A Reasonable Doubt Page 9

  “Iris,” Chesterfield said, his tone conciliatory, “I begged Lily to stay inside because of the storm, but she insisted on going for a walk. You’ve seen how strong the wind is. It’s very possible she lost her balance and fell.

  “And there’s another possibility. Your mother has been very depressed lately, and she’s been taking antidepressants. I don’t want to think that she took her life, but…”

  Iris’s eyes went wide and she leaped at Chesterfield. He didn’t try to defend himself, and her nails left blood trails on his cheeks before Easley could restrain her.

  “You’ve just committed an assault,” Easley said. “If Mr. Chesterfield presses charges, I can arrest you.”

  “No, no,” Chesterfield said, his tone magnanimous. “Iris is overwrought. I forgive her. It is her mother, after all. I would like her to leave, though. This is my house, and I’m upset enough without having to worry about being attacked.”

  “You bastard,” Iris said. “You won’t get away with this.”

  “We should leave, Iris,” Andrew said.

  Iris glared at Andrew. Then she shook off Easley’s hands and stomped outside. Andrew followed her.

  When the door opened, Easley could see that the storm had abated. “It looks like we might be able to start a recovery operation, so I’m going back to supervise. I suggest you stay here, Mr. Chesterfield. I’ll want to talk to you as soon as we bring your wife up.”

  “I’ll be here,” Chesterfield assured him.

  When the detective was out of earshot, Regina turned to her client. “That was nicely done,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You played Lily’s daughter like a fiddle so you could get rid of her.”

  Chesterfield arched an eyebrow and flashed an innocent smile. “Did I? Really, I meant no harm, but I thought Iris and Andrew should know that suicide was a possibility. Lily has been terribly sad lately.”

  “I’m going to wait until the body is brought up. You can identify it. Other than that, I don’t want you talking to Easley or anyone else. Got it?”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “I also want you to understand that your retainer for my representation in the Randall and Gentry cases does not cover my involvement in this case. If you want me to be your attorney, we’ll have to make a new financial arrangement.”

  Chesterfield smiled once again. “That won’t be a problem, Regina. If the corpse at the bottom of the cliff is Lily, I am going to be a very rich man. Soon after you won my case, Lily made a new will, leaving everything to me.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The rays of a warm spring sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows in Robert Chesterfield’s bedroom and woke him from his carefree slumber. Chesterfield smiled as he stretched his arms. One reason for his smile was the fact that his hands no longer had to touch Lily Dowd’s disgusting flesh. The absence of that dim-witted cow from his life elated Chesterfield. Touching her, mooning over her, and having sex with her had been made bearable only when he was thinking about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

  Chesterfield got out of bed and walked to a window that looked out on the Pacific. The sea was calm today, and puffy white clouds drifted across a bright blue sky. If only his boyhood mates from the slums of Manchester could see him now. The only flies in the ointment were the Bobbsey Twins, who were contesting the will he had talked Lily into writing. He loved watching them fume and rage whenever they were in his presence. Chesterfield had hired the best probate lawyers in the state, and they assured him that the will was airtight, so the irritation caused by Lily’s obnoxious brood would fade soon like a poison ivy rash.

  Chesterfield put on workout gear and started a series of calisthenics that would keep him supple. In a month, he would open his magic act in Las Vegas and he needed to be in top shape. Some of the illusions he performed required a great deal of elasticity because of the narrow spaces into which he had to fit. Chesterfield loved performing magic and the adoration it brought him, so he was willing to put up with the pain his rigorous routine caused him.

  An hour after he started working out, Chesterfield slipped on running shoes. He was about to go outside when the phone rang.

  “Robert?” Regina Barrister asked.

  “Hi, Counselor. Do you have news for me?”

  “Yes, and it’s all good. I just had a call from Clint Easley. The county is not going to bring any charges against you. The official verdict is going to be that Lily’s death was an accident.”

