The Perfect Alibi

CHAPTER SIXTY

Private practice was often feast or famine. A few new cases had come in the door in the past few weeks, but none of them were very complex, so Robin had a lot of time on her hands. One afternoon she decided to organize the files in Doug Armstrong’s case so they could be put in storage.

Around six, Robin’s stomach began to growl and she decided to call it a day. She’d been going through the files Detective Jacobs had sent her from New York when he’d sent the questions he wanted Doug Armstrong to answer. She’d put the photographs of Tyler Harrison’s law office in a neat stack and started to put a rubber band around them when something in the photograph on the top of the pile caught her eye. The photo showed Harrison’s desk and the college and law school diplomas on the wall behind it.

Robin picked up the photo and studied it. Harrison had graduated from Columbia University, a prestigious Ivy League school, but he had continued his legal education at the Warren E. Burger School of Law at Sheffield University in Arkansas.

Robin frowned. Something about Sheffield University rang a bell, but she couldn’t remember where she’d heard about the school before. Robin conducted a web search and learned that Sheffield was a small Christian college in a rural area of Arkansas.

Sheffield’s law school was definitely third tier, and Robin couldn’t understand why Harrison had gone there. A graduate of Columbia would be able to go to a better law school than the one at Sheffield even if he had terrible grades. And why Arkansas? And how had a graduate of Sheffield’s law school landed a position at a prestigious New York firm that would do most of its hiring at top ten law schools?

Then Robin remembered where Sheffield had come up before. She felt light-headed. After taking a few deep breaths, Robin mulled over the implications of her discovery. When she was calm, Robin found the phone number for Greta Harrison, Tyler’s widow.

It was nine at night in New York, still early enough to call.

“Mrs. Harrison?” Robin asked when a woman answered the phone.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to call this late. My name is Robin Lockwood. I’m an attorney in Portland, Oregon.”

“What is this about?” Greta asked in the tone Robin often used when she suspected that a caller was a solicitor.

“You know Detective Herschel Jacobs?”

“Yes,” Greta answered warily.

“Frank Nylander was an attorney in Portland. He met with your husband in New York to negotiate a case during the week your husband was killed. Detective Jacobs called me a while ago to ask me to help him with your husband’s case because I was representing an attorney in Oregon who was the partner of Frank Nylander.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re calling.”

“I ran across something odd that might help Detective Jacobs, and I have a strange question to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“I was going through a file and I noticed a photograph of Mr. Harrison’s diplomas. I saw that he graduated from Columbia, which is a very prestigious university, but he went to a small law school in Arkansas. Can you tell me why your husband went to law school at Sheffield instead of a more prestigious institution?”

“How could that possibly be relevant to finding my husband’s killer?”

“It may not be. I may be way off base.”

There was dead air for a moment. Robin waited.

“The answer to your question is very simple. Tyler and I met at Columbia. Although I was in medical school and he was a freshman, we were almost the same age because Tyler had been in the army for several years before he went to college.

“The year Tyler graduated from Columbia, I decided to go to a rural county in Arkansas that was in dire need of a physician. Tyler had excellent grades and could have gone to law school anywhere, but we were in love and he insisted on applying to Sheffield’s law school so we could be together. Tyler graduated number one in his class and edited the law review. Several people at his law firm knew him from Columbia. They told the partners about him when he applied. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Thank you. That’s very helpful. I have one more question: What year did your husband graduate from Sheffield?”

Mrs. Harrison told Robin. The sick feeling she’d experienced when she saw the photograph of Harrison’s diploma returned.

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with finding the person who murdered Tyler,” Mrs. Harrison said.

“To be honest, I’m not certain it will help. If it does, you can count on me telling Detective Jacobs what I’ve discovered.”

Robin said good night and hung up. She spun her chair around so she was looking out the window, but she wasn’t seeing any of the sights. Doug Armstrong had gone to the Warren E. Burger School of Law at Sheffield around the same time as Tyler Harrison. He and Harrison were the only lawyers she’d heard of who had gone there. In fact, Robin had never heard of Sheffield or its law school, and she doubted that anyone who didn’t live in Arkansas had heard of the school. Anyone, that is, but Frank Nylander. But what did that mean?

Robin let her imagination run wild. Frank is in Tyler Harrison’s office negotiating the Voss case. He sees Harrison’s diploma and he says, “What a coincidence. My law partner went to your law school at the same time you were there. His name is Doug Armstrong. Did you know him?”

