The Perfect Alibi

CHAPTER ONE

At five thirty on a rainy Monday morning in October, Robin Lockwood ran the five miles from her apartment to McGill’s gym in Portland’s Pearl District. For decades, the Pearl had been home to dusty, decaying warehouses. Then the developers moved in. Overnight, most of the grimy, run-down buildings were replaced by gleaming high-end condos, trendy restaurants, and chic boutiques. McGill’s was on the ground floor of one of the few old, brick buildings that had escaped gentrification. It was dimly lit and filled with the rank odor you never found in modern, air-conditioned workout emporiums.

Barry McGill, the gym’s owner, was taciturn, monosyllabic, and profane. Rumor had it that he had mob connections, but people with any amount of common sense were too wise to ask him about it. Salt-and-pepper stubble sprouted on McGill’s fleshy jowls and whiskey-reddened cheeks. He’d fought as a middleweight in the 1980s and had the broken nose and scar tissue to prove it, but his days as a 165-pounder were long past, and the weight he carried in his gut, butt, and thighs had elevated him to the heavyweight division.

“Lockwood,” McGill called out when Robin walked in.

“Yeah?”

“See the kid slacking off at the heavy bag?”

A young man in his early twenties was hitting the bag with lackadaisical punches that barely made it move. Robin judged his weight at welter, around 147 pounds, slightly more than her 140, and she couldn’t see an ounce of fat on him.

“That’s Mitch Healy. He just won his first two MMA fights and his head is swelling. Want to take him down a peg?”

Robin was five feet eight inches, with a wiry build, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and short blond hair. She had earned some of her Yale Law School tuition fighting in mixed martial arts matches and had been ranked as high as ninth nationally. Her straight nose was a testament to her defensive skills as a cage fighter.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Robin said, “that ‘kid’ is a man, and you just told me that he’s in training.”

“I never took Rockin’ Robin for a pussy,” McGill said, referring to Robin’s ring nickname and the old rock-and-roll song Robin’s fans would sing when she walked into the octagon.

“Fuck you, Barry,” Robin snapped back.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could give him a hard time.”

Robin gave McGill a hard stare. He raised an eyebrow. Robin sighed.

“Are you gonna cover my dental work?” she asked.

“Fuck no,” McGill answered.

“You always were a cheap bastard.”

McGill grinned.

Robin went to the locker room to change.

“Hey, Mitch!” McGill shouted when Robin returned.

“Yeah?”

“Come over here. I got you someone to spar with.”

Healy looked around as he walked over. “Are they in the locker room?”

“Nah. She’s right in front of you.”

Healy looked at Robin. Then he laughed. “She’s a girl, Barry.”

“That’s one brilliant deduction. You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m not sparring with a girl.”

“You see anyone else around? You been dancing with that bag for the past twenty minutes. Might as well dance with a flesh-and-blood female. Hell, maybe you can give her a few pointers.”

Healy hesitated. Then he gave Robin the once-over and shrugged. “Okay, let’s go.”

Robin had stopped fighting professionally after suffering a brutal knockout on a pay-per-view card in Las Vegas in her first year in law school, but she was still in great shape. Robin could see that Healy had no respect for her, which meant he would underestimate her. When they got on the mat, Robin started moving like a beginner, flicking out slow, sloppy jabs. Healy looked bored and he pawed at her unenthusiastically. Robin moved a little closer. Healy threw another lazy jab. Robin slid past it, spun behind him, threw one arm through his crotch, and encircled his waist with her other arm. Then she grasped the encircling arm with the hand that was between Healy’s legs and lifted him in the air. While Healy thrashed around, Robin aimed his head at the mat and drove him straight down. When he hit the mat, Robin wrapped her legs around him in a figure-four scissors and slapped on a choke hold. Healy struggled for a while, then tapped out.

Robin rolled off Healy and jumped to her feet. Healy sprang up. He looked furious. Robin circled and Healy charged. Robin counted on his anger clouding his judgment. She sidestepped the charge and landed a shot to Healy’s jaw that would have unhinged it if she hadn’t pulled the punch. Healy stumbled and Robin snapped a kick that landed on the side of Healy’s head. She pulled the kick, too, but it still sent Healy sideways.

“Okay, that’s enough!” McGill shouted.

Robin bounced out of range and Healy glared at her.

“I said, that’s enough, Mitch. Now, why don’t you start your workout again. And let’s put some effort in this time.”

McGill rarely complimented anyone, but he nodded at Robin. “Next month is a freebie,” he said as she took off her headgear and walked to the weights.

“Who the fuck was that?” Healy asked.

“A girly girl who just kicked your ass,” McGill answered.

Healy watched Robin for a second before turning back to McGill. “Is she single?”

Robin was still feeling pretty good an hour later, when she walked into the offices of Barrister, Berman & Lockwood. The firm took up one side of the tenth floor of a downtown high-rise, and the waiting room was decorated with glass coffee tables and comfortable sofas and armchairs.

After law school, Robin had gotten a clerkship with Stanley Cloud, the chief justice of the Oregon Supreme Court. When her clerkship ended, her boss had helped Robin get her dream job, a position as an associate with Regina Barrister, the queen of the Oregon criminal defense bar. Shortly after Robin was hired, Regina started showing signs of dementia while she was defending a complex death penalty case. When the case ended, Regina stopped practicing law and turned over her firm to Robin and Mark Berman, her other associate. Justice Cloud was Regina’s lover, and he had retired from the supreme court so they could travel the world while Regina still had the capacity to enjoy the journey.

As soon as Robin walked in, Linda Garrett, the firm’s receptionist, pointed at two women who were seated in the reception area. “They were waiting in the hall when I opened up,” Linda said. “They don’t have an appointment, but they want to see you.”

Robin studied the women. The contrast between them was dramatic. The younger woman looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. She was slender—gaunt, actually—like someone with an eating disorder.

The older woman was so obese that she barely fit in her chair. Fat rolled over the top of her stretch pants, and her doughlike arms and face were rounded and undefined.

The contrast extended to their posture. The younger woman curled up in her chair, and she looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else. The older woman leaned forward aggressively, her anger energizing her to the point where stillness became impossible.

“Hi, I’m Robin Lockwood. I understand you’d like to see me.”

The older woman struggled to her feet. “We most definitely do,” she said.

“Why don’t you come back to my office.”

Robin walked slowly so the heavyset woman could keep up. She led the women down a long hall decorated with prints by Honoré Daumier that depicted lawyers and courts from the 1800s. On the way, they passed the office of Jeff Hodges, the firm’s in-house investigator, and Mark Berman, Robin’s partner.

Mark was thirty-two with long brown hair, brown eyes, and the rock-hard body he had developed while competing on the University of Washington’s nationally ranked crew. Robin’s partner was married, with a four-year-old daughter, and seemed immune to stress. When Regina retired to travel the world, he had graciously given Robin Regina’s corner office, which had a spectacular view of the Willamette River, the foothills of the Cascade Range, and the snowcaps that crowned Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens.

“I’m Maxine Stark, and this is my daughter, Randi,” the older woman said when they were seated with the door closed. “Randi’s been raped, and we want you to help us set things right.”

“When did this rape occur?” Robin asked.

“Three weeks ago. The cops already got the guy.”

“What do you want me to do, Mrs. Stark?”

“We want you to make Blaine Hastings suffer the way he made my Randi suffer. He’s an animal, and animals belong in cages.”

“I can’t help you there, Mrs. Stark. A district attorney will be prosecuting. That’s the person who will try to send Mr. Hastings to prison.”

“But you can take away the money that made him so high and mighty, can’t you? You can sue for every penny he has.”

“I can help you sue,” Robin agreed.

“Good! That’s why we’re here.”

Randi Stark’s shoulders were hunched, and she seemed to be pulling into herself. Robin guessed that her mother’s aggressive behavior was upsetting her.

“I’ll need to talk to your daughter so I can find out the basis for her lawsuit.”

“Go right ahead. She has nothing to hide.”

“I assume you’re aware of the attorney–client privilege that makes anything Randi says to me confidential.”

“I watch a lot of lawyer shows on TV,” Maxine assured her.

“Then you know that Randi will lose the privilege if a third party hears what she says to her lawyer.”

A look of confusion clouded Maxine’s features. “I’m her mother.”

“Unfortunately, there is no mother–daughter privilege. So, I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside while we talk. My secretary can get you coffee or tea while you wait.”

“Randi needs me,” Maxine insisted.

“Of course, you’re her mother. But you don’t want to be the cause of losing her lawsuit, do you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I knew you’d understand. And I’ll call you back in as soon as we’re done.”

Maxine hesitated for a second, then slowly levered herself out of the chair. “I’ll be outside if you need me, honey,” she said before she waddled out of Robin’s office.

Randi relaxed as soon as her mother left the room.

“This has to be a terrible ordeal for you,” Robin said when her office door closed.

“She won’t leave me alone,” Randi answered, not realizing that Robin was talking about the rape. “All she wants is the money.”

“And what do you want?”

For the first time since entering her lawyer’s office, Randi came alive. She sat up and stared into Robin’s eyes. “I want that bastard to pay. Money won’t ever make up for what Blaine did to me. That’s not why I’m here. But the Hastingses think they can get away with anything, and I want them to know that for once, they’re not going to be Kings of the Universe.”

Robin frowned. “Do you have a history with Blaine Hastings and his family?”

“We went to the same high school.”

“Did you date?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? I don’t live in a mansion, and I don’t drive a fancy car or dress like the stuck-up princesses who gave him blow jobs at their sorority parties.”

“You sound like you really hate Hastings. Did something specific happen to you before the rape?”

“There was a guy I was dating in high school, Ryan Tucker,” Randi answered quietly. “Blaine baited him. Then he beat the hell out of him. But he didn’t stop there. He called the cops and got his buddies to swear that Ryan started the fight.

“Mr. Hastings gives money to every politician’s campaign. So, no charges for Mr. Perfect, and juvie for Ryan. I don’t know what happened to him in there, but Ryan wasn’t the same when he got out—and Blaine just kept moving toward silver spoon heaven.”

Randi’s outburst seemed to have exhausted her. Robin made some notes so Randi would have some quiet time to pull herself together.