  “Which it was.”

  “Her children tried to pressure the district attorney to bring murder charges, but there’s no evidence that you or anyone else was with Lily when she died.”

  “Does this mean I don’t have to worry about being charged with Lily’s death or any of the Multnomah County cases?”

  “There’s no statute of limitations on murder, but you’re free and clear unless new evidence causes any of the cases to be reopened.”

  “I certainly made the right choice when I hired you. I’ve heard that they call you the Sorceress, and the nickname is very apt. Thank you for all you’ve done. I’m a fan for life.”

  Chesterfield hung up. For a moment, he stood stock-still. Then he pumped his fist. He’d beaten the system and gotten filthy rich in the process. Life was good, he thought. No, it was great!

  * * *

  Regina Barrister ended the call and looked out her office window at the river and beyond to the sun reflecting off the pristine white snow that covered Mount Hood. The sight should have thrilled her. Instead, she felt as if she had to take a bath. She had a strong suspicion that Robert Chesterfield was guilty of the crimes charged in Peter Ragland’s indictments, and the possibility loomed large that Chesterfield murdered his wife.

  The only positive she could take away was the fact that Robert Chesterfield was no longer part of her life.

  PART THREE

  VANISHING ACT

  2017

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  By the time Regina finished telling Robin what she remembered about Robert Chesterfield and his case, the sun had almost set. Robin was so absorbed by Regina’s tale that she didn’t feel the chilly breeze drifting inland off the river.

  “Do you think Robert Chesterfield killed his wife?” Robin asked Regina.

  “The weather was terrible on the day Lily Dowd died. She could have slipped or the wind could have knocked her off the cliff. I was almost knocked off my feet several times when we walked to the place where her body was found.”

  “So, you’re saying that Robert didn’t have anything to do with her death?”

  “I’m saying that the police never found any evidence that Lily Dowd was murdered. If she was, there wasn’t a shred of evidence implicating Chesterfield. No jury would ever have found him guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Dowd’s children sued Chesterfield for wrongful death in a civil case with a much lower standard of proof, and that case was dismissed for lack of evidence.”

  “What about the poisoning cases?”

  “Chesterfield always denied the charges, and the police never produced any evidence connecting him to the chocolates that killed Randall. It wasn’t even clear that Arthur Gentry was poisoned. If I were on a jury, I would have had a reasonable doubt.”

  “I’m not asking how you would have voted if you were on a jury,” Robin said. “I asked you if you thought Robert Chesterfield murdered Sophie Randall or Arthur Gentry.”

  “What does it matter what I think? I wasn’t present when the killer doctored the chocolates. I didn’t see who did that. Any opinion I have is a guess. I will tell you that Chesterfield insisted he was innocent. I will also tell you that I did not like the man, and I was glad when my representation ended.”

  * * *

  The next morning at work, Robin searched the internet to learn as much as she could about Robert Chesterfield. One piece of information made Robin very sad. After Chesterfiel
d’s criminal case was dismissed, Gary Randall also sued Chesterfield for committing the civil tort of wrongful death. Randall’s case was as hopeless as the Dowd children’s suit, but he was obsessed. His lawsuit was thrown out, but he appealed—and the attorney fees drove him into bankruptcy. He committed suicide soon after.

  Chesterfield’s legal troubles didn’t end with the dismissal of the wrongful death cases. The Dowd children sued to break the will. The litigation was lengthy and costly, and Chesterfield settled out of court. He ended up with the house on the coast, the Portland condo, and several million dollars, but his lifestyle was expensive and his notoriety made it impossible for him to make a living playing cards.

  Fortunately for Chesterfield, the murder charges made him famous. Caesars Palace, one of the big casinos on the Strip, featured his magic show, and people flocked to Las Vegas to see it. Was Lord Chesterfield a cold-blooded murderer or a victim? Audiences filled the casino theater and drew their own conclusions.