What had Harrison answered? The class at Sheffield was small, so it would have been odd if Harrison didn’t know Doug. Robin bolted upright in her chair. After a few minutes, she did a web search for the Warren E. Burger School of Law alumni association.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Robin was too distracted to work, so she went to the gym. An hour of exertion left her exhausted but did not bring her peace of mind. It had rained for most of the day, but the rain stopped by the time she started walking home. It was not uncommon for Robin to solve problems in her cases during a long walk, and she got a few ideas before she arrived at her apartment.

Jeff was interviewing witnesses for Mark Berman, her law partner, so Robin whipped up a quick dinner of leftover Thai food. She paid very little attention to her food because the implications of what she’d discovered kept tumbling around in her brain. She had brought a chopstick’s worth of pad thai halfway to her mouth when she remembered the bullet. As Robin sat up, she forgot to grip the chopsticks, and the noodles dropped back onto her plate.

Detective Jacobs had told her that the bullet that killed Tyler Harrison and the bullet that killed Rex Kellerman had come from the same gun. That made no sense if Rex had nothing to do with the New York case, unless…

Robin grabbed her phone and punched in the number for Carrie Anders’s cell phone.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Carrie asked.

“Do you have any suspects in Rex Kellerman’s murder?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Humor me, will you?”

“Remember our conversation on the division of labor between people who are paid to solve crimes and those people who are paid to represent people who are arrested for a crime?”

“Please, Carrie.”

“If you know something, you should tell me.”

“I don’t know anything. I just have an idea. If I get anything concrete, I promise I’ll let you know. So, do you have any suspects?”

“No one we can do anything about.”

“What about Doug Armstrong? Do you know where he was when Rex was killed?”

There was silence on the line. When Carrie spoke, she was angry. “Do you know something that makes you think Armstrong killed Kellerman?”

“I don’t have any evidence that Doug is guilty, but I might be able to help you if a few things pan out.”

Robin heard Carrie let out a breath. “We talked to Marsha Armstrong. She said that she and Doug were home all night. When we talked to Doug, their stories matched.”

“And you believe them?”

“Yes, but that’s not because they can prove they were together. It’s just their word.”

“And there’s nothing else. No one called Doug during the time Rex was killed and he didn’t call anyone? They didn’t have visitors?”

“Like I said, all I have is their word.”

“Okay, thanks. One more thing: Do you know what kind of gun was used to murder Rex?”

“We think it was a Glock. Why?”

“Like I said, I have an idea.”

“Robin, do not go off on your own on this.”

“I won’t. I promise. After Atlanta and what happened in the garage with Blaine, I don’t need any more drama in my life.”

“I’m glad you realize that.”

“I do,” Robin said before she disconnected, but she was lying.

Robin was still up when Jeff came home.

“Oh, hi. I thought you’d be in bed.”

“I need you to check on something for me tomorrow.”

“No kiss, no hug?”

Robin gave him a peck on the cheek. “Can you do this first thing tomorrow?”

“Do what?”

Robin told him, and Jeff looked puzzled. “We’re not representing Armstrong anymore. Why do you need to look into this?”

Robin explained what she thought Jeff would find and what the implications were if she was right.

“Assuming your hunch pans out, what are you going to do with the information?”

Jeff looked shell-shocked by the time Robin finished explaining her plan. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“It’s the only way I can think of to get the evidence we need.”

“You do not need evidence, because you are not a police officer. You need to explain what you know to Carrie Anders, a sworn officer of the law, and let her act on it.”

“How? There’s no way Carrie can get a search warrant based on guesses. And even if she did search, Doug isn’t stupid. No one will be able to find it.”

“I can’t let you risk your life, Robin.”

Robin glared at Jeff. “I make my own decisions. If you don’t want to help, I’ll find someone who will.”

“Be reasonable.”

“I have spent hours thinking this out. If you can come up with another way to get what we need, tell me and I’ll back down. If not, I’m going ahead with my plan whether you like it or not.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Ivar Gorski watched Marvin Turnbull drive out of the Norcross garage. He waited until there were a few cars between him and Turnbull before pulling into traffic and following him. Ivar was certain he knew where the CEO was headed. Turnbull was married with two children who were in high school, but he had a mistress who lived in an apartment on Long Island. Turnbull changed up the days he visited her because he didn’t want his wife to notice a pattern, but he got horny at least once a week.

