“Chesterfield sounds like he’s in hiding,” Robin said. “He wouldn’t tell me where he’s staying. I have to go through his agent to get in touch with him.”
“Do you think you’re in danger?” Jeff asked.
“It’s possible. Like I said, Chesterfield was worried that my office was being watched. If it was, those guys may have recognized me in the alley.”
“If you thought you might be followed, why didn’t you ask me to go with you?”
“I wasn’t that worried when I left to meet him. And I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” Jeff said, “but it never hurts to have backup. I think you should go armed until we’re sure you’re safe.”
Robin had a permit to carry a handgun she purchased after her life had been put in danger a few years ago.
“The men who went after Chesterfield will assume you know where they can find him,” Jeff continued. “They may try to force the information out of you. I’ll try to watch your back, but don’t take any chances.”
Robin reached across the desk and touched Jeff’s hand. “Thanks for caring, but I think I’ll be okay.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“There’s a Joe Samuels on one,” Robin’s receptionist said.
Finally, Robin thought. She had been leaving messages for him for a week, and she had almost given up hope that he would return her calls.
“Thanks for getting back to me, Mr. Samuels. I want to talk to you about your disagreement with Robert Chesterfield.”
“It’s not a disagreement. The son of a bitch stole from me.”
“Mr. Chesterfield has a contract to perform a magic show at a theater in Portland. He knows that he owes you money and he wanted me to—”
“No deals,” Samuels cut in. “I want that con artist in jail, where he belongs. You tell Lord Chesterfield that I’m not dropping the criminal complaint. I’ll get my money back when the court orders him to pay me restitution.”
“Which he won’t be able to do if he’s locked up.”
“You don’t get it. I don’t care about the money anymore. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. What I want is revenge. The old-fashioned, biblical eye for an eye. I want the world’sgreatest escape artist trying to escape from a prison cell. Have I made myself clear?”
“Definitely, and I understand why you’re upset. I wasn’t too happy with my client when he pulled that disappearing act, either. All I ask is that you count to ten, take a few deep breaths, and try to put what Robert did to you in perspective. I can see that this is a matter of principle, but—if I’ve got this right—the amount he took from you was around ten thousand dollars. That’s not chicken feed, but I don’t see an Oregon court sending Mr. Chesterfield to jail for this type of nonviolent first offense.”
“Que será, será, Miss Lockwood. Seeing that son of a bitch sweat will bring me great pleasure.”
Samuels hung up and Robin sighed. She wished that she’d been able to solve Chesterfield’s problem with Samuels, but she could appreciate the investor’s position.
Deputy District Attorney Lorna Waxman learned about her promotion to the Homicide team when she went to work. Waxman’s desk was next to Peter Ragland’s, so he knew about some of the felony cases she was handling. Peter had a stack of open files and was reluctant to add more cases to his load, but Lorna had told him about a case involving Robert Chesterfield. The anger that surfaced when Ragland thought about the magician had never diminished, and he saw Samuels’s criminal complaint against his nemesis as a chance to exact a small measure of revenge.
After the Sophie Randall–Arthur Gentry fiasco, not even his father’s reputation could save Peter Ragland from being demoted from the team that handled death penalty cases. Then Jasper Ragland died and many of the politicians who owed him favors retired or followed Jasper to the great law firm in the sky, leaving Peter to fend for himself.
Over the twenty-some years since Regina Barrister had madea fool of him, Ragland’s hairline had receded, he’d put on sloppy weight, he’d lost his self-confidence and become a ghost in the district attorney’s office, drifting through it followed by the foul odor of failure. Some people wondered why Peter didn’t leave, but he knew that no decent firm would hire him after his father died, and he had no faith in his ability to make a living if he hung out a shingle.
Vanessa Cole, the Multnomah County district attorney, was a slender, fifty-three-year-old black woman with sharp features and fierce brown eyes. She’d grown up in a wealthy area of Portland’s West Hills and had gone to Stanford for college and law school. Cole was known for her smarts and high ethical standards, and she’d been a shooting star from the moment she joined the Multnomah County District Attorney’s Office, moving quickly from trying misdemeanors to trying felonies to handling murder cases, then death penalty murder cases. When her predecessor retired for health reasons, Cole had been appointed to the post, and she won the position in the next election when she ran unopposed.
Vanessa was reviewing the office budget when her secretary buzzed to tell her that Peter Ragland wanted to talk to her. Over the years, Vanessa had had very little contact with Ragland. He had a reputation as someone competent to handle run-of-the-mill cases, and there were rumors about some problem with an old case that had kept him from being promoted during her predecessor’s reign. Vanessa had gone from law school to a judicial clerkship to a stint in a law firm before joining the Multnomah District Attorney’s office, so she had not been a DA when Ragland had tried the case that kept him from promotion.
“What’s up, Peter?” Vanessa asked when Ragland was seated across from her.
“I just had a chat with a man named Joseph Samuels. He filed a criminal complaint alleging theft, and I’d like the case.”
Cole frowned. “Does someone else have the case now?”
“It was originally assigned to Lorna Waxman, but she was just promoted to Homicide.”