The Third Victim Page 21

  Judge Herrera stared into space. When she spoke, she looked very troubled.

  “I’m not going to make a decision about this without giving it a lot of thought. I’ll have a transcript prepared for you,” she told Dr. Guest, “and I’d like a report.”

  “Okay,” the neurologist said.

  “I’ll take briefs from both sides. You can include arguments on the issue you raised concerning the alternate theory of who committed the crime. But I have to tell you, Regina, I’ve known you a long time both in court and out. If you hadn’t brought Dr. Guest here, I would never have suspected that you have a problem. This was a very tough case for the defense and, given the facts, I thought you did an excellent job.”

  “How can you say that?” Mason burst out. “She just told you she’s so crazy that she can’t even remember what kind of car she drives. Someone like that had no business representing me when my life is on the line.”

  “I understand why you’re upset, Mr. Mason,” the judge said. “It’s very reasonable, and if I conclude that you’re right, I’ll give you a new trial. And if I don’t, then, obviously, your appellate attorney will make Miss Barrister’s mental condition the cornerstone of your appeal.”

  * * *

  When she got back to the law firm, Regina called Robin, Jeff, Mark Berman, her receptionist, and the secretaries into her office. Dr. Guest stood beside her.

  “I have some troubling news for everyone. Some of you may have noticed that I have not been myself lately. I’ve been forgetful and have reacted in strange ways in certain situations. There is a medical reason for this. This is Dr. Warren Guest. He is a neurologist who specializes in diagnosing people who may have Alzheimer’s.”

  Mark and the clerical staff looked at Dr. Guest, then back to their boss.

  “Over the weekend I went to see Dr. Guest because I suspected that I was having trouble. He gave me a series of tests and concluded that I am in the early stages of dementia. Dr. Guest has prescribed medication that will hold the disease at bay for a while, but he has informed me that there is no permanent fix for what I have. At some point, I will not be capable of practicing law.

  “Dr. Guest believes that I am probably still functioning well enough to represent clients in a competent manner, but I will need your support and assistance to make sure I don’t commit mistakes that will hurt our clients. I will also understand if any of you wish to look elsewhere for work. At some point, all of you will have to. I will write you glowing recommendations because all of you deserve them. And I don’t want anyone to stay here out of guilt or loyalty. I called this meeting to make you all aware of my situation and to encourage you to make decisions that are best for you. I want to make it absolutely clear that there will be no hard feelings on my part if you get another job. Now, does anyone have any questions for me or Dr. Guest?”

  * * *

  “Well, that’s the shits,” Jeff said to Robin. He, Robin, and Mark Berman were huddled over beers at a tavern near the office.

  “What are you planning to do?” Robin asked Mark.

  “I’m not going to desert Regina, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s gone out of her way to help me build a practice and she’s been a great teacher. What about you?”

  Robin flashed a sad smile. “I’m going to stand by Regina. Working for her is my dream job and I want to learn as much from her as I can. If it doesn’t work out, I’m pretty confident I can get another job. But I don’t think my conscience would ever let me leave her now.”

  “Amen,” Jeff said as he raised his glass.

  They clinked and sipped.

  “You sure nailed it,” Jeff told Robin. “I should never have doubted you.”

  “Nailed what?” Mark asked.

  “Robin figured out that something was going on with Regina a few weeks ago, but I wouldn’t listen to her.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Mark asked.

  “I was never certain,” Robin said. “I didn’t know what was normal for Regina.”

  “We’ve got to be on our toes,” Jeff said. “She’s going to make mistakes and we have to be there to straighten them out.”

  “Agreed,” Mark said.

  “And that may get harder and harder. Someone needs to talk to Dr. Guest and ask about the signs that will tell us when she’s got to stop practicing.”

  “I’ll do it,” Mark said, “but I’m not looking forward to the day when we have to tell the best trial lawyer in the state that she isn’t fit to practice law anymore.”

  PART TWO

  THE FOURTH VICTIM

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  In the summer between her senior year in college and her first year at law school, Robin fought a brutal match against a very good opponent. She knew that a win would vault her into the top ten in her weight class and that a loss could derail her career. When she’d gone to her corner after the final bell, her manager had told her that the fight was too close to call.

  Now, three months after the terrible end to Alex Mason’s trial, as Robin waited for the foreperson in her first jury trial to read the jury’s verdict, she had the same sick feeling in her gut that she’d had when she waited for the referee to announce the decision in her MMA match.

  Sitting next to Robin was Esmeralda Washington, a twenty-eight-year-old African-American single mother, who was raising her five children on welfare. Robin had been appointed by the court to represent her when she was charged with shoplifting a box of Band-Aids in a supermarket.

  The security guard who had arrested Robin’s client said he saw her pocket the box, then fail to pay for it when she paid for her other purchases. Esmeralda testified that she had the box in her hand when her two-year-old took off running. She claimed that she had pocketed the item so she would have both hands free when she went after her son. When she caught him, he started screaming. Then her other children started acting up, and she testified that she simply forgot to put the box in her cart.

