A Reasonable Doubt Read online

  Robert Chesterfield was disappointed that Regina Barrister was no longer practicing law because he knew that he might need a top-flight criminal attorney very soon. He’d also looked forward to seeing Regina again because she was one of the most beautiful and intriguing women he’d ever met. The combination of brains and looks had been very exciting. Over the years, he’d fantasized about what she might have been like in bed.

  Chesterfield sighed. She’d have to be better in the sack than Claire. God, what a mistake he’d made marrying her. She was attractive and rich, but she was a controlling bitch who used her pocketbook as a whip. Unfortunately, he had not discovered this until after they tied the knot. The one lucky break he’d gotten was not having a prenup. When they wed, Claire thought he had more money than she did because he was a headliner at a major casino on the Las Vegas Strip. That was all over now, and the only way he could solve his financial problems was by getting his wife to loosen the purse strings. Unfortunately, once Claire discovered his real net worth, she had secured an unbreakable lock on her cashbox.

  To make matters worse, there were rumors that she was in a hot and heavy relationship with David Turner, a rival magician, whom he loathed. Chesterfield wouldn’t mind getting rid of Claire if he could find another woman with a lot of money who would help him out of his current predicament, but he had no idea who that might be.

  Chesterfield was so distracted by thoughts of doom and gloom that he didn’t notice the two men until they were next to him. He didn’t recognize the muscle-bound ape with the shaved skull and shoulders so wide that they threatened to rip out the seams of his black leather jacket. But the second man was no stranger.

  Rafael Otero was slender, clean shaven, and dressed in a suit. His sunken cheeks and narrow jaw gave him a slight resemblance to a wolf. Chesterfield knew that Otero was the more dangerous of the duo.

  Augustine Montenegro had sent the men to intimidate Chesterfield, but the magician had dealt with bullies since he was a mere lad in Manchester. If push came to shove, Chesterfield could make a very sharp knife materialize. He’d started carrying it when Roger Bergson tried bullying him in primary school, and it had been a successful solution to the occasional difficulty over the years. Unfortunately, Auggie had many more enforcers in his stable. If these two disappeared, two more would take their place.

  “Hello, Rafael. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Chesterfield asked.

  “Cut the shit, Bobby. You know damn well why I’m here. You owe Auggie a lot of money and he’s getting antsy waiting for it.”

  “He shouldn’t be worried, old chap. Didn’t I send him some of what I owe quite recently?”

  “What you sent barely covered the interest. Auggie doesn’t want drips, Bobby. He wants you to fill his tank.”

  Chesterfield smiled. “You are very adept at turning a phrase, Rafael.”

  “I’m also immune to bullshit.”

  “You can tell Augustine that he has nothing to worry about. You know I’ve got a show that’s going to open at the Babylon Casino in a few months. I’ll soon have more than enough money to pay my debt.”

  “Yeah, about that. We went to the Babylon and talked to Lou Holt. He says the gig is dependent on you coming through with a new illusion, which he hasn’t seen yet.”

  “That is not a problem. The Chamber of Death is ready for a test run. Augustine will receive an invitation to a private showing quite soon.”

  “Auggie’s not interested in magic, Bobby. He’s interested in cold, hard cash, which you’d better make appear very soon or we’ll be unveiling our own magic trick, the Vanishing Magician.”

  Chesterfield laughed. “That was another excellent bon mot. Did you think that up on the spur of the moment? Perhaps you should leave the leg-breaking trade and become a poet.”

  “Don’t be cute. Be responsible. If Auggie doesn’t have the money soon, you’ll be in no condition to perform magic or do anything else.”

  With that remark, the two enforcers walked away.

  Chesterfield hadn’t shown fear, because you could never do that with predators, but he was afraid. And Montenegro wasn’t the only cause of his unease, merely the most dangerous one. What Chesterfield hadn’t told Rafael was that the salary the casino was offering wouldn’t come close to covering his gambling debt. His one hope was his backers. The money he’d sent to Montenegro had been skimmed from their account. If they didn’t catch on to what he’d been doing with their investments, he might come out okay in the end. But that was a big if.

