guess is that he doesn’t know either.”
    â€œI must do the dishes,” Kati said. “I feel that I have been with you into one of thóse horrible investigations, but still I must do the dishes.”

Masuto bathed, put on his saffron terry-cloth robe, and went into the tiny sun room at the back of his cottage which he somewhat abashedly called his meditation room. There was on the floor only a mat and a small round pillow. Masuto had found that even a half hour of Zen meditation cleared his mind and renewed his body. But tonight he was not to have a half hour of meditation. He had been sitting there for only minutes when he heard the doorbell ring. The house was small, and the hearing of a meditating person is very keen, and to his astonishment, Masuto heard the voice of Geffner, the district attorney, asking for him.
    â€œYou come at an unfortunate time,” Kati protested.
    â€œIt’s all right,” Masuto called out. “Put Mr. Geffner in the living room. I’ll be right there.”
    Masuto put on his street clothes before he went into the living room. It would embarrass Geffner to face him with a saffron robe, and Geffner was embarrassed enough. “It’s almost eleven o’clock,” he said to Masuto, “and I just can’t tell you how awkward I feel about barging in here like this. But I