“I ain’t got nothing but time. Say hi to Jimmy for me when you see him, will you?”
Jeff led Robin to their car.
“What do you think really happened?” Jeff asked when they drove away.
“I think Jimmy shot Mr. Rankin, but Rankin doesn’t want to press charges.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because he’s helping a friend who was lied to by Peter Knox, or maybe he’s afraid Jimmy’s friends will come after him if he testifies.” Robin shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter, if we can get the DA to dismiss.”
“And the gun and the bullets?”
“My guess is that Rankin got rid of them.”
“What about O’Leary’s crazy story about the bullets bouncing off Rankin?”
“It’s not so crazy. I talked to Paul Baylor at Oregon Forensics. Those bullets had been sitting around for a long time in an old shed. Jimmy told me that the cardboard box that held the bullets was waterlogged. When you fire a gun, the hammer hits the back of the bullet cartridge and ignites the primer, which ignites the powder charge. If the charge was wet, it could deteriorate and you could get a dud that would travel only a few feet with very little power.”
“So maybe Jimmy isn’t crazy.”
“Crazy or not, it looks like he’s going to walk.”
* * *
Robin went back to her office and called the deputy DA who had the O’Leary case. He wasn’t in, so she left a message asking him to call her. As soon as she completed the call, she started checking her emails. Halfway through, the receptionist told her that she had a call.
“Miss Lockwood?” a voice from the past asked.
“Chesterfield?!”
“It is I.”
“Why are you calling?”
“Do you still have my retainer?”
“It’s in my trust account.”
“How much is left?”
“Most of it. I didn’t do much work on your case.”
“Excellent. I was wondering if you might bring the balance to me in cash.”
“I’ll have my secretary go to the bank tomorrow. Come by after noon, and it will be at the front desk.”
“Actually, I was hoping that you could meet me this afternoon.”
“I have a lot of work to do. It would be easier if you came here.”
“I agree, but I’m being followed, and I’m concerned that these individuals might stake out your office.”
“What kind of trouble are you in, Robert?”
“It’s nothing you need worry about.”
“You just told me that people are watching my office. If these people warrant concern, then I am going to worry. What is going on?”
“I’ll explain when you bring the money.”
Robin debated refusing to bring Chesterfield the cash, but her curiosity overrode her common sense. “Where do you want to meet?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Robin left the bank and walked across the Burnside Bridge to the east side of the Willamette River. The sky was threatening another deluge, and the streets were deserted. Chesterfield had spooked Robin with his talk of stakeouts and stalkers, so she was hypervigilant as she headed to the Stumptown Tavern.
Robin thought she saw the same person following her on two occasions, but she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a trick played by her imagination. She doubled back twice, cut through an alley, and didn’t see anyone who looked suspicious by the time she reached her destination.
Robin searched the tavern’s dark interior. A couple in their forties occupied a booth near the front, and three men who looked like laborers occupied another booth. The rest of the booths were vacant. An overweight woman in jeans and a sweatshirt and a man who was too tall to be Chesterfield were seated at the bar. Robin took a seat in an empty booth in the back, and that gave her a view of the front door. She had been sitting in the booth for ten minutes when a man in a baseball cap and a soiled raincoat materialized across from her.
“Sorry if I startled you, but I had to make sure you weren’t followed,” Chesterfield said as he slid onto the bench across from Robin and took off the cap.
Robin was shocked by his appearance. The man sitting opposite her bore only a passing resemblance to the debonair gentleman who had hired her to look into patenting his great illusion. That Robert Chesterfield had radiated health and self-confidence and had dressed in the latest fashions. This Chesterfield seemed like a shrunken version of his former self. He wore old jeans and a threadbare, cable-knit sweater underneath the raincoat. His hair had thinned, there were circles under his eyes, and he’d lost weight. The only thing sophisticated about this new version was his upper-class British accent, which Robin knew was a fake.
“I saw your ad,” Robin said. “The Great Chesterfield will rise from the dead?”
“It is a tad melodramatic, but I leave the marketing and PR to Horace.”
“Why are you resurrecting yourself?”
“Money problems. Speaking of which, did you bring the cash?”
“Yes, but I want to know who’s watching my office before I give it to you, and whether I’m in any danger.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’m the one they want.”
“Who is ‘they’? Is it Auggie Montenegro’s guys?”
“Do you have my money?” Chesterfield asked again, sidestepping the question.
Robin stared at the magician for a moment. Then she handed a thick envelope across the table. “Where have you been hiding?” Robin asked while Chesterfield counted the bills.
“Here and there,” Chesterfield answered. “You’re better off not knowing.” Chesterfield finished counting the cash, but he didn’t put it back in the envelope. “I need help with a legal matter. Are you still willing to represent me?”
“I’m not sure after the stunt you pulled.”
“I don’t blame you. Let me tell you what I’d like you to do for me. If you don’t want to do it, there will be no hard feelings.”
“Go ahead.”
“I was down on my luck when I came up with the idea for the Chamber of Death. I was certain that I could get a show if it was as spectacular as I thought it would be, but illusions are expensive to produce, so I needed backers. You remember Joe Samuels?”
“He showed up at your mansion and caused a scene.”
“He had every right to. Joe and some other people put up money for the illusion. As I said, I was down on my luck, so I borrowed some of the money my backers had put up and used it for, uhm, living expenses.”
“Is that another term for gambling debts?”
Chesterfield flashed a sheepish grin.
Robin wasn’t amused. “I believe that the legal term for what you did is ‘embezzling,’” she said.
“You’re right. I won’t deny that what I did could be seen as embezzling, but I was certain I could pay back Joe and the others when the show began. I didn’t think anyone would notice until I started getting paid by the Babylon Casino.”
“Only Mr. Samuels did notice.”
“And he was going to go to the police. Horace told me that Joe did file a complaint after I disappeared. I’d like you to negotiate with him. Get him to agree to drop his criminal complaint so I can put on my act without worrying about getting arrested. Then I can pay him back from the proceeds of my new show.”