  At the height of his fame, Chesterfield had married Claire Madison, a trust fund baby who became famous on a reality television show. She was several years younger than Chesterfield. The marriage had gone through ups and downs, and according to the tabloids, the tension increased when Chesterfield’s career took a sharp downturn. Chesterfield still had an act, but he performed at lesser-known casinos.

  Robin had just learned that the Sophie Randall and Arthur Gentry murders had become cold cases when Jeff Hodges knocked on her office door. Robin looked up from her computer and smiled.

  “Hey, kid, have you got a moment?” Jeff Hodges asked.

  “For you, always.”

  Jeff returned the smile and sat down on one of Robin’s client chairs. “I researched the question you asked me about getting a patent for a magic illusion.”

  “And?”

  “You can, but there’s a problem. In order to get a patent, you have to explain how your gizmo works. In this case, the gizmo is the illusion, which means that anyone can find out how the trick works by reading the patent application. I assume your client wants to protect the secret of how his trick works. He’ll be defeating that purpose if he files for a patent.”

  “Thanks, Jeff.”

  “On a more important note,” Jeff said as he stood to leave. “There’s a new restaurant on Alberta. It’s Cajun. Are you interested?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “I’ll make a reservation for six, okay?”

  “You bet.”

  “See you later.”

  Robin called Chesterfield and told him what Jeff had discovered.

  “Thank you for your prompt response,” Chesterfield said when Robin finished explaining the problem, “but I’d decided to forgo my patent already. I apologize for not calling sooner.”

  “That’s okay. Since we can’t help you, I’ll send you a refund minus our fee for the time we put in.”

  “No, no. Please keep the retainer in your trust account in case I need you for another matter.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Nothing right now, but I may have a legal problem that’s up your alley in the near future.”

  Robin decided not to press Chesterfield and they ended the call. She was curious about his unnamed problem, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it would involve criminal law.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The trip from Portland to the coast had taken Robin and Jeff through a riot of green. An occasional gap in the foliage revealed white water coursing down rivers that ran alongside the road. Once they turned south on the coast highway, they had glimpses of the Pacific, calm and sun-drenched on this balmy late afternoon in July.

  “The turnoff should be on the right in a quarter of a mile,” Robin said after consulting the GPS on her phone. Robin had typed the address listed on the beautifully engraved invitation she had received two weeks ago into the navigation app. The invitation was enclosed in a cream-colored envelope. Robin’s name and address had been written in graceful calligraphy. The invitation asked her to attend the premiere of the Chamber of Death at Chesterfield’s seaside mansion.

  Jeff slowed his pickup and started looking for the entrance to Chesterfield’s estate.

  “There!” Robin said, pointing to a gap in the roadside foliage. Jeff turned in and drove down an unpaved road until an iron gate forced him to stop. Jeff spoke into an intercom. Moments later, the gate swung open.

  “These are some digs,” Jeff said when the mansion came into view.

  Robin agreed, but she noticed that the landscaping had not been kept up, and the sprawling house looked weather-beaten. A building that was at the mercy of brutal winter storms and the constant attack of wind and salt spray would get beaten up, but she assumed that someone with the money to live here would have the damage repaired.

  A valet took Jeff’s keys, and the couple walked to the front door. Robin and Jeff had been spending their weekends hiking and camping, and Robin wore a black designer dress with spaghetti straps that showed off the muscles on her tanned shoulders, arms, and legs. Jeff was wearing a tie Robin had picked out for him with a dark suit.

  The front door was opened by an attractive brunette before Robin could ring the bell. “Welcome to the premiere of the Chamber of Death, Miss Lockwood and Mr. Hodges. I’m Miriam Ross, Mr. Chesterfield’s personal assistant.”

  Ross gestured down a set of stairs toward a sunken living room, where several elegantly dressed men and women were congregating. A bar had been set up near a stone fireplace, and waiters holding trays of finger food and champagne were circulating.