“Are you still in contact with Ryan, in case we want to interview him?”

Randi choked up. “A month after he got out, he… he killed himself.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” Randi shrugged.

“Do you want some water?” Robin asked.

“No, I’m okay,” Randi said, but she didn’t sound okay.

“What does Blaine Hastings do now?” Robin asked when Randi had regained her composure. “Is he working or in school?”

“Blaine is a big football star at Oregon. I hear he’s probably gonna go pro.”

“What year is he in?”

“Senior.”

“I take it you want me to sue Blaine Hastings for damages and pain and suffering because he raped you?”

“Yes.”

“If Hastings is a student, he won’t have much money. We might sue him, but you might not get anything.”

Randi looked embarrassed. “My mom did some research on the Hastingses. There was a trust fund he’d get when he turned twenty-one, and he just had his birthday.”

Robin studied her client. Randi seemed convincing. She probably did want a measure of justice. But Robin thought that her mother was probably motivated by money.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself.”

Randi shrugged. “Not much to tell. I’m twenty, I graduated high school, and I’m in community college, studying to be a nurse. Still living with my mother.”

“Where’s your home?”

“We used to live in a housing project, but Mom got this insurance settlement and she used some of it to buy a place in Northeast Portland.”

“Is your mom married?”

“Divorced. He walked out on us when I was two, and we haven’t seen him since. Good riddance, like Mom says.”

“So, you two live alone?”

Randi nodded.

“Does your mom work?”

“She used to, but she was in a car crash and she’s been on disability ever since. I work. School’s part-time.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a waitress.”

“Okay. Now, where did the rape occur?”

“At a frat party. Annie Roche, my girlfriend, found out about it. We weren’t doing anything, so we went.”

“Did Annie see what happened?”

“Not all of it, but some.”

“Have the police interviewed Annie?”

Randi nodded.

“Is she going to be a witness for the State?”

Randi nodded again.

“You’re going to be the star witness at Blaine Hastings’s trial, and in your lawsuit, so I have to ask you some personal questions.”

“I told the cops. I got probation for shoplifting once.”

“Is there anything else Hastings’s lawyer can dig up?”

“Not on me.”

“Have you been sexually active?”

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you mean.”

“Exactly,” Robin said as she flashed a kindly smile. “But let me ask you this. Hastings is going to say that you’re making up the rape so you can get his money. Have you ever accused another boy of rape?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened at the frat party.”

“Annie and me went to the PSU–Oregon game. We knew some of the guys on both teams from high school. Annie found out that there was a party that night at one of the PSU frat houses, and we decided to go.

“When we got to the party, Blaine was in a group of people I knew. I started talking to someone. Then, at some point, Blaine started talking to me, and a little later, he asked me to dance.”

“Why did you talk to him if you hated him because of what happened to Ryan?”

Randi flushed. “You’re right. I should have walked away. But I’d been drinking more than I should have, and, well, I’m not proud of what I did, but, like I said, he didn’t pay any attention to me in high school and he’s a big football star, so I was flattered by the attention.”

“Okay. What happened after you started talking?”

“There was this slow dance and he started touching me and I got a little hot. The lights were low and he kissed me just before the dance ended.”

“Did you resist when he kissed you?”

Randi blushed. “No. I kissed him back. And that’s when he whispered in my ear that we should go someplace private.”

“What did you do?”

“He headed for a bedroom in the back of the house and I followed him.”

“So, this was consensual?”

“Right then, yeah.”

“You said that you’d been drinking at the party?”

“I had a few.”

“Were you drunk when you followed Blaine to the bedroom?”

“I was tipsy, but I knew what I was doing.”

“What about drugs?”

“No. The cops asked me the same thing at the hospital. They took some blood. The DA said the tests showed the booze but I was clean, no drugs.”

“You went to the hospital after the incident?”

“Right away.” Randi became animated again. “And they did a rape kit. The stupid fuck didn’t use a condom, so they have some of his DNA—and the DA says it’s what they need to put that prick away.”

“In many of these cases, the man will say he had sex but it was consensual.”

“Well, this wasn’t. My guard was down because of the booze, and I did let Blaine make out. But I told him to stop when he started feeling between my legs.”

“How clear were you?”

“Pretty fucking clear. First, I said no, but he kept jabbing his finger between my legs and telling me how much he liked me. I told him I wanted to stop and I tried to sit up, but he pushed me down.”

“Did you fight him?”

Randi barked out a humorless laugh. “Miss Lockwood, Blaine is a linebacker at the U of O. He’s a solid muscle. Look at me. He could bench-press me with one hand.”

“So, you didn’t resist?”

“I did. I tried to push him off. That’s when he slapped me and told me to be a good girl if I didn’t want to get hurt.”

“What did you do?”

“I shut up and shut my eyes and he pulled up my skirt and ripped off my panties.”

“Do you have the ripped panties?”

“I gave them to the cops.”

“Okay, that’s good. Now I need to know, did he enter you? Was there penetration? That’s important in a rape case.”

Randi choked up. “It hurt. I was dry, and he…”

“Do you want to stop? Do you want some water?”

Randi shook her head.

“Who did you tell about what happened, and when did you tell them?”

“I didn’t have to tell. Annie came in right after he finished. I was crying and saying, ‘Get off me.’ She’d seen me go to the bedroom with Blaine, and she knew his reputation.”

“What is Blaine’s reputation?”

“I’ve heard I’m not his first victim.”

“He’s raped other women?”

Randi hesitated. “That I can’t say for sure. I mean, no one ever told me that specifically. But I’ve heard that he doesn’t always take no for an answer.”

“Okay. What did Annie do when she saw you go into the bedroom with Blaine?”

“She followed me down the hall, and she opened the door when she heard me yell.”

“What did Blaine do?”

“When the door opened, he told Annie to get out, but she’s got guts. She told Blaine to get off me or she’d call the cops. Blaine started for her and she threatened to scream. That’s when he looked worried for the first time. Then he zipped up his pants and stormed out. Annie and me waited until we thought it was safe. Then she drove me to the hospital. I said I didn’t want to go; I just wanted to forget the whole thing. But she convinced me I shouldn’t let him get away with it.”

“She was right.”

“When are you going to sue Blaine?” Randi asked.

“We have plenty of time to file a complaint, so I’m going to wait until we see how the trial comes out. I’ll sit through it. If he’s convicted, we should be in good shape.”

Half an hour later, Robin showed the Starks out. Then she walked into Jeff Hodges’s office. Robin’s investigator was six-two with shaggy, reddish-blond hair that almost touched his broad shoulders. He had green eyes, pale, freckled skin, walked with a limp, and had a faint tracery of scars on his face. The scars and the limp were the result of injuries suffered in an explosion in a meth lab Jeff had raided when he was a police officer.

Robin had been attracted to Jeff since she joined Regina’s firm. There was a moment during a recent case when she’d asked him to go to bed with her. It was in Atlanta, right after someone had tried to kill her. Jeff was enough of a gentleman to avoid taking advantage of the situation. Wary of an office romance, neither had ever mentioned what had happened. That didn’t stop Robin from finding Jeff attractive, and she was certain that he felt the same way but was as gun-shy as she was.

“We just got an interesting new case,” Robin said as she took a seat across the desk from Jeff.

“What do you want me to do?” Jeff asked when Robin finished filling him in.

“Find out who’s prosecuting and see if they’ll share, but it wouldn’t hurt to get some background on Blaine Hastings. See if you can find any other women who say that he molested them. And interview Annie Roche if you can do it quietly. We don’t want to give Hastings’s lawyer ammunition to argue that Randi is setting him up to make money with a lawsuit.”

“Gotcha, boss.”

Robin liked spending time with Jeff, and she was tempted to ask if he wanted to go to lunch, but Jeff’s intercom buzzed and Linda asked if Robin was with him.

“I’m here,” Robin said.

“Judge Wright phoned while you were in with your clients. He wants you to call him.”

“I’ll go back to my office. Get him on the line for me, will you?”

Robin liked Harold Wright and considered him to be one of the sharpest jurists on the Multnomah County Circuit Court, but she didn’t have any cases in the judge’s court right now. She wondered what he wanted to talk about. Moments after she was back in her office, she found out.

“Robin, I have a favor to ask,” the judge said when they were connected.

“Shoot.”

“A police officer was killed last night, and the DA has charged a man named Everett Henderson with aggravated murder. It’s going to be a controversial case. You’re next up on the capital murder court-appointment list. Do you have the time to handle it?”

“Yeah. My caseload isn’t too demanding right now.”

“Okay. Thanks, Robin.”

“Who’s the DA?”

“Rex Kellerman.”

Robin stifled the urge to swear. Rex Kellerman was a handsome runner of marathons, who dyed the gray strands mixed into his wavy black hair. He sported a well-groomed mustache, a year-round tan, and looked great smiling at juries with pearly white teeth and laughing blue eyes. Anyone who didn’t know him would take him for a gentleman. Within the bar, Kellerman had a reputation as a dishonest little shit who could never be trusted.

“I assume you waited until I agreed to take the case to tell me that Rex was prosecuting.”

Wright chuckled. “No backsies.”

“Yeah, well, you just lost my vote when you run for reelection.”

The judge laughed; then he said, “See you in court, Counselor.”

CHAPTER TWO

English majors were expected to read highbrow literature, and law school students were supposed to spend all their time slogging through legal minutiae, but Douglas Armstrong had a dirty little secret. As an undergraduate and a law student, he had spent an inordinate amount of time reading mystery novels. Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot was his favorite detective. That’s why the lawyer had fallen into the habit of using his “little grey cells” to deduce facts about potential clients as soon as they were ushered into his law office.

Blaine Hastings Sr. pushed his way past Armstrong’s secretary, and Armstrong decided Hastings was a take-charge type who was used to having his way. Hastings’s thinning blond hair was combed across his scalp to hide his bald spot, which the lawyer took for a sign of vanity. The broken corpuscles that crisscrossed his puffy nose, and the beefy man’s beet-red complexion, screamed alcoholic. His six-foot-plus size, thick chest and shoulders, and the paunch that strained the fabric of his buttoned suit coat were the physique of an athlete gone to seed. And he kept sucking his gut in, another indication that the man was vain. Armstrong also noted that Blaine’s suit was expensive—possibly hand-tailored—so the Hastingses had money.