Patience was one of Ivar’s strong points, and the trait paid off when Turnbull passed the freeway entrance that would have taken him home and kept going to the entrance that would lead him to his love nest.

Three quarters of an hour later, Turnbull parked on a side street. When he got out of his car, he was wearing a Windbreaker with a hood to conceal his face. He hurried to the entrance to the garden apartment and let himself inside with a key. If Turnbull kept to his routine, he would be inside the apartment until eleven. Then he would drive home.

Ivar settled in and passed the time reading War and Peace. He had developed the habit of reading the Russian classics after assassinating a literature professor who had angered a Russian politician by publishing an essay that condemned corruption in his department. On the way out of the professor’s apartment, he had seen Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment in a bookshelf. The title amused him, so he’d taken the book and found it engrossing. Now that he had read all of Dostoevsky and Gogol, he was on to Tolstoy.

At ten to eleven, Turnbull reappeared. Ivar closed his book and slipped out of his car. Turnbull turned the corner and was enveloped in shadows. Ivar walked up behind Norcross’s CEO and shot him with a silenced pistol. He was headed back to his car before Turnbull collapsed on the sidewalk. He was fairly certain that no nosy neighbor had seen him or his car, but he wasn’t worried if he was in error. He had worn a disguise, and the car was stolen. He would leave it at the airport tonight before boarding a flight to Madrid using a ticket he had obtained under the false name that matched the name in his forged passport.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Doug Armstrong smiled when his secretary ushered Robin into his office a little before five in the afternoon. “Hi, Robin. What’s up?”

“I haven’t seen you in a while, and I wanted to see how you’re feeling.”

“Thanks for asking. I’m about ninety percent.”

“Still having trouble remembering what happened on the evening Frank was murdered?”

Doug stopped smiling and shook his head. “That’s still a blank. I keep trying, but…” He shook his head again.

“I might be able to help you fill in the blanks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I know who killed Frank.”

“Really?”

Robin nodded.

“That’s great! Who killed him?”

“We both know the answer to that question.”

Doug looked puzzled, and Robin flashed a sad smile. “You can stop pretending. I know you murdered your best friend and I know why.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were always the most likely suspect. You were alone with Frank when he was killed, and your blood was under his fingernail. But everyone knew you and Frank were best friends, and you’d been in a great mood when you got back from Seattle, so everyone gave you a pass because no one could think of a motive so strong that you would kill Frank.”

“That’s because I would never kill Frank. I owed him everything.”

“And he was going to take everything from you, wasn’t he? Quite by accident, Frank had discovered a horrible secret—something you’ve been hiding for years, something that would destroy your world.”

“I don’t know where you’re going with this, Robin. I don’t have any deep, dark secrets.”

“When did you graduate from law school, Doug?”

“Nineteen eighty-eight.”

“That’s not true, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Frank went to New York to negotiate the Voss case with Tyler Harrison. While he was in Harrison’s office, he noticed that Harrison had graduated from Sheffield University’s law school in 1988. You’re the only other person Frank knew who had gone to Sheffield, so he told Harrison that his law partner, Doug Armstrong, had been a classmate. And that’s when Harrison destroyed the myth you’d been promoting all these years. He told Frank the truth.”

Armstrong looked directly at Robin, his mouth set in a grim line. “And what is the truth, Robin?”

“You flunked out of law school, Doug. I know that for a fact. I checked with the law school alumni association. Your diploma is a forgery. I’m guessing that you moved to Oregon because you believed that no one in this state would know anything about Sheffield University. You lied when you said you passed the Oregon Bar exam. I’ve looked for your name on every list of applicants who applied to take or passed the bar exam from 1988 on. Your name isn’t on any of the lists. You never passed, because you never took it.

Doug stared at Robin in a way that made her recall the old cliché, “If looks could kill…”

“Aren’t you going to tell me I’m mistaken?” Robin asked.

“This is your story, Robin. Go on. It sounds interesting.”

“You know, it’s amazing. Once you start practicing, everyone assumes that you graduated from a law school and passed the bar exam. No one ever challenges you or is even interested. There have been any number of cases over the years of people who falsely claimed to be attorneys and fooled everyone for years.

“Frank believed you when you told him your tale of woe in that tavern the first time you met, and once you started appearing in court, everyone assumed you were a lawyer. But you’ve been pretending all this time.

