A Reasonable Doubt Page 17

  “I told you that,” Turner said to Anders.

  “Did you tell them I caught you inside the theater a half hour later?” Schloss asked.

  “Well?” Ragland asked the magician.

  “I’m not talking anymore until I speak with an attorney.”

  “I’m placing you under arrest,” Ragland said.

  “Why? You can’t do that. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You lied to us about where you were when Mr. Chesterfield was murdered. That’s obstruction of justice. And, because of your skills as a magician, you had the ability to pull off the murder. I think that gives us probable cause. Now, please put your hands behind your back so we can cuff you.”

  “This is outrageous!”

  “If you don’t comply with my request, you’ll be committing the crime of resisting arrest.”

  Turner hesitated. Then he let Anders handcuff him. While she was doing that, she told Turner his Miranda rights.

  “Have someone drive Mr. Turner downtown,” Ragland told Robinson.

  Ragland beamed as Turner was led away. “That didn’t take long.”

  “Nice work,” Anders said, but she didn’t sound sure.

  Ragland frowned. “You don’t have any doubts that Turner’s our killer, do you?”

  “He definitely had a motive and the opportunity.”

  “But?” Ragland pressed.

  “I guess it was too easy. The murder was so clever, I thought it would take us a while to figure out who committed it.”

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Ragland said with another big smile. “This is going to look great for you and Dillon, and make sure Officer Robinson gets credit for her excellent work. Now, let’s follow Mr. Turner downtown and see if we can get him to crack.”

  “What’s bugging you?” Dillon asked Anders as they followed Ragland toward the exit.

  “Something is off. I can’t put my finger on it, but…” She shook her head. “Ragland’s probably right. Turner is our guy. I’m overthinking this,” Anders said, but Dillon could see that something was definitely bothering his partner.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  When they were leaving the theater, Robin noticed a tension in Regina’s shoulders and a gleam in her eyes that meant she was on the hunt—a look Robin had not seen in a long time.

  “Is there a restaurant or bar nearby?” Regina asked as soon as they were outside the theater.

  “The Meridian Hotel is two blocks from here,” Stanley Cloud said, something Regina would have known a few years ago. “They have a bar.”

  “Let’s go there and talk.”

  Robin agreed quickly, thrilled to see Regina so excited.

  The Meridian had been an elegant hotel in the 1950s and sixties, but it had deteriorated as the neighborhood decayed, until it was known by the Vice squad as a hangout for drug dealers and prostitutes. The developer who restored the Imperial had remodeled the hotel and brought in a nationally known chef to run the restaurant.

  “So,” Regina said when the couples were seated in a booth in the bar, across from each other, “what did you see? Who do you think killed Robert Chesterfield?”

  “Chesterfield sat up just before one of the assistants pushed him down, so he was alive then,” Robin said.

  “Exactly,” Regina said. “The only time he could have been killed is when the assistant pushed him back into the coffin. Did you notice that there were three assistants on the stage when Chesterfield was pushed into the coffin, but only two on the stage when the coffin was opened and they discovered he’d been murdered?”

  “So, you think the missing assistant killed Chesterfield?” asked Jeff.

  “It looks that way,” Regina said. Then she smiled, pleased that her brain was still working the way it used to, at least for a little while.

  “I saw Peter Ragland run onto the stage. It looked like he was taking charge. I wonder if he picked up on that,” Robin said.

  “Who’s Peter Ragland?” Regina asked.

  Robin’s heart sank. “He’s a deputy district attorney. He was in the theater during the performance. Maybe he’s a fan of magic.”

  * * *

  “That was more excitement than I expected,” Jeff said when they were in his pickup, headed back to their apartment.

  Robin smiled. “It was great seeing the old Regina in action. The murder sure got her blood racing. She seemed more alive than I’ve seen her in a while.”

  “She did seem like her old self until she asked about Ragland,” Jeff said.

  Robin stopped smiling.

  “In the good old days, before the Alzheimer’s got her, she’d have figured out whodunit,” Jeff said. “Then she’d have worked out a way to get the killer a not guilty verdict.”

  “I wonder if she’d have been able to figure out how Chesterfield escapes from the sarcophagus,” Robin said. “I’d love to know how the trick works.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Jeff said. “It would spoil the fun.”

  Jeff parked, and the couple walked up to their apartment. When they got inside, Robin started to turn on the light, but Jeff moved between her and the switch and took her in his arms.

  “What do you say we leave the lights off?” he asked before planting a gentle kiss on Robin’s lips.

  “I think that’s a very good idea,” Robin said just as her cell phone rang.

  “Don’t answer that.”

  “No one would be calling at this hour unless it was an emergency.” Robin stepped back and took her phone out of her pocket.

  Jeff sighed and turned on the lights.

  “That’s odd,” she said when she saw who was calling. “Ms. Madison?”

  “They arrested David. They’re saying he murdered Bobby. He’s at the jail. Can you help him?”

  “You know I used to represent your husband?”

  “I know, but you’re the only criminal defense attorney I could think of. Can you see David now?”