These deductions were strengthened by a quick scan of Hastings’s wife. Gloria followed her husband into Armstrong’s office, her hands gripping her purse tightly and her shoulders bowed from tension. The expensively dressed bottle blonde looked like an aging cheerleader who had suffered through too many plastic surgeries and undergone way too many tanning studio appointments in a losing battle with Father Time. Cheerleaders dated football players, and people with money could afford plastic surgery and spa treatments.

Armstrong indicated the client chairs on the other side of his granite-topped desk and said, “Please, have a seat.”

Blaine accepted the offer grudgingly, which told the attorney that he was not in the habit of following orders even when they were benign. Gloria sat stiffly. Her stress radiated toward Armstrong like a laser.

“How can I help you?” Armstrong asked.

“It’s our son,” Gloria answered. “He was arrested this morning.”

“What is he charged with?”

“He said he was arrested for rape,” Gloria answered. She sounded bewildered.

“What’s your son’s name?”

“Blaine Hastings Jr.,” Senior answered proudly.

“And how old is he?”

“He’s just turned twenty-one,” Gloria said.

“Do you know where he’s being held?”

“He’s in the jail across the park from the courthouse,” Mrs. Hastings answered.

“And they won’t let us see him,” Blaine added indignantly.

“Yes, well, there are visiting hours,” Armstrong explained. “But a lawyer can talk to him anytime. Can you tell me a little about your son?”

“Blaine is unique, a shooting star,” his father said forcefully. “He’s a senior at Oregon, an honor student, and a preseason All-American linebacker. The pros are looking at him.”

“Did you play football, Mr. Hastings?” the lawyer asked in an attempt to stroke Hastings’s ego.

Blaine pushed out his chest. “Offensive line. I was a second-team All-American at Oregon, and I was drafted by the Steelers.” Hastings frowned and tapped his left knee. “Blew this sucker out during training camp, and that was that.” Then he brightened. “I always wondered how I would have done in the pros, but the bum knee turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I went into insurance and made more money than I ever would have playing football.”

“So you were your son’s inspiration?”

“Blaine inspires us,” Gloria said. “He’s an angel. He could never have done what they’re saying.”

“Has he ever been in trouble before?” the attorney asked.

“Of course not,” Senior answered indignantly. “Not real trouble.” Senior laughed nervously. “Boys will be boys. That type of thing.”

“Were there ever problems with his relationship with a girl?” Armstrong asked diplomatically.

“Blaine can get any girl he wants,” Senior answered, sidestepping the question. “They fall all over themselves when he’s in a room. He would never have to resort to rape to get laid!”

Gloria reached out and covered her husband’s balled fists. “Please, there’s no need to talk like that.”

Blaine’s head snapped around, and he glared at his wife. “You’re worried about my language when our son is caged up like an animal?”

For the time being, Armstrong decided not to pursue the possibility that Blaine Junior was not always an angel.

“Do you have any information about what’s behind the charges?”

“No. Blaine just called us from the jail,” Gloria said. “He was arrested in his apartment in Eugene by detectives from Portland. We didn’t have a chance to find out any facts.”

Senior leaned forward and jutted his jaw toward Armstrong. “We want our son out of jail and his name cleared. Can you assure us you can do that?”

Armstrong had dealt with A types like Hastings, and he knew Senior wouldn’t be satisfied if he said he could guarantee only that he would do his best.

“I’ve handled several cases where an innocent person has been accused of a crime, Mr. Hastings, and my track record speaks for itself. But I won’t be able to tell you much until I’ve talked to Blaine, read the police reports, and finished my own investigation. I can tell you that seeing Blaine as quickly as possible is my first priority. The longer I wait, the higher the possibility that he’ll say something to the detectives or a cellmate that could doom him at trial. So, I suggest that we get the business aspects of my representation out of the way so I can go over to the jail.”

“What do you charge?” Blaine asked bluntly.

Armstrong quoted his hourly fee and the retainer he would require.

When Hastings hesitated, Gloria touched him on the arm. “Please, don’t haggle,” she said, taking the initiative for the first time—a lioness protecting her cub.

Senior wrote a check for the amount Armstrong requested. The lawyer took down the Hastingses’ contact information, then saw them out. Thirty minutes later, after making a few calls, Armstrong headed across town to the Multnomah County jail.

The Justice Center is a eighteen-story, concrete-and-glass edifice in downtown Portland that is separated from the Multnomah County Courthouse by a park. The building is home to the Central Precinct of the Portland Police Bureau, a branch of the Multnomah County District Attorney’s Office, several courtrooms, state parole and probation, and the Multnomah County jail.

The jail occupies the fourth through tenth floors, but the reception area is on the second floor. To reach it, Doug Armstrong walked through the center’s vaulted lobby, past the curving stairs that led up to the courtrooms, and through a pair of glass doors. Armstrong showed his ID to the duty officer and went through a metal detector before taking an elevator to the floor where attorneys met their clients.

A few seconds later, Doug stepped out of the elevator into a narrow, concrete hall with walls painted pastel yellow. There was a thick metal door at one end. Armstrong pressed the button on the intercom that was affixed to the wall next to the door and announced his presence. Moments later, electronic locks snapped. A guard opened the door and ushered the lawyer into another narrow hallway, which ran in front of three contact visiting rooms. Armstrong could see into the rooms through large windows outfitted with shatterproof glass. The guard stopped in front of the solid steel door that opened into the second visiting room. Two molded plastic chairs stood on either side of a table secured to the floor by metal bolts. Moments after Armstrong sat down, a second door on the room’s other wall opened and a guard escorted Armstrong’s newest client into the visiting room.

Blaine Hastings Jr.’s mere presence made Doug Armstrong feel inadequate. The fifty-two-year-old lawyer was five feet six inches, balding and pudgy, and always had his nose in a book. He had tried jogging for a while but gave up on his physical fitness regime as soon as Portland’s rainy season began. Other than his failed attempt at jogging, an occasional game of golf was the closest he came to physical exertion.

Blaine Hastings Jr. radiated physical perfection. Even clad in an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit, unshaven, his wavy blond hair uncombed, and his steel blue eyes bloodshot, he looked like a Greek god.

Doug estimated his client’s height at six-three and his weight at 220 pounds. The jumpsuit had short sleeves, and every muscle in Hastings’s cannonball biceps and corded forearms was clearly defined. Doug thought that Senior might have been right when he swore that Blaine Junior would never have to resort to force to get a woman in his bed.

“I’m Doug Armstrong,” the attorney said as soon as the guard left. “Your folks hired me to represent you.”

Hastings looked anxious. “Can you get me out of here?” he blurted out.

“I’m having an associate work on bail as we speak. Your folks will be posting it later today, and you should be out sometime today or tomorrow at the latest.”

“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong. This is a nightmare, being accused of something so serious when you know you’re completely innocent.”

“Blaine… Can I call you Blaine?”

Hastings nodded.

“Before we go into details about your case, I need to tell you a few things about the relationship a client has with his attorney.”

Hastings leaned forward and listened attentively.

“First, it’s important that a client trust his attorney and be completely open and honest. To ensure that you can speak freely, lawyers and clients have a special privilege that ensures that anything you say to me is confidential. That means I can’t disclose anything you say to me to anyone without your permission—not to the DA, my wife, your parents, anyone.”

“I get that,” Hastings said with a quick nod.

“Good. Now, I made a few calls before I came over. Rex Kellerman is the DA assigned to your case. He told me that a woman named Randi Stark told the police that she met you at a party and you had intercourse with her against her will.”

Hastings’s features morphed into a terrifying mask. He lurched forward and his jaw jutted out. Doug had to fight to keep from recoiling. He imagined he was feeling something similar to what a running back would feel if he saw Hastings barreling toward him.

“Stark is a lying bitch,” Hastings spat out. “I did meet her at a party and we did make out in one of the bedrooms, but I never screwed her. That’s just not true.”

“Why would she lie? That’s what a jury will want to know.”

“Two reasons. Revenge is one. When we were in high school, Randi’s boyfriend attacked me. I beat the shit out of him. When I told the cops what happened, they arrested the little prick and he served some time in juvie. So, this could be payback.”

“Why did he attack you?”

The question caught Hastings off guard. “What do you mean?” he asked. Doug thought he was stalling for time.

“People don’t usually attack other people for no reason.”

Hastings shrugged. “I insulted Stark, and he came to her rescue.”

“What was the insult?”

“The bitch told her boyfriend, Ryan, I came on to her. I called her a slut.”

“Did you come on to her?”

Hastings looked appalled. “No! Jesus. She’s cleaned up a lot, but back then, she was into this Goth thing. Rings in her nose, a stud in her tongue. She looked disgusting.”

“If nothing happened, why did she accuse you?”

Hastings’s temper flared. “Why are you cross-examining me?”

“If we go to trial, the district attorney is going to come at you a lot harder than I am, so you’ve got to be prepared. Getting defensive on the stand could sink you.”

Hastings calmed down. “Okay, I get it. Sorry I went off on you.”

“So, why do you think she accused you that time?”

“I have no idea.” Hastings shrugged. “I was pretty popular in high school, and she was anything but. Maybe she wanted everyone to think I was into her.” He shrugged again. “Maybe she wanted to make Ryan jealous. But it was all bullshit.”

“You said there was another reason for Miss Stark’s false accusation. What is it?”

“Money. I just turned twenty-one. I have a trust fund that’s worth a lot, and it vested on my birthday. You can bet your ass that little bitch is planning to sue me.”

“This is very good to know, Blaine. We can use this to cast doubt on Stark’s accusation. If you get any other ideas, don’t keep them to yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“Okay. Now, you did know Miss Stark in high school. What kind of relationship did you have?”

“None. I hardly saw her. We didn’t run in the same circles. My family is pretty well off. We’re members of the Westmont Country Club, we have a really big house in the best part of town. When Randi was in high school, she lived in this housing project that is just barely in my high school’s district. Not that I look down on someone because they’re poor. Several guys on my teams were from the same project. But I didn’t bump into Randi outside of school, and not even in school much.