  Chesterfield knew he was being backed into a corner, but he’d always been good at extricating himself from dangerous situations. He was worried, but there was always plan B.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Regina Barrister lived in a Tudor house on an acre of land in Dunthorpe, Portland’s most exclusive neighborhood. Regina had left the practice of law after being diagnosed with dementia. Although she was taking medication that temporarily held the disease in check, it wasn’t a cure, and the once brilliant attorney was often lethargic or depressed. Robin didn’t know what to expect when she rang the doorbell.

  Stanley Cloud smiled when he saw who was at the door. Robin smiled back, but she couldn’t help noticing the toll caring for Regina had taken on her former boss, the retired chief justice of the Oregon Supreme Court.

  Stanley and Regina had been lovers for years. When Regina faced the fact that she was losing her mind, Stanley had resigned from the court and taken Regina on a yearlong trip around the world while Regina could still appreciate the experience. They had returned to Portland a few months ago and Stanley had moved in to take care of her.

  When he was chief justice, Stanley Cloud had been filled with energy, a handsome man who was often mistaken for being much younger than his chronological age. The Stanley Cloud who greeted Robin looked old. His once chiseled features had rounded, he had put on weight, and he looked worn out. Robin could not imagine what it would be like to watch the love of your life slowly lose her mind and fade away.

  “How’s my senior partner doing?” Robin asked.

  “She’s having a good day.”

  “Terrific. I had a meeting with a potential client this morning. Regina represented him over twenty years ago, and I wanted to ask her about the case.”

  “Long-term memory lasts a lot longer than short-term, so she might be able to help you. She’s in the backyard. Go on out. I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Robin walked across the living room and through French doors onto a wide flagstone patio. Regina was lying on a lounge chair staring across her lawn at a sailboat that was drifting along the river. Regina looked so peaceful that Robin waited for a while before disturbing her.

  “Hi, boss,” Robin said.

  Regina turned her head when she saw that she had a visitor. This house used to be filled with people invited to parties and intimate dinners, but Regina didn’t get many visitors these days. Robin hoped that Regina’s memory loss made her forget how completely she had been abandoned.

  “Mind if I join you?” Robin asked.

  “Please,” Regina answered with a smile.

  Robin dragged a lawn chair to a spot next to Regina and they sat in silence for a while. Watching the river was restful and a good break from the hectic pace of Robin’s practice.

  “I had an interesting visitor today,” Robin said after a while. “An old client of yours.”

  Regina didn’t say anything. Robin had gotten used to that. She suspected that Regina was afraid to engage in a conversation because she was terrified that she wouldn’t be able to remember something that she should know.

  “His name is Robert Chesterfield. He’s British and he’s a magician. He wanted me to secure a patent for a magic illusion he’s going to perform in Las Vegas. When he came to the office, he asked for you. He told me that you represented him in a case more than twenty years ago.”

  When Regina didn’t respond, Robin forged on.

  “I asked Mary Stenda
hl, your secretary, about him.”

  Robin told Regina Mary’s position with the firm and her relationship to Regina so Regina wouldn’t worry if she had no idea whom Robin was talking about.

  “Mary said it was a murder case, maybe two murders, but she doesn’t remember a lot about it. I was hoping you could fill me in.”

  Regina stared at the river for so long that Robin wasn’t certain she was going to answer. Then she said, “I remember the case.”

  PART TWO

  EVIDENCE OF OTHER CRIMES

  1997–1998

  CHAPTER FOUR

  If you were casting a movie and needed someone to play a British lord, you would give Robert Chesterfield the part before he’d read a line. Chesterfield stood ramrod-straight like a graduate of the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, which he sometimes claimed he had attended. He had curly blond hair that always looked windblown, teeth so white they belonged in a toothpaste commercial, and the ruddy complexion of a man who rowed on the Thames and hunted quail. Then there was his Oxbridge accent, which made him sound like an upper-class Brit.