“Practicing law without a license is a criminal offense. I’m betting that’s what Frank told you when you went to his office the night you returned from Seattle. I’m guessing that you begged him to keep your secret, but Frank is known for being very ethical and he must have told you that he couldn’t do that. You knew your world would end once the cat was out of the bag, so you grabbed that sculpture, smashed Frank’s head in, and killed your best friend.”

“Even if what you say is true,” Armstrong said. “I can never be prosecuted for Frank’s murder. Thanks to you, the murder charges have been dismissed with prejudice.”

“That’s true, but you can still be charged with Tyler Harrison’s murder.”

“What makes you think I killed Harrison?”

“I couldn’t figure out why you went through this charade of having amnesia. If you had gone to the party for your associate and said that Frank was coming later, you would never have been a suspect in Frank’s murder. You would have had the perfect alibi. Then I realized that you had to disappear so you could drive to New York in Frank’s car and kill Tyler Harrison.”

“Why would I murder a New York attorney I’d never met?”

“Come on, Doug. Don’t do this.”

“No, Robin. I’m really curious.”

“You knew that Harrison would hear about Frank’s murder the next time he called him about the Voss case. Once that happened, there was a chance that he would tell the police that you never graduated from law school. That would reveal your motive to murder Frank, which no one could figure out otherwise. You couldn’t take that chance.

“But, you had a problem: How would you get to New York without anyone knowing? You couldn’t fly or take any other form of public transportation, because that would leave a paper trail. That’s when you remembered that Frank’s car was in the garage. Driving to New York and back would take days, and that presented another problem. How could you disappear for the time it took to drive to New York in Frank’s car, murder Harrison, and drive back to Portland? Amnesia was the answer.”

“Those are several clever deductions. Hercule Poirot would have been proud of you. Unfortunately, there’s no way to prove I killed anyone in New York.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Did you stop for gas? You must have. Did the gas station have a surveillance camera? You must have gotten food. Can a clerk identify you? This is the age of surveillance, Doug. There are eyes in the sky that see everything. And you’ll still face criminal charges once I tell the authorities that you’ve never been an attorney, which will destroy you.”

“Are you going to do that? You’re my attorney.”

“Was your attorney.”

“So, you’re going to go to the police?”

Robin shook her head. She looked sad. “I like you, Doug. Everyone likes you. So, I’m going to give you the opportunity to turn yourself in.” Robin stood. “Get yourself a good attorney and have her negotiate a deal. Maybe she can even convince Vanessa to keep the fact that you’ve been lying about being a lawyer secret so you can keep your dignity.”

“I’ll give that suggestion serious thought.”

“Don’t think too long. If I haven’t heard by tomorrow from you or your attorney that you’ve confessed, I’m going to the police with everything I know.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

The meeting with Doug Armstrong had drained Robin, and she was exhausted when she got home. She fixed supper, watched TV, and waited. At eleven, she turned off the set, turned out all the lights in her apartment, and went into the bedroom. At one in the morning, her doorbell rang.

Robin walked to the front door and looked through the peephole. When she saw who was at her door, she started to open it. As soon as the door began to open, Doug pulled out Frank Nylander’s Glock.

“Freeze!” screamed Jeff, who had been hiding in the stairwell.

Doug swung toward Jeff, and Robin smashed her fist into Doug’s gun hand, moving the barrel the inch she needed to force the bullet to go into the floor. Doug was turning back toward Robin when she buried her fist in his solar plexus. The blow drove the wind out of Armstrong. He dropped the Glock and collapsed in the hallway.

Robin kicked the gun away just as Jeff appeared beside her with his gun drawn. “Bag the Glock and call Carrie,” Robin said as she knelt next to Armstrong. “You were going to kill me, weren’t you, Doug? Attempted murder is going to be easy to prove with two witnesses and one big fat motive.”

Armstrong didn’t say anything. When Jeff was satisfied that Armstrong had caught his breath, he pulled him to his feet and cuffed him. Doug stared at the floor as Robin and Jeff escorted him inside the apartment.

No one said anything until Carrie, Roger Dillon, Vanessa Cole, and two uniforms arrived twenty minutes later.

“Damn it, Robin,” Carrie said after Robin explained what had happened, “Armstrong could have shot you.”

“Unlike Blaine Hastings, Doug is soft and no athlete. I was counting on slow reflexes and a lack of conditioning. Plus, Jeff had the drop on him, and Jeff is a very good shot.”