“Part of that was because I was in the AP classes, and she isn’t that swift. Also, I hung with the athletes and she hung out with the class losers. You know, tattoos, piercings, and pride in their D’s and F’s.”

“If you weren’t attracted to her, why did you make out with her at the party?”

“Like I said, she cleaned up since high school. No piercings or Goth shit. She’s still no knockout, but I was drunk. A lot of women look great when you’re drunk.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“Okay, well, we—Oregon—came up to Portland and played Portland State that afternoon. I knew some of the guys on the PSU team from high school, and they invited me and some of the other guys from the team to this frat party.

“We’re a top twenty-five team and PSU isn’t in our class, so we pretty much ran over them, and I had three sacks. I was feeling good and I had too much to drink.”

“Were there any drugs involved?”

Hastings gave a vigorous shake of his head. “There’s a good chance that I’m going to get drafted by an NFL team, so I’m very careful about what I put in my body.”

“Okay, go on.”

“Anyway, sometime after I’d started feeling a buzz, Randi and I got to talking. She’d been drinking, too, and one thing led to another and we ended up in one of the bedrooms.”

“Who initiated the move to the bedroom?”

Hastings thought for a moment. He looked concerned when he answered. “Now that I think about it, I’d say that she was the one who took the initiative.”

“But you went along with her.”

“Like I said, I was a little wasted.”

“Okay, so you’re in the bedroom. Can I assume it’s just the two of you?”

Hastings nodded.

“What happened?”

“We closed the door and we started making out on the bed.”

“How far did that go?”

“When we got on the bed, we started kissing. Then she unzipped my fly.”

“This is very important, Blaine. Did you put your penis inside Miss Stark’s vagina? The State has to prove penetration in a rape case.”

“Look, Mr. Armstrong, I’m not some dumb jock. I’m premed, and I know all about the way babies are made. I didn’t have a condom with me, so there’s no way I was going to risk getting Randi pregnant. But it didn’t matter, because the minute she got my penis out of my pants, she gave me a very fast hand job and I came right away. Then, as soon as I came, Randi yelled at me to get off her.”

“Did you honor her request?”

“Definitely. My folks brought me up to respect women, and I know that ‘no means no.’”

“So that was the end of it?”

“Most definitely. She sat up and yelled something like ‘Get off me.’”

“Did that surprise you?”

“Yeah, it did, because I got up as soon as she asked me.”

“Okay, what happened then?”

“The door opened and her friend, Annie Roche, came in and I left.”

“Did you talk to anyone on the way out?”

“When Annie came in, I might have said something to her, but, like I said, I was a little drunk, so my memory is hazy.”

“What did you do after you left the bedroom?”

“It was getting late and I’d gotten banged up in the game, so I went home.”

Armstrong made some notes. Then he looked up. “So, you’re saying that you never forced yourself on Miss Stark in any way?”

“Absolutely.”

“Your father hinted that you may have been in some trouble before this. He was vague and I didn’t want to push him. Can you tell me what he might have been talking about?”

Hastings looked chagrined. “I have a temper, Mr. Armstrong. I’m not proud of it. It comes out when I play, and I try to keep it under wraps when I’m not on the playing field, but I had a few fights in high school, like the one I told you about. I can take care of myself, and I sent one boy to the hospital.”

“Were you prosecuted?”

“No. I was the victim. I had witnesses. It was a kid from the housing project, and he had it in for me because I’m rich and a jock and I do well in school. Once the school and the police learned the truth about what happened, I wasn’t in any trouble.”

“Let me ask you something else,” Doug said. “Have you ever had problems with women before this? And remember, the prosecutors have investigators. If there’s anything out there, they’ll find it. And there is nothing that leads to a conviction quicker than a surprise at trial.”

“What do you mean by problems?”

“Let me be blunt, Blaine. Are any women going to go to the DA and say you sexually assaulted them?”

Blaine hesitated.

“This is very important,” Armstrong emphasized. “If the DA puts on witnesses who swear you sexually assaulted them, it will have a huge impact on the jury.”

“Okay. There was this one time in eighth grade when this girl—Julie Angstrom—said I forced her to have sex, but it wasn’t true and there were never any charges.”

“Was the situation similar to what allegedly happened at the party: drinking, a bedroom, et cetera?”

“No. She said I followed her into Forest Park and pulled her into the woods.”

Forest Park was the largest urban forest in the United States and had many isolated areas.

“Were you in the park when she was?”

“Yeah, but I had three witnesses who told the police that I was with them all the time we were in the park. Plus, there was no forensic evidence like hair, DNA. I mean the whole accusation was complete bullshit.”

Armstrong made a note to find out more about the Angstrom girl’s complaint.

“We may have a serious problem that we need to discuss,” Doug said. “The DA told me that Miss Stark went to the hospital after the party and they did the tests they always do when a woman says she’s been raped. They found semen in Miss Stark’s vagina and tested it for DNA. I assume you know what that is if you’re premed.”

Hastings nodded.

“Okay. Well, the lab says the DNA is a match for your DNA.”

“What!”

“Do you have an explanation for that?”

“No, I… It’s impossible.”

“It’s definitely a problem if you insist that you never penetrated Miss Stark and never ejaculated inside her.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Hastings was lost in thought for a moment, and Armstrong gave him time to think. “I do have a possible explanation for the sperm. Randi had a reputation in high school, if you know what I mean.”

Armstrong nodded.

“She could have had sex with someone else that evening. She was pretty drunk.”

“That wouldn’t explain the match.”

Hastings looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know what to say. That can’t be mine.”

“Okay. Let’s leave this for the time being,” Doug said. “I’ll hire an expert on DNA, and we’ll see if we can get to the bottom of this. So, do you have any questions?”

“Not right now.”

Doug stood. “I’m going to check on how much progress we’ve made with the bail as soon as I get back to my office. Meanwhile, do not—under any circumstances—discuss your case with anyone, no matter how sympathetic they may seem. I am the only person—and that includes your parents—that you can talk to. A fellow prisoner will run to the DA with anything you tell them. Remember, I am your only friend until the jury says not guilty.”

CHAPTER THREE

If ever a man looked like a criminal, that man was Everett Henderson. His massive head was shaved, his bulging biceps and thick neck were evidence of hours spent pumping iron in a prison yard, a knife scar crawled down his pockmarked cheek, teardrop tattoos under his right eye announced to the world that he was an ex-con and more tattoos attested to his membership in a racist prison gang.

As soon as she’d been court-appointed to represent Henderson, Robin looked up her new client’s rap sheet. It read like a list of all the possible ways one man could violate the criminal statutes of the State of Oregon.

“Mr. Henderson, the Court has asked me to represent you,” Robin said when her client was seated across from her in the contact visiting room at the jail.

Henderson studied Robin and he didn’t look pleased. “You’re awfully young to handle a case like mine.”

“I am young, but I’m very good. Have you heard of Regina Barrister?” Robin asked.

“Sure, who hasn’t?”

“I’m Regina’s partner, and this is not the first death penalty case I’ve defended.”

Henderson relaxed a little, but Robin could see that he was still skeptical.

“Look, Mr. Henderson, I can see why you might not trust me. You didn’t choose me to be your lawyer and you don’t know a thing about me. So, let me give you a little background: I graduated from Yale Law School, which is one of America’s best, and I clerked for the chief justice of the Oregon Supreme Court before Regina hired me.”

Robin was about to continue, when Henderson suddenly leaned forward and stared at her.

“Are you Rockin’ Robin Lockwood?”

Robin smiled. “I am.”

Henderson broke into a grin. “I seen you fight. You were pretty good.”

“I was okay.”

Henderson nodded. “That Kerrigan broad did put a hurt on you.”

Robin nodded in agreement. “That she did, which is why I decided it was safer to duke it out with DAs and judges.”

Henderson laughed.

“So, Everett… Can I call you Everett?”

“Sure thing.”

“I read the police reports before I came over. The DA is saying you killed Greg Schaefer, an off-duty cop, in a bar fight.”

Henderson stopped smiling. “I did kill that motherfucker, but he started it.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

“My lady and I was in the Shamrock and we were dancing. The asshole I killed was in civilian clothes, and there’s no way I could tell he was a cop. He’d been drinking with his buddies, and he’d had way more than one too many—or he would have known better than to come on to Felicia.”

“Felicia is your girlfriend?”

Henderson nodded. “And she’ll tell you she told him real polite that she did not want to dance with him. She’ll also tell you that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. That’s when I suggested that he fuck off or get hurt. Which is when he took a swing at me.”

Henderson shook his head. “Dumb move. I done a little fighting of my own. Tough-guy competitions and plenty of street stuff. Plus, I was sober and he wasn’t. I decked him pretty quick and Felicia pulled me off of him. We was walking back to our table when he grabbed a bottle and smashed me on the head.”

Henderson bent his head down to show Robin his stitches.

“Fucker hit me from behind and was jabbing at me with the jagged end after the bottle broke. That’s when I knifed him. But he started the whole thing. I was just defending myself.”

“His friends tell a different story.”

“Yeah, well, they’re lying motherfuckers. Hell, I doubt they saw what happened. Their table was way on the other side of the bar.”

“Other than Felicia, were there any other witnesses who can back up your story?”

“Anyone in the bar who saw what happened.”

“My firm has an excellent investigator named Jeff Hodges. Give me the names, addresses, and phone numbers of your witnesses, and I’ll have Jeff talk to them. Then he’ll talk to the State’s witnesses. I’m also going to get a doctor to look at your head wound, and I may have Jeff take some pictures.”

“What about getting me out of here?”

“I’ll try, but I’m not optimistic. There’s no automatic bail in a murder case, and you are charged with killing a cop. Proving that the charge is bullshit may take a while. I may change my mind about the chances for bail when I’ve read all of the reports.”

“Take your time. I’m okay in here.”

“I figured that this wasn’t your first rodeo,” Robin said.

Henderson grinned.

“I’m still going to warn you about discussing this case with anyone except me and Jeff.”