  Chesterfield was always cheery. And why wouldn’t he be? After moving from London to Portland, he had wooed and wed Lily Dowd, who was plain, plump, a tad slow, twelve years his senior, and the heir to a grocery chain fortune. Chesterfield thought of his wife as Dowdy Dowd, though he never called her that to her face. A master of sexual techniques, Chesterfield knew that frequent orgasms and praise for his spouse’s beauty—no matter how unbelievable—translated into XK-Es, country club memberships, a seaside mansion with servants, and entrée into Oregon society.

  While Chesterfield cut an imposing figure, Samuel Moser, the manager of the Westmont Country Club, did not. Sam was of medium height, balding, and overweight. Unlike Chesterfield, who always looked like he was modeling for a men’s fashion magazine, Moser dressed in the dull gray suits, plain white shirts, and drab ties that made him look like the accountant he’d been before securing his position at Oregon’s most prestigious country club.

  As soon as Moser left the meeting with the club’s board of directors, he told the valets to notify him when Chesterfield arrived. Four minutes after Chesterfield brought his classic Jaguar XK-E to a halt at the club’s porticoed entrance, Moser waylaid him beneath the crystal chandelier that illuminated the lobby.

  “Mr. Chesterfield, may I have a moment of your time?”

  “Of course, Sam.”

  “Why don’t we step into my office,” Moser said.

  “My, this sounds ominous,” Chesterfield answered with a smile.

  Moser led Chesterfield down a carpeted, wood-paneled hall without saying another word. When they entered the anteroom of his office, Moser saw Chesterfield cast a quick glance at his secretary’s desk. Sophie Randall was not seated at it. Moser had told her what he planned to do, and he knew that she would not want to be anywhere near Chesterfield when he did it.

  When they were seated with the door closed, Moser folded his hands on his desk and stared at Chesterfield. “I noticed that you looked at Mrs. Randall’s desk when you walked by it.”

  Chesterfield smiled again. “I did. She’s an attractive woman, and the sight of a pretty woman always brightens my day.”

  “You do know that she’s married?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you make a pass at her?”

  “Me? I never did.”

  “That’s not what she says. She said your request was quite graphic. She was very upset.”

  Chesterfield flashed a self-satisfied smile. “I think Mrs. Randall has been engaging in wishful thinking.”

  “I’ve had similar complaints about lewd language and unwanted sexual advances from the female staff and the wives of club members.”

  Chesterfield looked offended. “You’re kidding!”

  “Unfortunately, I am not. I’ve also had complaints about cheating at cards. We do not tolerate any of that at the Westmont.”

  “Where is this going, Moser?”

  “Nowhere, if you cease your behavior.”

  Chesterfield leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “And if I don’t cease this alleged behavior?”

  “Then I shall bring the complaints to the attention of the membership committee.”

  Chesterfield studied Moser for a moment. Then he laughed. “Really, Sam, old boy?” He laughed again. “Do you think the committee is going to expel the husband of the wealthiest member of the Westmont because of the complaints of a secretary?”

  “I believe that they will take her complaints and the other complaints quite seriously considering their source, the sheer number, and your reputation.”

  Chesterfield leaned forward and jettisoned all pretense of civility. “Listen to me, you little shit. Fuck with me and you’ll be the one who’s out on his ass.”

  Moser stared back, unfazed. “This is exactly the type of behavior that we do not tolerate at the Westmont, sir. Continue along this path, and you will no longer be welcome here.”

  Chesterfield stood up so quickly that his chair almost toppled over. “We’ll see who’s not here, Sammy boy,” he shot back before stomping out of the office.

  Moser closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. Then he picked up his phone and dialed Landon Crawford.