“It was still irresponsible.”

Robin pulled up her sweatshirt to reveal a bulletproof vest. “I’ve been wearing this ever since I met with Doug at his office.

“What if he’d shot you in the head?”

“Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You would never have let me hold myself out as bait, but this was the only way to get Frank Nylander’s Glock, the evidence you need to connect Armstrong to the murders of Tyler Harrison and Rex Kellerman. So, feel free to say thank you at any time.”

“I agree with Carrie. You are an idiot,” Vanessa said, “but thank you.”

The officers escorted Doug Armstrong out of the apartment, and Vanessa and Carrie left shortly after. Robin shut the door and walked toward the bedroom. She didn’t look happy.

“What’s the matter?” Jeff asked.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I feel awful. I really liked Doug, and I can’t imagine what this will do to his wife.”

“Tyler Harrison and Frank Nylander had wives, too.”

Robin sighed. “You’re right.”

“Even though I agree with Carrie that you’re an idiot, you’ve convinced me that you had to do what you did. Without the Glock, there’s no case against Doug for killing Rex, and New York would never be able to prove Doug killed Tyler Harrison.”

“I know. It’s just that Doug had this great life, and so did Frank Nylander. Now everything is in ruins because of a one-in-a-million coincidence.”

“He lied to everyone for years,” Jeff said.

“But he was a good lawyer. He proved that over and over.”

“There are rules, Robin. Our society depends on a respect for the law. We need to know that attorneys are educated and qualified. That’s why we have a requirement that lawyers graduate from an accredited law school and pass the bar exam. We don’t throw out all the rules because one phony lawyer does a good job.”

“Do you know how many lawyers don’t live up to the ethics of the profession and how many incompetents graduate from a law school and pass the bar? Doug did everything right, even if he didn’t graduate from law school or pass the bar.”

“Will remembering that Douglas Armstrong murdered Frank Nylander, Tyler Harrison, and Rex Kellerman, and was prepared to kill you, help you get over your post-arrest depression?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, there is that.”

“You liked Doug, and it made you feel good to save him when Rex went after him,” Jeff said. “Now you know that Rex was right all along. You were duped, and it’s hard for you to accept the fact that lovable Doug Armstrong is really a liar and a cold-blooded killer. Armstrong was wearing a mask all these years, and we’re lucky you ripped it off.”

“I guess.”

“There’s no guessing about it, so cheer up, and let’s get some sleep. We’re going to be spending a lot of time at the police station tomorrow, and I, for one, want to have a clear head when the cops grill us.”

Robin wrapped her arms around Jeff. “I’m too wound up to sleep.”

Jeff shook his head. “Does having someone try to shoot you always make you horny?”

“I’m two for two, so I’d say there’s a good chance it does.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

“Hello, Herschel,” Carrie Anders said. “I have good news for you.”

“I have some news for you, too.”

“Oh?”

“You first.”

“Okay. We’ve solved the Tyler Harrison murder. An Oregon lawyer killed him, Frank Nylander, and Rex Kellerman. We have him in custody for the Portland murders.”

“So, Norcross had nothing to do with Harrison’s and Nylander’s murders?”

“No.”

“That’s very interesting.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you after you tell me how you figured out who killed Harrison.”

Detective Jacobs listened quietly while Carrie explained how Robin Lockwood figured out that Douglas Armstrong had killed Tyler Harrison.

“Has Armstrong confessed?” Jacobs asked.

“No. He lawyered up, but thanks to Robin, we have the Glock that was used to kill Harrison and Kellerman, and we found a surveillance photo of Armstrong at a truck stop three-quarters of the way to Manhattan. So, we can give you everything you need to establish means, motive, and opportunity. I’ll send everything to you as soon as you send me your paycheck for this month for doing all your work for you.”

“The money should go to Robin Lockwood.” Jacobs chuckled. “This is like one of those TV shows where the clueless cops are shown up by the brilliant amateur.”

Carrie laughed. “I guess you’re right. So, what’s your news?”

“Ivar Gorski has disappeared. No one has seen him since our visit. And there’s something else. I think you convinced Gorski that Norcross had Tyler Harrison murdered and was going to go after him, because someone shot and killed Marvin Turnbull, Norcross’s CEO.”

“Damn. Any leads on where Gorski’s gone?”