“I know all about jailhouse snitches. I’ve had to explain why that activity is unhealthy to a few of them.”

Robin held up her hands. “Too much information, Everett.”

Henderson laughed and Robin stood up.

“Get me that witness list as fast as you can. Call when it’s ready, and I’ll send Jeff over to talk to you.”

“Thanks for coming over so quickly.”

Robin rang for the guard. It was a little after four when she left the jail, and she decided to go home instead of returning to the office. During her walk, Robin thought about Henderson’s case. She didn’t like to predict how she would do, because she knew that clients weren’t always truthful, but she felt pretty good about Henderson’s chances. If he was telling the truth.

CHAPTER FOUR

The phone was ringing. Robin sat up and stared at the clock. It was two in the morning.

“Miss Lockwood,” a frightened voice whispered.

“Yes.”

“This is Randi Stark. They’re after me.”

Robin was still groggy. “Who’s after you?”

“Blaine.”

“The boy who raped you?”

“Yes.”

“Is he there?”

“Not him. One of his friends. He followed me from the club.”

“Why do you think he’s a friend of Hastings’s?”

“Because he’s a giant. He’s gotta play football.”

Robin suddenly realized that Randi was slurring her words. “Have you been drinking?”

“Yeah, at the Blue Unicorn. That’s where he was.”

“Where are you now?”

“I didn’t think I could make it home, so I hid around back of this gas station between two Dumpsters.”

“Okay. Give me the address, and I’ll come over right away.”

Last year, Robin had purchased a .38 Special after someone involved in one of her cases had tried to kill her. After pulling on jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, Robin put the gun in its holster and headed out.

The gas station was fifteen minutes from Robin’s apartment by car. It was deserted, and the lights on its two islands and those that had been left on in the office provided the only illumination. Robin switched off her headlights and parked in the shadows at the far edge of the lot. She closed her car door quietly, then headed for the back of the station. Halfway there, she heard voices.

Robin pulled out her .38, jogged along the side of the building, and looked around the corner. There were no lights in the back of the station, and the Dumpsters were at the end of the building farthest from her. Robin squinted into the shadow and saw Randi Stark cowering in front of a man who was the size of two normal humans. The neck of Randi’s T-shirt was clamped in a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt.

Robin walked toward the Dumpsters and raised her gun. “Stop right there,” Robin commanded.

The man spun around and released Randi, who fell hard onto the asphalt. The man’s face was in shadow, but she heard the disdain in his voice when he said, “You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, bitch. Get smart and leave fast.”

“I’m going to make this very simple,” Robin answered, “since anyone who is unarmed and insults someone with a gun has to be very stupid. This .38 Special is loaded with hollow-point bullets. Anywhere I shoot you will fuck you up big-time, and I’d have to be a horrible shot to miss someone the size of a rhinoceros. Leave now and live, or stay here and die. Your choice.”

The man hesitated, and Robin could see he was fighting the urge to charge. Then he backed away, his eyes never leaving Robin’s, until he disappeared into the shadows.

Randi began to sob. Robin waited a few seconds to make sure that the behemoth didn’t decide to sneak back. Then she placed the gun on the asphalt, where she could get to it quickly, and knelt next to Randi.

“You’re safe,” she said, but Randi continued to cry and shake. “It’s okay, I scared him off. Can you stand up? I want to get you out of here.”

Randi struggled to her feet. Robin picked up the gun, led her to her car, sweeping the lot in case Randi’s attacker was hiding in the shadows. Robin didn’t relax until they were locked in the car and driving out of the lot. And even then, she kept looking in her mirrors to make sure they weren’t being followed. Eventually, she parked at a fast-food restaurant and put Randi in a booth near the back.

“Stay here while I get you some coffee. Do you want something to eat?”

“Just coffee,” Randi said.

Robin returned with two take-out cups and put one of them in front of her client. “Tell me what happened,” Robin said.

“I went to the club. It was crowded and I danced with a couple of guys. Then the door opened. I was facing it. When he came in, you couldn’t miss him. I wasn’t worried until he made eye contact and started wading through the crowd toward me.

“I go to the club a lot, and I know there’s a back door by the ladies’. I went through it and down the alley. Then I started to run. I thought I was safe, but he found me just before you showed up.” Randi lost it for a moment.

Robin covered her hand. “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you now. Take some deep breaths.”

Randi did as she was told. Then she sipped some more coffee. “I never heard him. You’d think someone that big, you’d hear him.” She shook her head. “One minute I was huddled between the Dumpsters, and the next he had me by my shirt and he was shaking me like a rat.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Yeah. He said I was pretty, but I wouldn’t stay pretty long if I kept telling lies that got nice people in trouble.”

“Did he name the ‘nice person’?” Robin asked.

Randi shook her head once more. “But I’m not stupid. He’s got to be one of Blaine’s teammates.”

“I can find that out pretty easily. There will be team photos. I’ll check it out in the morning. Did he say anything else?”

“He asked me if I understood him, but I was too frightened to answer. And that’s when you scared him off.”

“Okay. If you can ID this guy, we’ll go to the police and tell them what happened. Hastings is out on bail, but this might be enough to get his bail revoked.”

Randi started to sob again. “He’ll just deny he was involved.”

“If we can find the man who threatened you, the police might get him to talk.”

“Blaine will buy him an alibi. He has all the money in the world.” Randi stared into her coffee cup. “Maybe I should just drop it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not testify. Then Blaine would let me alone.”

Robin cupped Randi’s chin and lifted it until they were eye to eye. “That would be a mistake. My investigator has been working up background on Blaine Hastings. He’s got a reputation as a violent bully and an egotist. A person like that won’t forget what you’ve done. Hastings is premed and a preseason All-American. Getting accused of rape is going to cost him when he tries to get drafted or go to medical school. If that happens, he’ll want revenge.

“And there’s something else. A guy like Blaine, if he raped you, you can bet you’re not his only victim. If he’s locked away, you’ll be protecting a lot of innocent women.”

“He’ll never be locked up.”

“Do you remember what you told me in my office—how you wanted to bring the Hastings family down? If your testimony puts Blaine in prison, we will kill him when you sue.”

“All that money won’t do me any good if I’m dead.”

Robin was tempted to pursue her argument, but one look at Randi convinced her that this wasn’t the time.

“Look, you’re scared and exhausted. You shouldn’t be making serious decisions in your condition. What’s important now is that you get some rest. Where do you want me to take you?”

“Not home. They’ll be watching.”

“Is there a friend you can stay with?”

“Annie, maybe.”

“Do you want to call her?”

“It’s so late.”

Robin hesitated. Then she said, “You can stay at my place tonight. I can make up the couch.”

Randi looked up. “That would be good. They wouldn’t guess I was there.”

“It would just be for the night.”

“I get that. Thank you.”

They finished their coffee in silence, which Robin thought was good because it gave Randi time to calm down. Randi was a mess, but Robin understood why. Blaine Hastings was desperate, and he was coming after the only person who could take away his freedom. The man he’d sent was only interested in scaring Randi; otherwise, he wouldn’t have threatened her—he’d have beaten or killed her. Now that plan A had failed, Robin wondered if Hastings would escalate.

CHAPTER FIVE

Robin lived in a corner apartment in a four-story, brick walk-up in a funky part of town populated by homegrown shops, a movie theater that showed indie films and second-run features at reduced prices, and so many good, reasonably priced restaurants that choosing where to eat was often a problem.

The front door of Robin’s apartment opened into a kitchen and small dining area. Between work and the gym, Robin wasn’t home much, so she let dishes pile up in the sink and old newspapers accumulate on the coffee table and the couch in the open area in front of the television until she couldn’t stand the way the apartment looked and went on a cleaning spree.

As soon as they were in Robin’s apartment, Robin cleared the couch of debris and threw a sheet, blanket, and pillow on it. A combination of exhaustion and alcohol sent Randi into a deep sleep as soon as she lay down on Robin’s couch. Robin was too wound up to sleep, so she booted up her laptop and searched for pictures of the University of Oregon football team.

When Randi woke up a little after nine, Robin cooked her breakfast, then showed her the team photos. “Does anyone look like the guy who attacked you?” Robin asked.

Randi leaned forward and scanned the team photograph slowly, stopping to look closely at a few of the linemen. Then she sat up and pointed at one of the players. She looked scared.

“That’s him.”

“Are you sure?”

Randi nodded.

Robin picked up her cell phone and dialed Detective Carrie Anders.

Half an hour later, Robin and her client were seated in front of the detective who had arrested Blaine Hastings. Carrie Anders was six-two, thick bodied, and as strong as some men. She had sad brown eyes; a large, lumpish nose; and short, shaggy black hair. Her lumbering appearance and slow drawl often led people to conclude that she was slow-witted, but she had majored in math in college and was one of the smartest detectives in the Portland Police Bureau.

“That’s Marlon Guest,” Robin said as she handed the detective a photograph. “He’s a six-foot-six and three-hundred-forty-pound offensive lineman for the Ducks and a teammate of Blaine Hastings. Around two in the morning, Guest attacked Randi in back of a gas station and threatened to hurt her if she didn’t, and I quote, ‘stop telling lies about nice people.’ I saw Guest threaten Randi before I scared him off.”

Anders gave Robin a hard look. “Just how did you do that?”

“I bought a gun after what happened in Atlanta, and I have a permit.”

Anders smiled. “Just asking. So, you got a good look at Miss Stark’s assailant?”

Robin started to answer. Then she hesitated as she tried to recall exactly what she had seen.

“Guest and Randi were standing at the far end of the back of the gas station. There aren’t any lights there, so his face was in shadow. But this has to be him. Randi made an ID from the photo, and there aren’t many people who are that big.”

Anders turned to Randi. “How certain are you that this is the man who attacked you?”

Now it was Randi’s turn to hesitate. “I did see his face.”

“Yes?”

Randi blushed. “I was a little drunk, but I’m sure it’s him.”

“How drunk?”

“I don’t know. I was feeling woozy before he started chasing me. I sobered up a little while I was running.”

“Randi, this is important. Are you sure this is the man who attacked you? You don’t want to accuse an innocent man.”

“I… It was him.”

