to start being objective,” Quinlan said. “Chesterfield is a horse’s ass, but he’s a very intelligent horse’s ass. He was baiting you because he knows you don’t have a prosecutable case.”
“That’s where you and I disagree. I think I can get an indictment with what I have. Once Chesterfield is in custody, dressed in an orange jumpsuit instead of an Armani, we’ll see how fast he changes his tune.”
Quinlan was smart enough to know that he wasn’t going to change Ragland’s mind, so he stopped trying. Getting an indictment would not be a problem. Any prosecutor worth his salt could convince a grand jury to indict the pope for John Kennedy’s assassination. Winning this case when it went to trial was something else.
CHAPTER TEN
Morris Quinlan was sound asleep when his phone rang.
“My hunch paid off,” Peter Ragland bragged as soon as Quinlan answered.
“What hunch?” Quinlan asked, groggy and annoyed at being jarred out of a deep sleep.
“You know I got the murder indictments for Chesterfield last week?”
“I testified at the grand jury, Peter.”
“Well, I don’t just want to arrest His Lordship, I want to shake him up. I knew a guy like Chesterfield wouldn’t be able to keep it in his pants, so I called in a favor from an undercover at Vice and had a tail put on him. Guess what?” Ragland asked gleefully.
“You woke me from a deep sleep, Peter. I’m too tired for games. Please cut to the chase.”
“Lily Dowd is at her house on the coast. About an hour ago, Chesterfield escorted an attractive young woman up to Dowd’s Portland condo. They’re probably in the sack, doing the dirty right now, so I thought that this would be a perfect time to come calling. I’m in the lobby of the condo with two uniforms. Hustle on down, and you’ll be just in time to get in on the bust.”
* * *
Robert Chesterfield had just finished giving a young woman whose name he couldn’t remember her second orgasm when loud banging on the front door interrupted a most enjoyable evening.
“Stay here, my dear,” Chesterfield said as he got out of bed and slipped on a robe.
“Open up, police!” a familiar voice shouted.
Motherfucker, thought Chesterfield, who remained outwardly composed. “Is that you, Peter?” he asked through the door.
“Open up, Robert.”
“Why should I do that? It’s the middle of the night and I have a guest.”
“Tell your guest to get dressed. Playtime is over. I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“Put on some clothes, dear. The police are calling!” Chesterfield shouted. Then he sighed and opened the door. “Did you plan this bit of theater in the hopes of embarrassing me?” Chesterfield asked wearily. “Because you haven’t succeeded.”
Ragland walked into the penthouse and handed Chesterfield the arrest warrant. “Robert Chesterfield, I am arresting you for the murders of Arthur Gentry and Sophie Randall and the attempted murder of Samuel Moser,” the deputy DA said.
While Chesterfield was reading the warrant, Ragland told him his Miranda rights. He was just finishing when a frightened young woman walked out of Chesterfield’s bedroom.
Chesterfield turned toward her and flashed a reassuring smile. “Megan—” he began.
“It’s Mary,” the woman corrected.
“I apologize. This dapper young man is Peter Ragland, and he’s arresting me for several murders.”
Mary’s eyes grew wide.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t murder anyone, so you were never in any danger. Peter just loves to grab headlines.” Chesterfield turned to Ragland. “May Mary leave? I only met her a few hours ago.”
Ragland hesitated and Quinlan stepped in. “Let the young woman go, Peter, so we can get on with this.”
Ragland gestured toward the door. “Give these officers your name, address, and phone number. Then you can take off.”
Mary gripped her purse tightly to her chest and scurried out of the condo. One of the uniforms followed her.
“What shall we do now?” Chesterfield asked. “Would you and your companions like some tea?”
Ragland reddened. “Don’t you ever get tired of this phony Brit act? Put your hands behind your back so we can cuff them. You’ll have your tea and crumpets in the jail.”
“May I dress first?”
Quinlan was afraid Ragland would try to take Chesterfield to jail in his birthday suit, so he stepped in. “Go with him while he dresses,” the detective told the other uniform.
Ragland frowned, but he didn’t countermand the order.
“This has been a productive evening, if I do say so myself,” Ragland gloated when Chesterfield was out of sight.
“I hope you’re right,” Quinlan said. Ragland had acted rashly, and Quinlan was very worried that