“Fair enough. You gave it the old college try. Now, put your pecker back in your pants and let’s talk about the law.”
* * *
When Regina and Lily walked into the jail reception area, Regina noticed a man sitting off to the side. He was well dressed and well groomed, unlike the other people waiting for an inmate to be released. Regina thought that she might have seen him in the courtroom during the hearing, but she couldn’t be sure. She was trying to remember when Robert Chesterfield stepped out of the jail elevator, looking dapper in his suit and showing no sign that his incarceration or the charges against him had made any psychological impact. When Lily and Regina stood up to walk to Chesterfield, so did the well-dressed man.
“Robert!” he shouted.
Chesterfield turned and stared. “Horace! What are you doing here?”
“I flew over from London yesterday. We need to talk.”
“Ladies,” Chesterfield said, “this is Horace Dobson, my theatrical agent. He represented me when I performed my magic act in London.”
“And I’m here with great news. Your case has gotten a lot of publicity, and you can use it to your advantage. I’ve been on the phone to casinos in Las Vegas. They’re interested in having you perform. Your career could get a big boost.”
“I don’t have a career, my dear boy. I left it behind when I married Lily,” he said, casting a radiant smile in his wife’s direction.
Regina stifled an urge to throw up.
“You’re hot now, Robert, and you need to take advantage of the moment,” Dobson insisted.
“I appreciate your coming all this way, so the least I can do is hear you out. But Lily and I have been separated while I’ve been in jail, and I want to spend time with her. Give me your hotel room number and I’ll call you there tomorrow.” Chesterfield put his arm around Lily’s shoulders. “Tonight, I want to be alone with my wife.”
Regina remembered the pass Chesterfield had made only a few hours earlier. She had an urge to tell Lily Dowd about it, but she kept her mouth shut.
“I’ve got to get back to my office, Robert,” Regina said. “Call me tomorrow, so we can plan a time to discuss the next steps in your case.”
“Will do. And thanks again. You’re a marvel.”
Regina headed back to her office. She was thoroughly disgusted with Chesterfield, but she didn’t have to like someone to represent them.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Two weeks after the hearing in front of Judge Beathard, Peter Ragland dismissed the indictments in the Randall, Gentry, and Moser cases. He had not called Regina to let her know what he was going to do, but Regina knew Ragland’s ego wouldn’t let him admit to her that he had screwed up.
Regina told her client the good news and assumed that she was done with Chesterfield, but two months later, Regina returned from court to find a voice mail from Robert Chesterfield asking her to call him as soon as she got in. Chesterfield sounded nervous, and that surprised Regina, because she could not remember one time during her representation of Chesterfield when he had not been perfectly calm.
“Thank you for getting back to me so quickly,” Chesterfield said as soon as Regina identified herself.
“What’s happened? You sound upset.”
“I am upset. Can you come to our house on the coast?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“I’m prepping for a trial that’s starting next week. What’s so urgent?”
“Lily went out for a walk this morning. She does that most days, but the weather was bad and I was concerned. I asked her to stay in, but she insisted on going. She’s usually gone for an hour, but I expected her to return earlier because of the storm. When she wasn’t home two hours later, I went looking for her. When I couldn’t find her, I called the police. A search party just found her body half a mile away, on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff that runs behind our house.”
* * *
The weather was raw. Regina assumed that she would have to trek along a cliff exposed to the elements in frigid, stormy conditions, so she changed into jeans, hiking boots, and threw on a ski jacket with a hood before heading to the coast. Gusts of wind shook her car, and a heavy rain battered it during the drive, and she had to stay too focused on the road to think about the possibility that she might be representing Robert Chesterfield in another murder case.
Regina had never been to Lily Dowd’s home, but she had no trouble locating it. Official vehicles and vans sporting the logos of local television stations lined the shoulder of the highway at the turnoff. A sawhorse blocked the driveway. Regina showed her identification to the officer stationed in front of it. As soon as he received confirmation from someone in the house, the officer waved Regina through.
Regina got her first view of Dowd’s home when she rounded a bend in the driveway. She was amazed at its size and impressed by the way it blended into the seaside scenery. Chesterfield walked out to Regina’s car as soon as she parked. He was unshaven, he appeared to have run a comb through his hair without using a mirror, his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked nothing like the debonair fashion plate she was used to seeing.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Chesterfield said as he escorted Regina under the overhang and out of the rain.
“Have the police questioned you?” she asked.
“Once we found Lily, I told them I wouldn’t talk to them until you came.”
“What about before that?”
“Two officers showed up after I called 911. I told them where Lily liked to walk and showed them the path. We went north and south along the cliff. It was raining pretty hard by then and there were very strong gusts of wind, so there wasn’t much conversation.
“The mist and driving rain made it hard to see, so the officers called a halt after half an hour and radioed for more men. I can’t remember what I said while we waited, but I’m sure we didn’t talk much. More men came and I waited inside. When someone spotted Lily on the rocks a little over half a mile from here to the south, the officers asked me to go to the spot to make an identification. I said I thought the dead woman was Lily. After that I said I wouldn’t talk to anyone until you got here.”
As soon as they were inside, a tall man in a black hooded windbreaker walked over to them. He had a full head of wavy salt-and-pepper hair and a bushy mustache.
“Miss Barrister?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Clint Easley, a detective with the county. I’m in charge of this investigation.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise. I’d like to talk to your client, but he insisted that I wait until you arrived.”
“I’m sure you understand why, given his recent experience with the justice system.”
“I do, but you’re here now, and given your reputation, I’m sure you’ll protect him.”
“Has Mrs. Dowd’s body been moved yet?” Regina asked.
“No. It’s at the base of a cliff with no easy access. We’re going to have to wait for the storm to abate before I send anyone down there to recover it.”