  “I can definitely set up a visit. Are you sure you don’t want the name of another lawyer?”

  “I know your reputation. David needs the best.”

  “Okay. I’ll get there right away. We can talk about who should represent Mr. Turner later. Meet me in the reception area at the jail.”

  “Thank you for acting so quickly.”

  “Quick is important in a situation like this. Mr. Turner will be very upset, and he won’t be thinking straight. There’s no telling what he might say quite innocently that will come back to haunt him.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Good evening, Mr. Turner,” Robin said as soon as she walked into the contact visiting room. “My name is Robin Lockwood. I’m an attorney, and Claire Madison asked me to help you.”

  Turner stared at Robin for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. “I know where I’ve seen you before. Didn’t Chesterfield call you up onstage during the rehearsal at the coast to check out the sarcophagus?”

  “You’ve got a good memory.”

  “You’re Chesterfield’s attorney!”

  “I was, but I terminated our relationship, and now he’s dead. I reminded Ms. Madison that I used to represent her husband, but she wanted me to see you anyway. If you feel uncomfortable with me, you can hire someone else.”

  “I’ve never been in a situation like this, and I need good advice now—so let’s talk, and I can make a decision later.”

  “Do you know why you were arrested?” Robin asked.

  “Probably because I got scared and lied.”

  “About what?”

  “If you were at the rehearsal at the coast, you know why I hated Chesterfield.”

  “He revealed the secret of your finale on his TV show.”

  “The effect was devastating. Attendance dropped, and the casino was going to fire me. I saved myself by working a new illusion into the act, but Chesterfield almost killed my career. And that’s why I was at the theater. I wanted to figure out the Chamber of Death and re-create it on the
internet for revenge.

  “The week before, I tried to get in the stage door to see a rehearsal. When that didn’t work, I snuck in through the loading dock, but the security guard caught me before I saw the trick. So I left my seat during the illusion and hid onstage behind some curtains when Chesterfield started the illusion.

  “When I was questioned by the police, I denied leaving my seat. I didn’t know that the person sitting behind me had told the police that he saw me leave. To make matters worse, I also told the police that I’d never been in the Imperial Theater during rehearsals, but the security guard told the police he saw me in the theater.”

  “That’s motive and opportunity, but what about means? How could you kill Chesterfield onstage in full view of the audience?”

  “I couldn’t, but the DA told me it was no use denying I killed Chesterfield, because he knew exactly how I did it.”

  “Did he explain how he thought you killed Chesterfield?”

  Turner reddened with anger. “I asked him, but he just smiled and said, ‘A magician never reveals how a trick is done.’”

  “I’ve had a few cases with Peter Ragland, and he’s not one of my favorites.”

  “What happens now?”

  “There’s no automatic bail in a murder case, so you might have to stay in jail for a while. If I represent you, I’ll request a bail hearing, but I won’t win it if the State can convince the judge that they have a strong case. I won’t know if they do until I find out why Ragland thinks he can nail you. I’ll tell you what I find out as fast as I can, but that may not be until Monday. Can you hold it together until then?”

  “Yes. I’m really scared, but I was in combat in the army, so I’ve been under pressure before.”

  Robin smiled. “Not to mention appearing every night before huge audiences in Las Vegas.”

  Turner smiled for the first time. “Yeah, there is that.”

  “What did you do in the military?” Robin asked.

  Suddenly Turner looked sick. “This will definitely not help my cause.”

  “Yes?”

  “The skills I’d developed as a magician made me perfect for my specialty—silent killing. I would go into the middle of an enemy encampment, kill key personnel, and disappear.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Peter Ragland reserved a conference room for his meeting with Robin.

  “Good morning,” Ragland said when the receptionist showed Robin into the room.

  “Hi, Peter. How are you?”

  “I’m good, especially now that I’ve got a mystery to solve that’s right out of a TV show.”

  “It is that. So tell me, how did David Turner kill Robert Chesterfield in front of three thousand witnesses?”

  “His plan was quite ingenious, but I’d expect nothing less from a master magician.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Didn’t your client tell you how he killed Chesterfield?”

  “Mr. Turner says that he didn’t kill Chesterfield.”

  Ragland smiled. “Of course he does, but we’ve got him dead to rights.” There was a large stack of police reports piled in front of Ragland. He pushed them across the table to Robin. “I’m not required to give you discovery until I get my indictment, but you can take a copy of everything we have back to your office.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the gesture.”

  Once again, Ragland smiled. “I’m not doing it out of the goodness of my heart. I want you to see how hopeless your case is. When you’ve read the reports and see that I can prove how Turner murdered Robert Chesterfield in full view of the audience, I’m certain you’ll tell him to plead guilty. If he does the smart thing, I’m prepared to take the death penalty off the table in exchange for a plea to aggravated murder.”

  * * *

  “This is bad,” Robin said.

  “Very bad,” Jeff agreed.

  They were seated across from each other in the conference room of Barrister, Berman & Lockwood. Piled high on the polished oak table that separated them were the police reports Peter Ragland had turned over.