“Okay. I’ll question Guest. Maybe he’ll admit he attacked you.”

“Thanks, Carrie,” Robin said.

“Hastings is an arrogant bastard, and I want him off the street. If I can get Guest to say Hastings asked him to threaten Miss Stark, I might be able to get his bail revoked.”

CHAPTER SIX

Rex Kellerman’s secretary led Doug Armstrong to the assistant district attorney’s office. Kellerman was reading a case when Doug walked in.

“Have a seat,” Kellerman said without bothering to look up.

Doug sat down and waited patiently. Kellerman always treated Doug with disdain, and Doug had dreaded the meeting. After three minutes of the silent treatment, he started to get angry, but he suppressed his emotions. He was hoping to get a decent plea offer in Blaine Hastings’s case, and he didn’t want to antagonize the man who could make it.

Finally, Kellerman looked up from his laptop. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Doug?”

“Blaine Hastings.”

Doug waited for Kellerman to say something, but he just leaned back in his chair.

“I was hoping we could discuss the case,” Doug continued, trying not to seem too anxious.

“What’s to discuss?” Kellerman asked. “Your guy is guilty as sin, and I’m going to see he spends a long time down at OSP.”

“Come on, Rex. He’s a kid, an honor student, and a top athlete. And he says he didn’t rape Miss Stark.”

Kellerman shrugged. “She says he did, and we have DNA test results that back her up.”

“Yeah, but the DNA just means they had sex. The allegation of force is uncorroborated.”

“How does he explain the ripped panties, Doug?”

“This will ruin Blaine’s life. He’s planning on going to medical school or the pros. We should be able to work something out. He’s never been in trouble over something like this before.”

Kellerman raised an eyebrow and flashed a smug smile. “Really, Doug. Is that what Mr. Hastings said? Julie Angstrom says he should have been. Has your client mentioned her? She sure remembers him.”

Kellerman fished through a file that was sitting on his desk. After a moment, he grabbed a police report and handed it to Doug.

“We found this old complaint two days ago. I sent Carrie Anders over to talk to Julie. You’ll get Anders’s report as soon as she writes it up.”

Doug didn’t want Kellerman to know that he knew about Angstrom, so he kept his head down as he read Angstrom’s account of the rape in Forest Park.

“I’ll ask Blaine about this.”

“I wonder if he’ll remember what happened as well as Julie does.”

“I don’t think you can get this testimony into evidence.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I’ll certainly try. Not that I need it.”

“This happened years ago, and there were never any charges.”

“If it did happen, doesn’t it make you wonder what your boy’s been up to in the intervening years?”

“I’m guessing you don’t have anything else like this or I’d have gotten the reports in discovery. And this case still boils down to Stark’s word against Blaine’s. I don’t see your case being that strong. Is there some way to settle it out of court?”

“Sure. Have Mr. Hastings plead guilty to the charges. You can ask the Court for mercy. If he gets it, it will be more than he showed Randi Stark.”

Kellerman waited until the door closed before breaking into a grin. The Hastings case would be a walk in the park with Doug Armstrong as his adversary. With a good lawyer, he’d have to work for a guilty verdict, but Armstrong was second-rate.

Kellerman took a moment to think about what a win in Hastings would do for his career. It was common knowledge that Paul Getty, the Multnomah County district attorney, was not going to run for another term. Vanessa Cole, the chief criminal deputy, was rumored to be a candidate, but Rex thought he could beat her at the polls. A few headlines trumpeting victories in big cases would certainly help, and prosecuting a privileged brat like Blaine Hastings would score a lot of points with blue-collar voters.

Kellerman’s smile widened. Life was good.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Robin had spent the past two days sitting in on Blaine Hastings’s trial. It had been a disaster for the defendant, which was great for her client. Maxine Stark made certain that everyone who had a connection to the internet knew that her daughter had been raped by a star athlete who was a child of privilege. To get into the Multnomah County Courthouse, Robin was forced to fight her way through pickets from feminist organizations who were parading outside, demanding Blaine Hastings’s head.

The judge had ruled that Julie Angstrom could not testify, but that hadn’t mattered. The testimony of the expert from the police crime lab had been devastating. She’d told the jury that the DNA in the semen sample that had been found inside Randi Stark matched Blaine Hastings’s DNA. All the jurors watched crime shows on television, and they knew that a DNA match was infallible proof of guilt.

Annie Roche had been the last witness for the prosecution that afternoon. She was a short, heavyset brunette with a pug nose and wide brown eyes, who had dressed conservatively in a white, long-sleeve blouse and ankle-length dress.

Rex Kellerman established that Roche was working in a nail salon and checking in a grocery store to pay for community college and planned to become a physical therapist. Robin thought that Roche was very nervous when the DA’s direct examination started but had calmed down when Kellerman was through with his preliminary questions.

“Miss Roche, did you attend a Portland State–Oregon football game in late September?” Kellerman asked.

“Yes.”

“After the game, did you talk to some PSU students who had attended high school with you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you learn about a fraternity party that was going to be held that night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell Randi Stark about the party?”

“Yes.”

“And did you and Randi go to the party?”

“We did.”

“Was the defendant at the party?”

“Yes.”

“Tell the jury what you saw happening between your friend Randi Stark and the defendant.”

“The defendant,” Roche said, referring to Blaine Hastings the way she had been instructed to by Rex Kellerman, “was talking to another boy in a group of people we knew. At some point, I noticed Randi talking to him. Later, I saw them dancing.”

“Did they stop dancing?”

“Yes.”

“What happened after they stopped?”

“I saw the defendant lead Randi down a hall.”

“What did you do?”

“I followed them.”

“Why?”

“I was worried about Randi being alone with the defendant.”

“Why?”

“He had a bad reputation in school. He did things to girls.”

“Objection!” Doug Armstrong said.

“Sustained. Jurors, you will ignore that last comment.”

“What happened next?”

“The defendant and Randi went into a room at the end of the hall, and I waited outside. It was quiet for a short time. Then Randi screamed, ‘Get off me.’”

“What did you do when you heard the scream?”

“I opened the door.”

“What did you see?”

“Randi was on the bed. Her panties were on the floor.…”

“Did you get a chance to see the panties up close?”

“Yes, when I picked them up.”

“What was their condition?”

“They’d been torn like someone had ripped them off her.”

“Go on.”

“So, Randi was on the bed. She was crying and pushing against the defendant, who was on top of her.”

“Was there anything unusual about the defendant?”

Roche blushed and looked down. “His… his penis was exposed.”

“It was out of his pants?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I yelled at the defendant to get off Randi. He threatened me and told me to get out. I said I would scream if he didn’t leave Randi alone.”

“What happened then?”

“The defendant started toward me. I backed into the hall and told him again that I would scream. He stopped. Then he pushed past me and ran away.”

“What did you do after the defendant ran away?”

“I took Randi to the hospital.”

“No further questions.”

“Mr. Armstrong?” the judge said.

“Miss Roche, was Blaine at the football game?”

“Yes.”

“Did you and Miss Stark see him there?”

“Yes. He plays for Oregon.”

“Did Miss Stark talk to Blaine at the game?”

“No.”

“Was he talking to the same boys who told you about the party?”

“Yes.”

“You learned that Blaine was going to be at the party, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“So, you didn’t know he would be at the party until you saw him there?”

“Yes.”

“Randi wanted to go to the party, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Randi talked to Blaine and danced with him at the party, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“So, they were friendly?”

“I guess.”

“And she went into the bedroom with Blaine willingly, didn’t she?”

“I guess.”

“You testified under oath that you saw them go in, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did she scream in the hall?”

“No.”

“Did Blaine drag her inside?”

“No.”

“After they were inside, the door closed, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So, you couldn’t see what happened in the bedroom, could you?”

“No.”

“For all you know, Randi Stark was a willing partner?”

“She screamed.”

“You can’t tell this jury from what you know personally whether she screamed after having consensual sex, can you?”

“I… No.”

“No further questions.”

Robin didn’t think that Doug had scored many points on cross. She wasn’t surprised. She’d met Doug a few times and thought he was a nice guy, but he had a reputation as an unspectacular litigator. Nothing she’d seen during the trial changed Robin’s opinion.

Randi was scheduled to testify in the morning. She was not allowed to be in court while the witnesses were testifying. When court adjourned, Robin returned to her office and called her to give her moral support for her upcoming ordeal.

“Annie was great,” Robin said. “Hastings’s attorney tried to trip her up, but he didn’t do a thing.”

“Is he any good? Is he, you know, gonna make me look bad?”

“Not if you tell the truth. I’ll be in court and so will your mom, and the DA will object if Armstrong tries anything that’s improper. Stay strong.”

“I’ll try, but I’m scared.”

“It would be weird if you weren’t scared, but Hastings will be in prison where he belongs if you just tell the jurors what he did to you, and you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

They talked for a while longer. As soon as Robin hung up, her receptionist told her that Portland detective Carrie Anders was calling.

“What’s up?” Robin asked.

“Nothing you’re going to like.”

“Oh?”

“I drove down to Eugene and tried to talk to Marlon Guest.”

“And?”

“I’m not going to arrest him,” the detective said.

“Why?”

“Guest refused to talk to me, and he lawyered up right away. This morning, Guest’s lawyer sent me statements from three witnesses who swear they were with him in Eugene when Randi was assaulted in Portland.”

“That’s bullshit. Randi and I will swear he was there.”

“Randi admits she was drunk and terrified. A good defense attorney would be able to make mincemeat of her on the stand.”

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“True, but you told me that there’s no light in the back of the gas station, Randi’s assailant was at the end of the building farthest from you, and his face was in shadow.”

“I didn’t see his face, but how many people are the size of a T. rex, Carrie?”

“Every offensive lineman on a Division One football squad.”

“So, you’re just going to let him go?”

“For now. And Marlon Guest isn’t my main interest, anyway. I want Blaine Hastings Jr. in the state penitentiary. As long as Randi stays strong, that’s where that asshole is going.”

“She’s scared to death, Carrie.”

“Yeah, I would be, too. Look, I’ll call her and tell her that I let Guest know that I was watching him. I doubt he’ll try anything again.”