  “Please join Lord Chesterfield’s other guests. The show should start soon.”

  When Jeff and Robin reached the bottom of the stairs, a waiter approached with flutes of champagne. They each took a glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave the guests a view of the sun high in the sky above the rim of the ocean. Robin wandered over and looked out at the cliff behind the house. Toward the south end of the mansion, stairs led down to the beach, where a speedboat bobbed at anchor at the end of a dock.

  Jeff took a sip of champagne while he scanned the room. “Do you know any of these people?” he asked.

  Robin turned around and surveyed the crowd. “I don’t know any of them, but I recognize a few.”

  Robin pointed her glass toward a woman she knew to be in her late forties but who looked much younger, thanks to the wonders performed by Beverly Hills plastic surgeons.

  “That’s Claire Madison, Chesterfield’s wife. Her folks made a fortune in the diamond trade, and she inherited a tidy sum when they passed. Madison had a brief career on a reality TV show and as an actress in B movies. She’s one of those people who are famous for being famous. She met Chesterfield in Las Vegas. The tabloids say that she married him for the publicity and that they have an open marriage. Most of the time, she lives in LA.”

  Claire was talking to a slim, tanned man dressed in a custom-made gray suit, blue silk shirt, and red and yellow striped Hermès tie and a balding man with a sallow complexion.

  Claire saw Robin looking at her. Her brow furrowed for a moment. Then she smiled and headed toward Robin with the two men in tow. “You’re Robin Lockwood.”

  “I am,” Robin said, surprised that Claire Madison knew her.

  Claire laughed when she saw the puzzled look on Robin’s face. “I bet you’re wondering how I recognized you. I’m a big UFC fan, and you received a lot of publicity because you were fighting while you were in law school.”

  “That was always a little embarrassing.”

  “I bet it made it hard to get dates.” Claire gave Jeff the once-over. “But I see you’re doing okay in that department now.”

  “I am,” she said proudly. “This is Jeff Hodges. He doubles as my boyfriend and ace investigator.”

  “Pleased to meet you. This is Lou Holt,” Claire said, introducing the younger man. “He owns the casino where Bobby will be performing his magic act. And this is Horace Dobson, Bobby’s agent.”

&n
bsp; Robin and Jeff nodded at the men.

  “I was at your fight with Kerrigan,” Claire said.

  “Ouch,” Robin responded at the mention of the fight that had ended her career.

  Claire smiled again. “I also saw you KO Holly Reagan.”

  “I liked that result way better than the one from the Kerrigan fight.”

  “I saw the Kerrigan fight too,” Holt said. “I thought she got you with a lucky punch.”

  Now Robin smiled. “I’d like to believe that. The truth is, I was not in her class and never would have been. That fight was a wake-up call. Fortunately, I had law school to fall back on. Thanks for the invitation, by the way. I’m a huge fan of magic, and I can’t wait to see Mr. Chesterfield’s latest illusion.”

  “I didn’t make up the guest list. Bobby did. I’m curious. How do you know Bobby?”

  “He hired my firm to research a legal problem. It turned out that we couldn’t help him.”

  Just as Claire started to say something, the front door flew open and a short, chubby man with gray hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache stormed in. Unlike the other guests, he was dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, and a tan, zip-up jacket. The intruder paused in the doorway and scanned the room. When he spotted Claire Madison, he charged toward her. Miriam Ross tried to stop him, but he brushed her aside.

  “Where is he, Claire?” the man demanded.

  “He’s getting ready for the show.”

  “Where? I need to see him.”

  “You can see him after the show.”

  “When I get through with him, there’s not going to be a show.”

  “Calm down, Joe,” Dobson said.

  “I’ll be calm when I get my money. Now, where is he?”

  “I’m not going to let you see him in the state you’re in,” Claire said.

  “Hey, Joe, what’s the problem?” Dobson asked.