Detectives Dillon and Anders were a study in contrasts. Roger was in his fifties, and he dressed in fashionable suits and wore expensive, conservative ties. He was average height and slender, and his salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses made him look like an academic.
Anders was thirty-four, over six feet tall, and weighed a hulking 220 pounds. She dressed for comfort in pant suits that were often wrinkled and man-tailored shirts. People frequently underestimated her intelligence because of her bulk, her placid expression, and the slow way she spoke, but she had been a math major in college and was whip smart.
Anders walked to Dillon’s car as soon as he opened his door. Heavy drops pounded down from roiling black clouds, and Dillon pulled up the hood attached to his windbreaker when he got out.
“Congratulations,” Anders said to her partner. “I hear Tara was accepted at Berkeley.”
Dillon beamed. “She’s also been accepted at a few other schools. Serena and Tara are going to visit her top choices next week.”
The two detectives talked about the colleges Dillon’s daughter had gotten into as they walked toward an area of the parking lot that had been cordoned off by yellow crime-scene tape.
Sally Grace, the medical examiner, walked over to greet the detectives.
“What have we got?” Dillon asked.
“A white male, late sixties, early seventies,” Dr. Grace said. “There was a bag of groceries next to the body. The keys in his pocket opened the car he was lying behind. It looks like he was going to put the groceries in the trunk when the killer came up behind and shot him.”
“Any ID?”
Grace shook her head. “No wallet, so I’m guessing he’s the victim of a robbery. But you’re the detectives.”
Dillon and Anders followed Grace to the body, which was surrounded by techs from the crime lab. A tent had been erected over the corpse to shield the area around the body from the rain, but Dillon figured that any evidence that might help find the perpetrator had been washed away by the heavy downpour.
He started to say something, then stopped in midsentence and squatted next to the corpse. “This is Henry Beathard. He was a Multnomah County Circuit Court judge until he retired a few years ago.”
Anders stared at the dead man’s face. Then she shook her head sadly. “You’re right. I testified in his court a few times. He was a good guy and a fair judge. What a shame.”
Dillon stood up. “Are there any witnesses?”
“A shopper walked past the body on the way to her car andcalled 911. The first responder took her statement. She didn’t hear the shots. There weren’t many cars here this late, so she probably would have seen a car leaving, but she says she didn’t see anyone walking or driving away.”
Dillon used his phone to take a picture of Beathard’s face. “I’m going inside to talk to the people in the store,” Dillon said. “Maybe someone noticed a person watching the judge or acting oddly.”
“See if they have security cameras trained on this spot.”
“Will do.”
“Let us know what the autopsy turns up,” Anders said to Dr. Grace.
The detectives headed for the store. Dillon had heard the judge was married and had grandkids. He sighed. You work hard, keep your nose clean, look forward to retirement, and life happens. It wasn’t fair, but Dillon knew that life’s not being fair was the rule and not the exception.
Regina Barrister and Stanley Cloud were cuddling on the sofa, holding hands when the evening news came on. Regina had made a habit of watching the evening news years ago when she started practicing law, because people featured at eleven o’clock at night often phoned her first thing in the morning. She’d kept the routine even when events that should have been familiar became less so.
“A fatal shooting in the parking lot of a Portland supermarket has brought a tragic end to the life of Henry Beathard, a retired and respected Multnomah County judge,” the newscaster said as the screen showed yellow crime-scene tape brightening a dark, waterlogged parking lot.
“Ah no,” Stanley moaned.
Regina’s brow furrowed. “Did you know him?”
“Yes, and you did, too, Reggie. You had several cases in Henry’s court.” Stanley sighed. “He was a really good guy. We had dinnerwith him and Marie a few times too. You liked Henry. You thought he was a very good judge.”
Regina paused as a thought tickled the edge of her memory. “Did I have any big cases in his court?”
“You might be thinking about a man you defended a long time ago, Robert Chesterfield. He’s a magician.”
“Why does he sound so familiar?”
“Robin, your partner, represented him a couple of years ago. She came here to talk to you about him. Then he disappeared. His name was in the paper today. He’s back in town, and he’s going to perform a show at the Imperial. That’s what you’re probably thinking about.”