“Thanks, Carrie. I’ve tried to get her to calm down, but it will mean more coming from you.”

When Robin hung up, she thought about going to the gym, but she was too tired, so she bought some sushi to go at a Japanese restaurant around the corner from her office and headed home.

Robin finished her dinner and picked up a book she had been reading, but she gave up after a chapter because she was too tired to read. There was a Trail Blazer game on TV. It wasn’t going to start for twenty minutes. Robin remembered that she hadn’t talked to her mother in a while.

Talking to her mother could be a trial. Before Robin’s dad passed away, he had been her biggest supporter. When the school board of her high school district had tried to keep Robin from wrestling on the boys’ team, her father had hired a lawyer who forced the board to let her participate. When she decided that she wanted to be the first person in her family to go to college and then law school, he’d been her champion. That was not always the case with her mother.

Robin’s mom wanted Robin to stay in their small town, get married, and give her grandchildren. She’d never liked the idea of a girl going to law school—especially one that was on the liberal East Coast—and she had been upset when Robin chose to practice law in Oregon instead of coming back to the state where she had been born.

Her mom had gradually come to accept Robin’s life choices, but her doubts about them surfaced on occasion during their phone calls. Robin phoned her anyway.

“Nice of you to call,” her mother said.

“How are things at home?” Robin said, ignoring the icy tone her mother used when there were too many days between calls.

“The boys were over for dinner this weekend. It would have been nice if the whole family was together.”

“I’m definitely coming home for Thanksgiving,” Robin assured her.

“That will be good. Are you still enjoying your job?”

Robin knew that her mother would be thrilled if she said no, but the truth was that she loved her practice and couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

“It’s going very well.”

“You’re able to handle your cases without Miss Barrister there to help?”

“Yes. In fact, I have two new cases that are very interesting. The court appointed me to represent a defendant in a death penalty case.”

“What did he do?” asked her mother, who had a hard time accepting the fact that her daughter tried to help guilty criminals escape punishment.

“Nothing, as far as I’ve been able to determine. He killed an off-duty policeman, but the policeman was out of uniform and drunk. He attacked my client from behind with a broken bottle. My client shouldn’t be in jail, and I think I have a good chance of winning his case.”

“What’s the other case?”

“I’m going to sue a rapist on behalf of the woman he raped. I’ve been sitting through the criminal case, and I’m pretty sure that the rapist will be convicted. My client is a nice young woman. The money won’t stop her suffering, but she’s poor and it can give her a better life.”

“Well, that’s good. I’ll pray for her.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Robin and her mother talked until they ran out of things to say. Robin was glad she had called. Her mother had been lonely since Robin’s dad passed and Robin did feel a little guilty because she wasn’t there to help her. But Robin’s three brothers lived nearby, and her mother kept busy sitting for her grandkids and working with her church groups, so Robin didn’t feel too bad.

The game started shortly after Robin hung up. She watched a half, but was too tired to finish, so she went to bed early so she would be sharp when the Hastings case started up in the morning.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Doug Armstrong was failing so badly that he couldn’t sleep, so he was exhausted when court started. Rex Kellerman called Randi Stark to the stand. Randi broke down twice during her direct testimony. Doug chanced a glance at the jurors. What he saw on their faces was not encouraging.

“Miss Stark,” Kellerman asked as he continued his direct examination, “did you tell the defendant that you did not want to have sexual intercourse with him?”

Randi nodded.

“You have to answer the question so the court reporter can record it,” Kellerman said gently.

“Sorry. Yes. I told him to stop.”

“And did he stop?”

“No… no, sir.”

“What did he do when you told him to stop?”

“He ripped my panties off. Then he slapped me and told me to be a good girl. Then… then he forced himself inside me.”

“What were you feeling when he penetrated you?”

Randi started to cry. “It hurt. I told him but he wouldn’t stop.”

“Did the defendant ejaculate inside you?”

“Yes.”

“What happened then?”

“I yell ‘Get off me,’ and Annie came into the room.”

“Did he leave then?”

“Only after Annie threatened to scream.”

“What did you do after the defendant left?”

“Annie took me to the hospital.”

“Thank you, Randi. I have no further questions.”

“Mr. Armstrong,” Judge Mary Redding said.

“Thank you, Your Honor. Miss Stark, you don’t like Blaine, do you?”

Randi looked stunned by the question. “He raped me. No, I don’t like him.”

“What about before the party? Isn’t it true that you hated him because in high school, your boyfriend, Ryan, attacked Blaine and was sent to jail?”

Randi glared at Armstrong. “Blaine baited Ryan. He was much bigger and stronger, and he beat him up. Then he reported Ryan to the police and lied about what happened. Ryan was never the same after he got out of juvie,” Randi said.

“You claim Blaine lied,” Doug said, “but Ryan had his day in court and he was convicted, wasn’t he?”

“That’s because he got his friends to lie at the trial.”

Blaine leaned over to his lawyer. “Object,” he said. “Ask the judge to strike the answer.”

Before Armstrong could say anything, Randi pointed at Blaine. “Because of him, Ryan killed himself. So, yeah, I hate him.”

“Objection!” Doug shouted.

“Sustained. Miss Stark, you must not volunteer that type of statement. Confine yourself to answering the questions Mr. Armstrong asks.”

The judge turned to the jury. “I am instructing you to ignore Miss Stark’s last two statements about what Mr. Hastings’s friends and Ryan may have done. They are inadmissible guesses, and you may not use them in any way in deciding Mr. Hastings’s case.”

“A lot of good that’s going to do me,” Blaine whispered. “You’re letting that little bitch say anything she wants.”

“Mr. Armstrong,” the judge asked, “do you have any more questions?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Miss Stark, I see Robin Lockwood in the spectator section. Is she an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Have you hired her?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s because you plan to sue Blaine if he is convicted, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And isn’t your motive for accusing my client of rape the money you hope to get in a civil suit?”

“No. I called the police because he raped me against my will. He’s an animal, and I want to protect any other woman he can rape if he’s not behind bars.”

“Move to strike that answer, Your Honor?” Doug said.

“You asked the question, Mr. Armstrong, and you’re stuck with the answer.”

“The State rests,” Rex Kellerman told the Court as soon as Randi was excused.

“All right. Let’s recess and be back in twenty minutes,” the judge said.

“Let’s talk outside,” Blaine said.

“Sure,” Doug said.

Blaine and Doug passed Senior on their way up the aisle. He looked furious, but Junior waved him down. Blaine led Doug into a deserted stairwell at the back of the fifth-floor corridor.

“Do I go on next?” Blaine asked.

“I don’t think you should testify.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“Are you going to say that you never penetrated Stark?”

“That’s the truth.”

“Kellerman will crucify you. He’ll ask you how your sperm got into Stark, and you won’t have an answer.”

“You should have given the jury an answer. I told you to hire a DNA expert who would tell the jury that isn’t my DNA.”

“I did hire an expert. I told you, he conducted his own test, but he agreed that the DNA in the rape kit was a match for your DNA.”

Hastings’s face flushed with anger and a pulse started throbbing in his temple. “Then you should have hired another expert, you fucking incompetent.” Blaine’s low growl was more frightening than if he had screamed in Doug’s face. “I never fucked that half-wit. She lied on the stand, and you didn’t do a goddamn thing.”

They were alone in the stairwell, and Doug thought Blaine might attack him.

“I am not going to prison,” Hastings said. “Do you understand me?”

“Calm down, Blaine—”

“I’ll calm down when I hear ‘not guilty.’ And you better make sure that’s what I hear, or you are going to be very sorry.”

Armstrong’s stomach turned. “What are you talking about?”

“Do your job,” Hastings answered. Then he walked away.

“Do you have any witnesses, Mr. Armstrong?” the judge asked.

“Mr. Hastings is going to testify.”

Doug spent the first part of his direct examination asking his client about his academic and athletic accomplishments.

“And are you planning to attend medical school?”

“Yes, sir, if I’m not drafted by an NFL team. But medical school is definitely in my plans for the future after a career in the NFL.” Blaine turned to the jurors. “I want to work with children in some capacity.”

“Let’s talk about the night of the party after the Portland State–Oregon game. Did you see Miss Stark at the party?”

“Yes, sir. She came up to me and started talking.”

“Had you been drinking when Miss Stark approached you?”

“Yes, sir. I was tired from the game and I had a little more alcohol than I should have.”

“How were you feeling?”

“A little tipsy.”

“Did you dance with Miss Stark?”

“Yes.”

“What happened while you were dancing?”

“She came on to me. She started kissing me and she started stroking my crotch.”

“What happened next?”

“She led me down the hall to a bedroom.”

“So, going to the bedroom was her idea?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Hastings, please tell the jury what happened inside the bedroom.”

“We started making out on the bed. And right away, she unzipped my fly and began stroking me. I was pretty excited and I came right away.”

“Inside Miss Stark?”

“No, sir. In her hand.”

“What happened next?”

“She screamed, ‘Get off me.’”

“Did that startle you?”

“Yes, because she’d been really willing up until she screamed.”

“She never said she didn’t want to continue making out?”

“No.”

“What happened next?”

“The door flew open and Annie Roche came in and started yelling at me.”

“What did you do?”

“I was confused. Stark was hitting me on my chest and Roche was yelling at me. I was embarrassed, so I left.”

“Did you force Miss Stark to have sex of any kind with you?”

“No, sir. She initiated everything, and she never said she didn’t want to make out.”

“No further questions,” Doug said, relieved that his direct examination was over.

“Do you have any questions, Mr. Kellerman?” the judge asked when Doug returned to the defense counsel’s table.

“Just a few,” Kellerman said. “If you are convicted of rape, will that affect your ability to get into medical school?” Rex Kellerman asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“How about your draft status with NFL teams?”

“I probably wouldn’t get drafted.”

“So, you have a lot to lose if this jury believes Miss Stark?”

“Yes.”

“Which gives you a lot of reasons to lie about what you did to Miss Stark in that bedroom, doesn’t it?”

Hastings’s face flushed with anger just as it had in the stairwell. “I’m not lying—she is. She’s made this whole thing up to get my money. She and her crowd always resented me, and now she wants to bring me down to her level.”

“What level is that?”