“No. He hasn’t used his passport, but we’ve done some digging, and he’s got ties to the Russian Mafia—so he may be anywhere by now.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Robin was working on a brief in the Oregon Court of Appeals when her receptionist told her that Randi Stark wanted to see her.

“Good morning, Randi,” Robin said when Stark was seated across from her in her office. “How are you feeling?”

“Really good.”

“School’s going well?”

“Yeah. I just got some grades back, and I aced three of my four tests.”

“And you’re sleeping well? No more nightmares?”

“Well, yeah, I’m still having trouble sleeping because of Blaine,” Randi said.

“Are you seeing someone who can help with that, one of the therapists I suggested?”

“No. They’re expensive. When the case is over, I’ll try to get help if I’m still having problems.”

“You’ll definitely be able to afford it. So, why did you want to talk to me?”

“Annie told me what you said to her when you two met. She was really upset.”

“What upset her?”

“You asked her if we faked the rape.”

“I told her what Blaine’s lawyer might argue.”

“Why would he argue that?”

“You said that you found out about the party at the Oregon–PSU game from boys on the PSU team who played on your high school’s team.”

“That sounds right.”

“They’re the same boys who invited Blaine Hastings to the party. I know that because Jeff talked to them. They said they told you Blaine was going to be at the party.”

“What if they did?”

“You told me that you didn’t know Blaine would be at the party.”

“I guess I forgot.”

“When Blaine attacked me in the parking garage, he said the DNA evidence in his case had been rigged. I got the impression that he was implying that he got the idea for his scam from you.”

“That’s ridiculous. How would I know how to do something like that?”

“A nursing student would know all about DNA and what it can do. You’re not stupid, Randi. You told me your GPA, remember. I think you’re quite capable of coming up with a plan to frame Blaine.”

Randi studied Robin for a moment. Then she leaned forward. “After Annie told me about your meeting, I researched the attorney–client privilege. It’s pretty powerful. I even read about a case where a client told his lawyers that he’d murdered a person, and they couldn’t tell anyone even though an innocent man was in prison for the murder. That was really awful.” Randi looked directly at her attorney. “I definitely did not frame Blaine, but from what I read, if I did tell you I set him up, you and your investigator couldn’t tell anyone that Blaine is innocent. Is that right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Even if I did frame Blaine—which I didn’t—you shouldn’t get upset. He deserves to be in jail.”

“No one should be in jail for a crime they didn’t commit.”

“I agree. Ryan should never have been in jail. He wouldn’t have been if Blaine hadn’t framed him.”

“Is this revenge for Ryan?”

“If I did frame Blaine, which I didn’t, it would be justice for Ryan. But it would also be justice for me. Did anyone ever tell you why Ryan fought with Blaine?”

“Blaine insulted you and called you a slut.”

“Yeah, he did after Ryan accused him of raping me.”

“What?”

“I was pretty wild in high school. I had fake ID and I’d go to some pretty dicey bars. One night, I was with Ryan at one of them and we ran into Blaine. He came on to me and I blew him off. He couldn’t take that, so he followed me into the parking lot when I went for a smoke.”

Randi paused and looked at Robin. Her jaw quivered and her eyes teared up. She took a breath. “Have you ever been raped?”

“No.”

“That’s good, because you never forget it. Every time I have sex, I have to block out that bastard’s face.”

Randi took another breath. “He beat me and raped me in an alley. Ryan found me and took me home. The next day, he went after Blaine, and Blaine made sure Ryan went to jail to shut him up.”

Again, Randi took a breath. “My conscience is clear. Blaine raped me and he’s in prison for rape. And, by the way, I lied about the nightmares. Since the judge put that animal in a cage where he belongs, I’ve been sleeping like a baby.

“So, Robin, where do we go from here? Because, if you’re not interested in representing me, I’m sure there are plenty of lawyers who would like a percentage of a multimillion-dollar verdict.”

Robin was working the heavy bag with so much fury that she attracted Barry McGill’s attention.

“Who you pounding on?” McGill asked.

Robin wrenched around, her fist cocked. “What?”

McGill nodded at the bag. “Who’s that supposed to be?”

Robin dropped her fist. “Client trouble,” she answered.

“Like the kind you had with Willis Goins?”

“Worse. There’s someone in prison who might be serving time for something he didn’t do.”

“You sure the guy in prison is innocent?”

“He is and he isn’t. It’s complicated.”

“Tell the DA.”

