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 made a 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.”
“What’s so special about this case?”
“The defendant is Robert Chesterfield. He was charged with murder in 1998. The case was solid, but Regina Barrister was his lawyer and she got the key evidence thrown out on a technicality.”
Cole’s brow furrowed. “Is he the magician?”
“Yeah. He pulled a disappearing act a few years ago, when we were ready to go after him on this theft thing.”
“I read a story about him in the paper.”
“Right. Anyway, he’s got a show at the Imperial, and we can arrest him there.”
Vanessa didn’t want to waste any more time on a theft case. “Okay. You’ve got the case,” she said, impatient to get back to the budget.
Peter left before his boss could ask any more questions about Chesterfield. From her reaction, he figured that Cole probably didn’t know much about what had happened in the Randall, Gentry, and Moser cases. But he remembered everything about the cases that had led to his disgrace, and he was eager for a second chance to put Robert Chesterfield behind bars.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I have good news, Jimmy,” Robin told her client when they were sitting across from each other in a contact visiting room at the jail. “The DA is dropping the charges. You’ll be free by the end of the day.”
“How can they do that when I confessed?”
“Under Oregon law, a person can’t be convicted based only on a confession unless there is evidence to support the story the person tells the police. That’s the law because some people confess to crimes they didn’t commit.”
“But I did try to kill Tim.”
“That’s not what he says. Tim told the police that you made up the story about shooting him. And the police don’t have a gun or those bullets you say bounced off his chest.”
Jimmy thought for a moment. Then he smiled. “This is all God’s doing. God saved Tim by making those bullets bounce off his chest, and now God has saved me by making the gun and the bullets disappear.”
Robin didn’t want to disillusion her client, so she didn’t tell him what she’d learned about the gunpowder. “I’ve done some digging, Jimmy. Peter Knox thought Timothy Rankin ratted him out to the police, but he didn’t. I know some people in Narcotics. They wouldn’t tell me who informed on Knox, but they assured me it wasn’t Timothy. I also found out that Loretta moved out of state two years ago, so Timothy couldn’t have been having an affair with her. Knox made that up, hoping you would go after Timothy. So, I have to ask you, are you going to try to hurt Rankin when you’re released?”
“I’m never gonna hurt nobody again. God gave me a chance to be redeemed, and I’m gonna prove he wasn’t wrong to do it.”
“That’s good to hear. You’re going to be released in the next half hour. Do you have someone who can drive you home?”
“My brother, but he’s working a late shift.”
“When does he get off?”
“Around midnight.”
Robin hesitated. She usually kept her relations with clients to legal assistance, but she liked Jimmy. “Where do you live?”
Jimmy told her. The address was a twenty-minute ride away, and she’d brought her car to work because she’d had an appearance in Salem that morning.
“I can give you a ride home. I’ll wait across the street in the park for you.”
Robin rode down in the jail elevator and walked to the park that was across from the Justice Center. She found an empty bench, opened her attaché case, and took out a respondent’s brief that the attorney general had filed in one of her appeals. She’d been reading it for twenty-five minutes when a shadow obscured the page.
Robin looked up. Looming over her were the men who had attacked Robert Chesterfield behind the tavern. Robin’s primitive brain sent her body into fight-or-flight mode. When she started to stand, Marco pressed his meaty fingers into her shoulder and forced her back onto the bench. Rafael sat beside her and winced. Robin guessed that he was still hurting from his stab wound.
“Can I help you?” Robin asked, trying to stay calm.
“You can help yourself by telling me where I can find Bobby Chesterfield,” Rafael said.
Robin was certain that the two men wouldn’t expect a woman to know how to fight, and that was her advantage. She visualized smashing her fist into Rafael’s groin before springing up and spearing Marco in the throat. An elbow strike to Rafael’s temple and a punch or kick to Marco’s crotch would disable the pair long enough for her to run back to the Justice Center and its police presence.
While that course of action would help her in the park, she realized that more problems would come later when the men came after her to avenge their beating. Robin decided that violence would be plan B, and she opted to use her brain to defuse the situation.