“Stark always ran with losers. I worked hard to get good grades. I want to make something of myself. She can’t stand that I’m rich. She wants my money. That’s why she’s lying.”

Rex Kellerman smiled at Hastings. “You just accused Miss Stark of being a liar. Is she also a magician?”

Hastings looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“If what you say is true, you never penetrated Miss Stark.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, in addition to crying and screaming at you to get off her, did Miss Stark say ‘abracadabra’ and make your sperm magically appear inside her?”

Hastings’s mouth opened, and he stared at the DA. Then he stammered, “I… I didn’t rape her.”

“No further questions,” Kellerman said.

CHAPTER NINE

“Madam Foreperson, have you reached a verdict?” Multnomah County Circuit Court judge Mary Ann Redding asked after telling Blaine Hastings to stand.

“We have, Your Honor,” answered Juror Number Four, a fifty-year-old CPA.

“Is your verdict unanimous?”

“It is.”

“How do you find the defendant on count one in the indictment, which charges that Mr. Hastings raped Randi Stark?”

“We find the defendant guilty.”

Doug watched his client out of the corner of his eye as he learned that the jurors had found him guilty on all counts. He looked stunned. As soon as the verdicts were read, the judge dismissed the jury. When they were out of the room, Rex Kellerman asked the judge to revoke Blaine’s bail.

“Mr. Armstrong?” the judge said when the DA finished.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Armstrong said as he stood. “I would ask the Court to let Mr. Hastings remain on bail pending sentencing. Mr. Hastings has no criminal record and has always been a law-abiding citizen. He is an honor student studying to be a doctor. Mr. Hastings has surrendered his passport and has made all of his court appearances, and I have every reason to believe he will continue to do so.”

Judge Redding looked at the defendant. “Do you have anything you wish to say to me regarding the question of bail, Mr. Hastings?”

Blaine stood up and straightened his suit jacket. “I do, Your Honor. I am completely innocent. I did not rape Randi Stark. I’ve been set up. Stark accused me so she could sue me for money. Everything she said is a lie, and I suspect that the police pressured her to lie. If I wasn’t rich, this case would never have come to court. And if I’d had a decent lawyer, Stark’s lies would have been exposed to the jury. I shouldn’t go to prison for something I didn’t do.”

Hastings dropped into his seat and stared defiantly at the judge. Doug had to exercise great restraint to keep from edging away from his client.

Judge Redding tapped the pen she’d been holding on the dais for a moment before addressing Hastings. “I was uncertain about whether to let you continue on bail before you spoke. Then, in the space of a few minutes, you blamed your victim, the police, and your lawyer for your situation—never once accepting the blame for your actions. If you had shown one scintilla of remorse or one iota of compassion for your victim, I might have had some compassion for you. But you have convinced me to revoke your bail.” The judge turned to the courtroom deputies. “Please see that Mr. Hastings is booked into the jail.”

Randi Stark and her mother were sitting in the spectator section with Robin Lockwood.

Hastings leaped up and pointed at Randi. “You’ll regret this, you lying bitch.”

Maxine Stark leaped to her feet and balled her fist. “Don’t you dare threaten my Randi, you animal.”

The guards moved in. Robin took Randi’s hand and stared fearlessly at Hastings.

“What are you looking at, cunt?” Hastings screamed at Robin.

“Not much,” Robin replied evenly as the guards restrained Hastings.

“Take this piece of garbage out of here,” Kellerman ordered the guards, acting bravely now that the prisoner couldn’t hurt him.

“I’ll settle with you, too,” Hastings threatened as the guards led Blaine away.

Judge Redding shook her head. “It looks like I made the right decision. Court is adjourned.”

As soon as court recessed, Carrie Anders walked up to Randi. “I’m proud of you. It took a lot of guts to stand up to Hastings.”

“Thank you,” Randi said. “I never really believed Blaine would get convicted.”

“Well, he has been, and he’s going to pay for what he did to you for a long time.”

“You bet he’s going to pay,” Randi’s mother said.

“You’ve raised a very brave young lady, Mrs. Stark,” Carrie said.

While Carrie talked to Randi and her mother, Robin followed Rex Kellerman into the hall.

“Congratulations, Rex. You did a terrific job.”

“You’ve got the civil suit, right?”

“I do.”

“We should split the attorney fee,” Kellerman said with a smile. “After all, I did your work for you.”

Robin returned the smile. “Can I talk to you about the Henderson case when you’re through talking to the reporters?” she asked.

“Does he want to plead?”

“No. I wanted to talk to you about dismissing. My investigation shows he was acting in self-defense. Henderson should never have been indicted.”

“Hey, Robin, he killed a cop.”

“An off-duty, drunk cop in civilian clothes who attacked him from behind. You’ve seen our reports.”

“And you’ve seen ours. I don’t deal with cop killers. And now, if you’ll excuse me, the press awaits.”

Robin watched Kellerman walk away. She’d hoped he would be reasonable, but she knew she was being naïve. Robin sighed. It looked like Henderson was going to trial, and she wasn’t happy about that, even though she was certain she would win. Going to trial with Rex Kellerman was one of Robin’s least favorite things. He was obnoxious and unethical, and she’d have to watch her back every second she was in court with him.

CHAPTER TEN

As soon as Judge Redding left the bench, Doug pushed his papers into his attaché case and started to flee the courtroom, but Blaine Hastings Sr. barred his way.

“You were pathetic, Armstrong. A first-year law student could have done a more competent job.”

“I’m sorry you’re upset, but—”

“Upset! You bet I’m upset. That slut railroaded my boy, and you didn’t do a thing to stop her.”

“There are some good points for an appeal,” Armstrong said, anxious to get away.

“You think we’re going to let you handle Blaine’s appeal after the piss-poor job you just did? You’re fired.”

“You have to do what you think is best,” Armstrong said before hurrying out of the courtroom. Several reporters waylaid him, but he fended off their questions with a repeated “No comment.” Then he hurried down the steps to the lobby, too anxious to get away from the Hastings to wait for the elevator.

Frank Nylander, Armstrong’s partner, was talking to their receptionist when Doug walked into the waiting room. Nylander was a head taller than his partner. Though he was ten years older, his trim figure and full head of black hair made him look as if they were the same age. Nylander turned when he heard the door open. Doug looked disheveled and unhappy. His tie was askew and his white shirt was rumpled and sweat stained.

“I take it that things did not go well,” Nylander said.

“They went as badly as they could possibly go.”

“As you predicted.”

“I didn’t predict that Hastings would go ballistic in court.” Armstrong shook his head. “He made a complete ass of himself, and Judge Redding revoked his bail.”

Nylander shrugged. “As ye sow so shall ye reap.”

“The only good news is that Blaine Hastings is not my problem anymore. His father fired me.”

“Is that why you look upset?”

“No. Actually, I’ve never been so glad to be fired. Hastings Senior and Junior were some of the most unpleasant clients I’ve ever represented.”

“Then what’s got you in a lather?” Nylander asked.

“Junior threatened me during the trial.”

“You’re not worried he’ll get out, are you?”

“No. There are some arguments that can be made in an appeal, but I don’t see them winning.”

“Then relax. Hastings is locked up, and he’ll have a lot more to worry about than getting revenge on you. A pretty boy like that in prison. I’ve heard that cons don’t like child molesters and rapists.”

“Anything he gets he deserves,” Armstrong agreed.

Nylander studied his friend. “You look like shit, Doug. Slap some water on your face, comb what’s left of your hair, and I’ll take you out for a stiff drink.”

“I should get home to Marsha.”

“She’ll be a lot happier to see you if you’re not in a state. Come on. That’s what friends and law partners are for.”

Armstrong hesitated. Then he smiled. “You are a friend, Frank, a good friend. Let me call Marsha and get myself together. I can definitely use that drink.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ivar Gorski sat in the front seat of his rental car and took a sip from his thermos. Just a sip, because he did not want to have to relieve himself, thus creating the possibility that he would miss his subject.

Ivar was whip-thin with wiry muscles kept hard by hours in a Manhattan dojo. He began his study of the martial arts in the Ukraine, where he had served in the army, and he had continued his training after emigrating to the United States, where his job occasionally required violence.

Ivar focused his dark, deep-set eyes on a house halfway down the street. Those eyes were on either side of a narrow nose that bent like a hawk’s beak. Ivar’s wide, flat forehead, close-cropped blond hair, high cheekbones, and pale skin made his head look vaguely like a skull.

The door to the house opened and Ivar sat up. A woman in jeans and a Windbreaker pushed Leonard Voss’s wheelchair outside before locking the door. Voss’s head canted to one side and he slumped in the chair: a stroke victim, just as it said in the medical report Norcross Pharmaceuticals had received.

Ivar wrote down his observations in a notebook. He had been following Voss for a week, and he’d seen nothing to indicate that Voss was faking, which was bad news for his employer.

The woman pushing the wheelchair was Rita, Voss’s wife. She opened the door of their van and helped her husband inside. They were probably on their way to a doctor’s appointment. Mrs. Voss started to walk to the driver’s door. Then she stopped and looked down the street at Ivar. After a moment’s hesitation, she started walking toward his car. Ivar turned the car away from the Voss’s van and sped away. He thought he’d been careful, but he’d been spotted. It didn’t really matter. He had all the information he needed, but his pride as a professional was wounded.

Rita Voss got her husband in the van. Then she got in the driver’s seat and locked the doors. She thought she had seen the red Honda Accord following them to two of Leonard’s hospital appointments. Now that the driver had driven off so quickly, she was certain that Norcross was having Leonard followed.

Rita hesitated. Was she being paranoid? No, she was sure that someone was following them. She pulled out her phone and dialed 911.

“What’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

“It’s not an emergency, but I think my husband is being followed.”

“Are you in immediate danger?”

“No. The… the person drove away.”

“Nine-one-one is for emergencies, but if you’ll hold on for a moment, I’ll give you the number for the nearest police station and you can ask how you can file a complaint.”

Rita pulled a pen out of her pocket and wrote down the number. She felt a little foolish, but she wouldn’t put anything past Norcross. She decided to drive Leonard to his appointment and call the police while he was being examined.