“I can’t. I’m forbidden by law to reveal anything a client tells me or anything I learn while I’m investigating the case. The attorney–client privilege has me handcuffed.”

“That’s got to weigh on you.”

Robin’s shoulders sagged. “Honestly, Barry, it’s tearing me up.”

McGill nodded at the heavy bag. “I can see that. Those bags are expensive.”

Robin flashed a sad smile. “Sorry.”

McGill shook his head. “I don’t envy you. When I was boxing, I could take care of my problems with a left hook.”

“The law isn’t as simple as boxing.”

“I get that. Well, I’ll let you get back to work.” He pointed at the bag. “Go easy on my friend.”

As soon as McGill walked away, Robin squared up, but her anger had ebbed while she was talking with Barry and she didn’t feel like working out anymore. After a few more halfhearted swings at the heavy bag, Robin headed for the locker room.

Robin didn’t know what to do, but there was someone she knew who might. As soon as she was home, Robin checked the time in Athens and called the hotel where Regina Barrister was staying. Stanley Cloud answered the phone.

“Hi, Judge, is Regina there?”

“Yeah. We’re just getting ready to go out.”

“I’ve got a problem at work and I hoped she could advise me on what to do. Do you think she’s up for that?”

“Her meds have been working pretty well, so I think she’ll be able to help you. Let me get her.”

“How’s Greece?” Robin asked a minute later when Regina took the call.

“We toured the islands. It was wonderful. Santorini is the most romantic spot on earth.”

Robin laughed.

“Stanley says you have a problem at work.”

“This is attorney–client stuff, so you can’t discuss it with anyone, including Stanley.”

“We’re still law partners, and I still remember my ethics rules. So, shoot.”

Robin told her about the Hastings case and Randi’s confession that she had framed Hastings.

“But he did rape her in high school, and I believe that Hastings framed Ryan and coerced or paid his friends to lie. And that may have led to Ryan’s death,” Robin told Regina. “And he probably raped Julie Angstrom in eighth grade and other women we don’t know about.”

“You’ve got a very interesting dilemma, don’t you?”

“You hit the nail directly on the head. What should I do?”

“Nothing. You can’t disclose what Stark told you. And did she really tell you anything? She never admitted to framing Blaine, did she?”

Robin thought about that. “No,” she said a few moments later. “She kept saying that she did not frame him.”

“A bad person is in jail, where he belongs. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”

“I can’t keep representing Randi. Not now.”

“Probably not.”

Robin was quiet, and Regina let her think.

“You’ve been a big help. Go enjoy Athens and send more postcards.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Marsha took her seat on the other side of the glass from Doug. She hadn’t slept well in weeks. The only way she could get any rest was if she took medication. And she’d lost weight. Doug stared at her for a few moments. Then he raised the receiver that was attached to the concrete wall on his side of the noncontact visiting room.

“I’m so sorry,” Doug said. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

Marsha stared at them, at a loss for what to say.

“I did it for us, Marsha. I did it because I love you and I couldn’t lose you.”

“You… you killed three people,” she said.

“I killed Rex Kellerman because of what he did to you and tried to do to me.”

“What did Frank do? He was your best friend. How many times have you told me that you owed him everything?”

“Frank would have ruined our lives,” Doug said. “I begged him to let it lie. I reminded him of everything we’d built together, but he said I had to go to the bar and tell them. I would have been disgraced and disbarred. We would have been sued by every client whose case we lost. We would have had to give up our home, all of our savings. And I could have gone to prison for pretending to be a lawyer. Worst of all, I would have lost you.”

“I would never have deserted you, Doug. I love you. I would have stood by you.”

“You say that now.”

“I’m here for you now.”

Doug looked down. “I don’t want you to be here for me. I want you to file for divorce. I’ve thought about this a lot, Marsha. You’re young, you’re beautiful and smart. I don’t want you wasting your life out of a misguided sense of loyalty.”

Doug looked through the glass. Marsha had never seen anyone look as sad as Doug.

“This is our reality now,” he said. “I’m never getting out of prison, not ever. I don’t want you sitting by yourself in some cheap apartment for the rest of your life, waiting for the next visiting day at the Oregon State Penitentiary. You have to think of me as if I died, because it will be the same thing.”

Doug choked up. “I ruined my life thirty years ago when I made my decision to lie about graduating from law school,” Doug said when he regained his composure. “I couldn’t admit that I’d failed, and I never imagined that there would be consequences. I fooled myself then, but I’m facing reality now, and you have to do the same thing.”