  * * *

  Retired Federal Judge Landon Crawford was still an imposing figure at seventy-three. He had been six two when he played linebacker for Harvard. Age had taken away several inches and he’d lost a little muscle mass, but his chest and shoulders were still thick, and his hair, though gray, was mostly there. More important, he continued to project the force of personality that had cowed opposing linemen and recalcitrant attorneys.

  The judge sat in his favorite spot at a corner of the terrace that overlooked the eighteenth hole. In the distance, maple trees, birches, and evergreens shaded the lush green fairways. It was an idyllic setting, but Crawford was certain that his peace would soon be disrupted. Everyone knew where he held court, and ten minutes after Crawford ended the call with Sam Moser, Robert Chesterfield walked onto the terrace, looked around, and spotted the board chair.

  “Landon, we have to talk,” Chesterfield said as he sat opposite Crawford.

  “Should I signal the waiter? Do you want something to eat or drink?” Crawford asked.

  “I do not, old chap. I am too upset to eat or drink.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Samuel Moser. The little cretin just accused me of engaging in disreputable conduct and threatened to toss me out of the club.”

  “Sam can’t toss you out of the club. He’s an employee.”

  “Exactly, and I will not tolerate an employee speaking to me the way he did.”

  “It would take a recommendation of the membership committee and the vote of the board to discontinue your membership.”

  “Right.”

  “What is it you want me to do, Robert?”

  “I want you to fire that impudent little toad.”

  Crawford frowned. “Because he brought complaints by club members and employees to your attention?”

  “The accusations are completely unfounded.”

  “Robert, I have to tell you that you have been the subject of much discussion since Lily asked us to grant you a club membership. Maybe you’ve noticed that several members have excluded you from their bridge and poker games. That’s because they suspect you cheat.”

  “Who says I’m cheating? Tell me who said that.”

  “I’m afraid that the complaints were told to me in confidence, but there have been several, and the people making them have sterling reputations.”

  “And I don’t.”

  “Look, Robert, I’m going to be frank. There were a number of board members who were not pleased to have you join our club, but Lily is a dear woman and everyone was deeply saddened when Frank passed away. So we let you in because it made Lily happy. Your conduct has made many people regret their decision.

&n
bsp; “You are Lily’s husband and your behavior is not the sort of behavior in which a married man should be engaged. The Westmont Club is not a pickup bar in a seedy section of Portland. Our members are the cream of Portland society and we value our employees. I’ve had several members of the female staff complain that you’ve made lewd suggestions and groped them. I’ve had similar complaints from some of the wives. And this was before Sam came to me with Sophie Randall’s complaint.”

  “So you’re siding with that obese bookkeeper?”

  “I’m not taking sides, Robert. I am telling you that several members of the club and staff are not enamored of your conduct. I am also telling you that steps will be taken if this conduct does not cease immediately.”

  “Then let me tell you that I’m going to resign my membership unless Moser is fired. Think of what that will do to Lily. She’ll be disgraced. Think of how much you’ll be hurting her if she has to leave the Westmont, because that’s what she’ll do if I tell her how I’m being treated.”

  “Listen to me, Robert. You’re going about this the wrong way. There’s no need for confrontation. Change your behavior and this will all be forgotten.”

  “By you maybe, but not by me.”

  Chesterfield stood up.

  “You people think you’re so high-and-mighty. Well, we’ll see who comes out on top,” Chesterfield said before he made a military about-face and left the terrace.

  The judge sighed. Everyone knew that Lily’s marriage to Robert Chesterfield had been a terrible mistake. Lily’s children, Crawford’s wife, and several other women in the club had tried to make her see how big a mistake it would be, but Lily was not that bright and she could be incredibly stubborn. The word was that Lily had been drinking and taking antidepressants since her husband’s heart gave out unexpectedly. Crawford believed that Lily had fallen for the debonair and exciting Robert Chesterfield to escape the extreme depression that was crushing her. The judge didn’t want to hurt Lily, but Chesterfield was an intolerable blot on the club’s reputation. Everyone wanted him gone and he hoped that goal could be accomplished without subjecting Lily Dowd to more grief.