  The case was a push until Jeff found a store clerk who heard the white security guard make several derogatory comments about African-Americans to another clerk right after the arrest, including a statement that Esmeralda should have been sterilized.

  “Have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.

  “We have,” the foreperson answered.

  “What is your verdict in State v. Esmeralda Washington?”

  Esmeralda looked stunned when the “not guilty” verdict was read and Robin exhaled with relief. Then her client hugged her.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Esmeralda said, and Robin felt better than she ever had after acing a test or winning a fight. Getting a high grade or winning a decision in the Octagon benefited her. By winning her trial, she had changed another person’s life.

  Jeff waited in the corridor down the hall from the courtroom as Esmeralda’s mother and children showered Robin with praise.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” he kidded when Robin walked over.

  “I couldn’t have won if you hadn’t found that witness.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought you did a great job cross-examining that racist asshole and you did a terrific job prepping Esmeralda. Are you headed back to the office?”

  “Yeah, I want to tell Regina about the verdict. Maybe it will cheer her up.”

  “She can sure use some good news. By the way, have you heard about Meredith Fenner?” Jeff asked.

  “No, what about her?”

  “She just hired the Reed, Briggs firm to sue Alex Mason for millions.”

  * * *

  Living in constant fear was the worst part of Regina’s situation. Dr. Guest had prescribed Aricept, a medication he said would keep her slide into dementia in check for a while, but he had emphasized that the medication provided only a temporary fix for an incurable disease. Dr. Guest had also prescribed daily workouts because physical exercise would help keep her disease at bay for a while. But Regina knew that she was eventually going to lose her mind, just like she’d
lost her keys. Every time she forgot something—which happened to people all the time—her stomach twisted into a knot because she couldn’t be sure if what she was experiencing was normal or a sign that she was on a descent into madness.

  There was a knock on her door and Robin walked in. Robin’s grin made Regina smile.

  “Can I assume you won?” Regina asked.

  “With your help. I followed your game plan to the letter and the verdict was unanimous.”

  “I didn’t do anything, Robin. You were at counsel table, not me.”

  “She was terrific,” Jeff chimed in. “You should have seen her take the security guard apart. I almost felt sorry for him when Robin got done.”

  Regina looked at her watch. “It’s almost five o’clock. Let me take you both to dinner to celebrate.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Robin said.

  “Of course I do. Winning your first case is a big deal. You get to pick the restaurant.”

  “Since you’re paying, how about the Ringside? I have a sudden craving for meat.”

  “Done. I’ll have Mary make the reservation for six o’clock. And ask Mark to come, too.”

  When Robin and Jeff left, Regina was still smiling. She predicted a great future for Robin, and Jeff and Mark were excellent. With them at her side, Regina hoped that she would be able to stay in the game for a while more, and that was all she could ask.

  * * *

  Robin went to her office. There wasn’t enough time to do any work before they went to dinner, so she called her mother to tell her about her first “not guilty” verdict. Her mother could be very critical about her career choice, so Robin held her breath when she finished explaining what had happened in Esmeralda Washington’s case.

  “That was a good thing you did, helping that poor woman,” her mother said.

  “That’s why I do it, Mom,” Robin said. “Some of the people I represent are terrible, but some of them are really good and they need me to stop their life from being ruined.”

  “Well, you keep on doing good.”

  Her mother’s reaction and the praise from Regina made her victory even more special, but thinking about Regina sobered Robin. She remembered what fate had in store for her boss. What a way to end a brilliant career, knowing that her diminished capacity might have been responsible for Alex Mason’s conviction and sentence of death.

  It had been three months since Judge Herrera had denied Regina’s motion for a new trial. Alex Mason had fired Regina and hired Les Kreuger to handle his case in the Oregon Supreme Court, where all death sentences were automatically reviewed. Robin thought less about the Mason case as time passed. The jury had found Alex guilty—and he probably was—but there were times when Robin wondered if the jury had reached the right verdict. The problem was that there were so many differences between Allison’s version of events and Alex’s that they both couldn’t be telling the truth. The deciding factor had, of course, been Meredith Fenner’s testimony about the scar on Alex’s hand. A man had kidnapped Fenner, and it didn’t seem possible that two men with New York accents would have crescent-shaped scars on their right hands.

  Robin was suddenly struck by a bizarre idea. She frowned. No, it wasn’t possible. But what if …

  Jeff poked his head in the door and said it was time to head out for dinner. Robin turned off her computer and decided it wasn’t worth spending any more time thinking about her theory. It was pretty ridiculous. She laughed. An idea like that was probably the result of taking too many blows to her head.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The people at the Hammond Sheriff’s Department had noticed that Harry White seemed different when he returned to town after the verdict in the Mason case. Harry had always been “one of the boys,” someone who could be counted on to join a group going for beers after work or participating in softball games against other police departments. Though serious, he was never moody and he was quick to laugh at a joke. Since his return, he seemed depressed and had taken to going home after work, turning down invitations to fish or go to someone’s house for dinner. A few of his fellow cops had asked him if anything was wrong. Harry had said he was fine, so no one pressed him. But the truth was that Harry was lovesick.