  “Tell me if you think I’ve got this right,” Robin said. “Ragland is going to argue that Turner hated Chesterfield enough to kill him, and murdering him during his greatest illusion would be a big fuck-you to his nemesis. So Ragland will tell the jury that David used his skill as a magician to sneak into the Imperial during rehearsals so he could learn the routines of the magician’s assistants and how the trick worked. Then he slipped out of his seat during the show, went to the assistants’ dressing room, and hid Porter’s inhaler. When she was looking for it, he knocked her out, put on her robe, went on the stage, and used his skill at silent killing to murder Chesterfield. Then he discarded the robe near the loading dock exit to make it look like the killer left the theater, and went back to his seat. How am I doing?”

  “Unfortunately, too well.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Not about how to disprove Ragland’s theory, but there are witnesses I want to interview. Oscar Mars organized the magicians who picketed the theater. They were outside, so they may have seen someone leave by the alley. I’d also like to talk to Chesterfield’s assistants to see if they can help figure out who used Porter’s robe. Then there’s Miriam Ross. She was in the theater during the performance, but I didn’t see a statement from Ross in the discovery, so I want to talk to her. What are you going to do?”

  “You saw how excited Regina was. I’m going to call Stanley and see what he thinks about giving her a copy of the discovery. She might spot something we missed, and at minimum, it would give her something to do that would make her feel like she’s back in the game.”

  Jeff didn’t look enthusiastic. “What if she’s so far gone that she can’t help us, and she gets frustrated? That could crush her.”

  “That’s why I want to find out what Stanley thinks.”

  “Okay, but hold off if he doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t worry. The last thing I want to do is upset Regina.”

  Jeff left and Robin decided to go through the large pile of interviews the police had conducted with the audience at the Imperial. She had skimmed them already, taking out the interviews with people like David Turner or Rafael Otero who had a connection to Chesterfield, but there were several hundred other interviews they had not read carefully. Robin knew that she was probably wasting her time, but it would be worth the trouble if she could find a hidden gem.

  An hour later, Robin was ready to take a break when she saw a name that sounded familiar. She frowned. Where had she heard Samuel Moser’s name before. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Finding Oscar Mars was easy. The leader of the protesting magicians owned a small magic shop two blocks down from the Bagdad Theater on Hawthorne Boulevard. The store was wedged between a boutique that specialized in recycled clothing and a gelato shop. When Jeff walked in, he found the magician standing behind a glass display case filled with packs of cards, magic kits, and other gadgets for neophyte magicians.

  Mars, a short, unimposing man, was dressed in a cheap tuxedo. His toupee wouldn’t fool anyone, and he had a black beard and mustache that circled thin, dry lips. The only thing about him that was impressive were his fingers, which were long and graceful and, Jeff assumed, would be a great help when he was manipulating cards.

  Mars beamed at Jeff, whom he took for a potential customer. Then he looked disappointed when Jeff introduced himself as an investigator and gave him a business card. But he perked up when Jeff told him that he worked for Robin Lockwood, David Turner’s lawyer.

  “David exposed that bastard, so I’ll help you anyway I can.”

  “You don’t seem broken up about Chesterfield’s death.”

  “I’m not. There’s a special place in hell for magicians who reveal the secrets of their art, and I hope Lord Robert is roasting there on a slow-turning spit. Ask your questions.”

  “
Okay. First off, did you or any of the other protesters go inside during the show?”

  “No. We thought about doing that so we could disrupt the show, but we decided that would only make Chesterfield sympathetic.”

  “There’s some evidence that the killer may have left the Imperial through the exit to the loading dock at the back of the theater. There’s a narrow alley that runs along the side of the theater. Did you notice anyone in that alley?”

  “I don’t remember seeing anyone in the alley, but I was focused on the front of the theater most of the time. Someone else may have seen someone in the alley. I can give you a list of my fellow magicians, and you can ask them.”

  “Thanks. My email address is on my card. Send me the list and I’ll talk to them. Can you think of anything you saw that might help Mr. Turner?”

  “Not offhand. Will Miss Lockwood be able to help David?”

  “It’s early days, but she’s pretty good.”

  “Then I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

  * * *

  According to the police reports, Maria Rodriguez was living in a garden apartment in Southeast Portland. The apartments formed a horseshoe around a courtyard with a neatly trimmed lawn. Moments before Rodriguez answered Jeff’s knock, a young woman smiled at Jeff as she wheeled her bike past him.

  Onstage, in costume, with makeup, the magician’s assistant had seemed taller, with the glamorous appearance of a showgirl. In the pale afternoon light, without makeup, dressed in jeans and a faded T-shirt, she looked ordinary.

  Jeff handed Rodriguez his business card and introduced himself.

  Rodriguez looked at the card, then took a hard look at Jeff. “Have we met before?”

  “Yes, at Robert Chesterfield’s house on the coast, the night he disappeared. I was with Mr. Chesterfield’s attorney, Robin Lockwood.”