Robin was putting the statements in alphabetical order when she found Samuel Moser’s statement. Robin remembered that shehad not been able to place the name when she encountered it the first time she and Jeff had gone through the reports. Now she remembered why it had sounded familiar, and she wondered why Samuel Moser would pay money to see the person who had been accused of trying to murder him.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The next morning, Robin started on the pretrial motions in David Turner’s case. There weren’t many issues she could raise. She had a theory for suppressing the statements Turner had made at the Imperial, but she didn’t think she would win. She also wanted to get the judge to rule that Ragland couldn’t tell the jury about his accomplice theory unless he had evidence pointing to a specific person.
Robin finished her work on the motions at ten thirty. It was too early for lunch, so she went into the conference room and began going through the old files in the Gentry–Randall cases. An hour later, Robin got to the file containing the report of Sophie Randall’s autopsy. A photograph from Randall’s autopsy was in the file. It made Robin sad to see someone so pretty and, from what Regina had told her, so happy on a coroner’s slab.
Robin started to read the autopsy report when she frowned. Randall looked familiar, but Robin had never met her. She stared at the photograph. An odd thought struck her. She shook her head, as if to dislodge it, but the idea hung on with enough tenacity toforce her to return to her office and run a web search for articles about Randall’s murder.The Oregonianhad covered the poisoning on its front page, complete with a color photograph of Sophie Randall in happier times, standing with her husband, Gary, and their daughter, Jane.
Robin swore. Now she knew why Samuel Moser had paid money to see a show put on by a man who had tried to kill him.
Samuel Moser was still the manager of the Westmont Country Club, and that’s where Robin headed. Robin had never been to a country club before attending Yale for law school. There had been one in her hometown, but no one in her family’s income bracket entered the grounds unless they were a gardener, a cook, or a member of the waitstaff. Robin had finished high enough in her law school class to be invited to an award dinner at a country club near the school. As self-confident as she was, she had felt a bit intimidated by the luxurious surroundings, which most of her fellow students took for granted.
The trees that lined the road to the Westmont had lost most of their leaves, and the fairways of the golf course were rain soaked, but Robin still thought that the grounds were impressive. The country club’s brick façade appeared out of the mist when she rounded a curve. Robin found a parking spot in the visitors’ lot and ran for the shelter of the portico.
The light from a grand chandelier turned the lobby into a warm and welcoming place. A young woman sat behind the desk where members checked in and visitors were screened. Robin told her that she’d like to see Samuel Moser. After a brief moment on the in-house phone, the receptionist pointed Robin toward the wood-paneled hallway that led to Moser’s office.
Samuel Moser had not changed much in twenty-some years. He was completely bald now and thinner because of the diet thathad saved his life, but he still wore dull gray suits and uninspiring ties and looked as bland as he had on the day that Sophie Randall was murdered.
“Thanks for seeing me,” Robin said.
“Have a seat and tell me how I can help you,” Moser answered.
When Robin sat down and said, “I’m an attorney and I represent David Turner,” Moser tensed. “Mr. Turner is accused of murdering Robert Chesterfield, and you were in the audience when Mr. Chesterfield was murdered.”
“I was, but I told the police that I didn’t see anything that would help figure out who killed him or how he was killed.”
“I know. I read the police report of your interview. What puzzles me is why you were at Chesterfield’s performance. Weren’t you convinced that Robert Chesterfield tried to murder you over twenty years ago?”
“I’m still convinced that he sent me the poisoned chocolates.”
“Then why did you go to Chesterfield’s show?”
Moser blinked. “I can see why that might surprise you.”
Several years as a criminal defense attorney had made Robin an expert at reading body language. The question had surprised Moser, and it was obvious that he was stalling for time so he could figure out how to answer it.
“Why did you go?” Robin pressed.
Moser flashed a nervous smile. “Curiosity, I guess.”
Moser was hiding something. Robin was certain she knew what it was, but she didn’t know how to pry it out of him, so she changed the subject. “Have you read about the attempt on Regina Barrister’s life?”
“I heard about it, but I don’t know the details.”
“Someone sent Regina a box of cyanide-laced chocolates.”
Moser paled. “Oh my,” he said. “And you think there’s a connection between the attempt on her life and what happened at the club in the nineties?”
“I think it’s a possibility. Regina represented Chesterfield, and her legal work led to the dismissal of his murder charges. Henry Beathard was the judge in the case. His ruling made it impossible for the district attorney to continue the prosecution. Judge Beathard was murdered recently.”
“Beathard too?”
Robin could see that the news had upset Moser. “Over the past few months, Judge Beathard was murdered, Chesterfield was murdered, someone tried to kill Regina, and I just found out that Morris Quinlan, the lead detective on Chesterfield’s case, was murdered.”
Moser looked sick. “Couldn’t it just be a coincidence?”
“Yes, but it could also be the acts of a person who wants revenge for what happened here a long time ago. Can you think of anyone connected to Sophie Randall’s or Arthur Gentry’s murder or the attempt on your life who might want revenge?”