  On Friday afternoon, Harry was working on a police report when someone walked in. He looked up, saw Carrie Anders, and smiled.

  “Hey, stranger. What brings you from the big city to the sticks?”

  “It’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow, so the family is in town.”

  “How old is she?”

  “It’s a big one, seventy-five.”

  “Is Tom coming?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ask him to give me a ring. I haven’t seen him in ages and it would be good to catch up.”

  “No need to talk on the phone. I’m here to invite you out to the house for a barbecue. Can you do tomorrow at three?”

  “I’ll be there. Want me to bring something?”

  “A six-pack would be good, and a date if you’re seeing someone.”

  Harry stopped smiling.

  “What’s up?” Carrie asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Hey Harry, I’m a detective. You can’t get anything by me. Now, what’s the problem?”

  Harry had not been able to talk to anyone he worked with about Meredith because they’d just ride him, but Carrie worked in Portland and she’d always been a good listener.

  “Shut the door and sit down,” Harry said. As soon as the door was shut, Harry unburdened himself.

  “It’s Meredith.”

  “Oh?”

  “I thought we had something going, but I didn’t do anything because I knew it would screw up the case. But we talked about it. She was straight with me. She said she liked me but that she was still a mess because of what happened. She told me she cared about me but couldn’t stay in Oregon because everything she saw reminded her of what Mason had done to her—which I totally understand. But I really like her and, well, I thought we were friends. But she hasn’t called or written once, even though she has my number and I gave her my address. Then I read that she’d hired a Portland law firm to sue Mason, which means she was probably up there. But she didn’t call when she was in town.”

  “Did you ever think that you remind her of what happened?” Carrie asked. “You were one of the first people she saw at the hospital and you were with her all through the case.”

  “But I’ve always been on her side.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t flash back to that cabin every time she sees you.”

  “So you think it’s hopeless?”

  “No, but I do think you have to give her time.”

  Harry nodded. “What you say makes sense, but I’d still like to stay in touch. Do you have her address?”

  “I don’t know if writing her is such a good idea. It’s probably best if you let her make the first move when she’s ready.”

  “I’m not going to stalk her, Carrie. I just want to drop her a note. I’ll be real neutral.”

  Carrie thought for a moment. Then she nodded. “I don’t remember her address, but I’ll email it when I get back to Portland.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re a good friend, Harry. I hate to see you sad.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Arnold Prater glared at Robin when she walked past him on the way to the witness stand to testify in Prater’s attempted-murder case. Robin ignored Prater until she’d been sworn. Then she turned his way, locked eyes with him and, without saying a word, let Prater know that she was not intimidated.

  Robin answered the prosecutor’s questions, then withstood the scathing cross-examination conducted by Prater’s attorney. When the judge told Robin that she was excused, she walked down the aisle without giving Prater another glance.

  Carrie Anders had listened to Robin’s testimony from the back row of the spectators’ section, and she followed Robin into the corridor outside the courtroom.


  “You did great in there,” the detective said.

  “I just told the jury what happened,” Robin said.

  “Prater is a scumbag, and you’re going to be responsible for taking him off the street.”

  Robin shrugged. “I won’t feel bad if he’s locked up. Especially after what he did to Mordessa Carpenter and Tonya Benson.”

  “Amen.”

  Robin was about to walk away, when a thought occurred to her.

  “Can you do me a favor, Carrie?”

  “That depends on what it is.”

  “Thinking about those women made me remember the similarities between the way they were tortured by Prater and the way Meredith Fenner was tortured.”

  Anders frowned. “What are you getting at?”

  “When we were representing Alex Mason, we thought that Arnold Prater might have been the man who kidnapped and tortured Fenner. He has a build that’s similar to Mason’s and a New York accent.”

  “You can forget that,” Anders said. “You’re not the only person who went down that road. I checked out Prater as soon as I found out what he’d done to Carpenter, but Prater has an alibi for the night Fenner was kidnapped. He was part of a team that arrested a heroin dealer and he was with several other cops all night.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t feel bad. Mason is guilty as sin and where he belongs.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.

  Robin was a little dejected now that she knew that neither Prater nor Jacob Heller was Fenner’s kidnapper. That left Alex Mason as … Robin froze. What if there was something they had overlooked?

  * * *

  For decades, the Pearl had been a dusty, decaying warehouse district populated by the homeless. Then the developers moved in. Seemingly overnight, the grimy, run-down buildings were replaced by gleaming high-end condos, in restaurants, and chic boutiques. McGill’s Gym was on the bottom floor of one of the few old brick buildings that had escaped gentrification. It was dimly lit and filled with the sweat stink you never found in the modern, air-cooled, disinfected workout emporiums patronized by young professionals and those trying to outwit Father Time. Robin had joined McGill’s because it was home to boxers and MMA fighters who would spar with her on days she didn’t pump iron.