Marsha looked sick.

“You have to leave me. If you don’t, I’ll find a way to kill myself. If I don’t have the nerve to commit suicide, I’ll get a prisoner to do it.” Doug smiled. “Finding someone who’ll kill me for a price shouldn’t be hard where I’m going.”

“Oh, Doug. Please don’t say that.”

“Then promise me that you’ll never visit me again; that you’ll get a divorce and find someone who is worthy of you. I’ve never been. You should be able to see that now.” Doug pressed his hand to the glass.

Marsha started to raise her hand to cover his, but she stopped halfway. Then she looked into Doug’s eyes, broke into tears, and ran away.

Doug watched her go until she disappeared from view. The phone Marsha had held dropped to the end of its cord. It swayed back and forth like a pendulum until the last evidence that the woman he’d loved and killed for had ever been on the other side of the bulletproof glass stopped moving.

Doug waited until he had regained his composure before he signaled for the guard. When the door to the cell block opened, Doug stood slowly, his shoulders slumped, bent slightly, walking like a much older man.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Being responsible for sending a client to prison should have had an adverse effect on a criminal lawyer’s business, but Robin’s caseload increased dramatically with every news story about the Armstrong case—proving the old adage that there is no such thing as bad publicity.

Robin was so busy that she rarely thought about Randi Stark or Blaine Hastings. She’d told Randi that she did not want to represent her anymore, and she’d given her the names of several excellent attorneys who could handle her suit against Blaine, so she didn’t have to think about the case anymore.

Jeff was bound by the attorney–client privilege because he was an agent of the firm. She had told him why she dropped Randi as a client. He could see that she was troubled, and he tried to make Robin feel better by pointing out that Hastings deserved to be in prison, but Robin was still troubled.

Fall was starting to morph into winter on a dark November day when Robin’s receptionist told her that Amanda Jaffe, a well-known Oregon criminal defense attorney, was in the waiting room. Jaffe was tall and athletic with high cheekbones, clear blue eyes, and black hair that tumbled over broad shoulders that were sculpted during years of high-level competitive swimming. Robin had gotten to know and respect Amanda when they’d represented clients in a monthlong federal drug conspiracy case.

“What’s up?” Robin asked when Amanda was seated.

“I was just hired by a former client of yours, Randi Stark.”

Robin stopped smiling. “Is this the civil suit against Blaine Hastings?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have the files sent over to you.”

“Can you tell me why you got off the case?”

“No.”

Amanda waited for an explanation, then realized that none would be forthcoming. “Have you heard about Hastings’s parents?”

“I’ve tuned out the case since I stopped representing Randi. What happened?”

“Senior entered a plea to obstruction of justice for his hand in the DNA scam. Vanessa dropped the case against Mrs. Hastings in exchange for the plea. Senior will go to jail, but he’ll probably get an early parole. Junior hasn’t been sentenced yet, because he was on the run—but he’ll be back in court next week, and I expect Judge Redding is going to throw the book at him for the rape and for jumping bail.”

Robin nodded but didn’t say anything.

Amanda cocked her head. “What’s troubling you? Is it something I need to know to represent Randi?”

Robin shook her head. “Go full bore for Randi. She deserves to be represented by a good lawyer. If you win, don’t worry. Justice will be served.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

Snow was a rare sight in the Willamette Valley, but the last days of December had brought three days of freezing temperatures accompanied by a light dusting of snow to downtown Portland. Robin had grown up in the Midwest, so the weather didn’t bother her and was a pale reminder of the mountain-high snowdrifts and blustery winter storms of her youth.

Robin was on her way to the Pacific Northwest Bank building to negotiate a case. As she walked into the lobby, she remembered that this building had once housed the law firm of Nylander & Armstrong. Robin looked at her phone. She was early for her meeting. On a whim, she pressed the button for the eleventh floor. When she got out of the elevator, she saw someone walking out of the insurance company offices on one side of the corridor. When she looked in the other direction, she saw glass doors, but she did not see any writing on them that indicated that law had once been practiced behind them.

Robin peered through the glass. There was nothing to see: no serious associates hustling between the offices, no desks, chairs, or computers. What had once been the scene of merry chaos was now inhabited only by ghosts.

Robin stared for a moment more before taking a deep breath and walking back to the elevator.