For the past four days, Regina Barrister had been in court in a county located in the desert, a five-hour drive from Portland. Her client was charged with murder, and the case was anything but easy. When the jury brought in the not guilty verdict, Regina had been relieved and subdued. That had not been the case when she was alone in her car. As soon as the engine started, Regina broke into a massive grin, put on Jump Back: The Best of The Rolling Stones, and sang along at the top of her lungs all the way back to Portland.
Regina arrived home a little before midnight and crawled into bed. She had just fallen asleep when the ringing of her phone jerked her awake again.
“I have a Mr. Chesterfield on the line, Miss Barrister,” said the operator at the answering service that put through urgent calls after hours. “He’s an inmate at the jail.”
“Have I the pleasure of talking to Regina Barrister?” a man asked when the call was put through.
“I’m Regina.”
“My name is Robert Chesterfield and I’ve just been arrested for two murders.”
* * *
Regina walked out of the jail elevator. Moments later, a guard opened a thick steel door and led her into a narrow corridor that ran in front of three contact visiting rooms. When she stopped in front of the middle room, Regina looked through a large window of shatterproof glass into a narrow concrete room where Robert Chesterfield was sitting at a table that was bolted to the floor. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit that should have made him look common. Instead, he brought to mind the handsome British prisoners of war in World War II movies who faced captivity with a stiff upper lip while they plotted their escape.
“What an appropriate name for a successful trial attorney,” Chesterfield said when Regina was seated across from him.
“When my parents emigrated from Russia to the US, my family name was Batiashivili. My father learned English by reading British mystery novels. When he realized that Americans had a hard time with his last name, he changed it to Barrister.”
“Ah yes, Dorothy Sayers’s Lord Peter Wimsey and Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, not to mention the immortal Sherlock, the heroes of my youth. I believe that your father and I would have gotten along.”
Regina flashed an indulgent smile. “That’s enough about me, Mr. Chesterfield. You said you’ve been charged with two murders. Tell me what the police think you did.”
“Are you by any chance a member of the Westmont Country Club?”
“No.”
“Did you read about the secretary at the club who was poisoned?”
“I did, but I don’t usually pay much attention to a murder case when I’m not involved.”
“Busman’s holiday, eh?” Chesterfield said with a smile. Then he stopped smiling. “I moved to Oregon from London several years ago and began seeing Lily Dowd, who was a widow and a member of the Westmont. A gentleman named Arthur Gentry was also courting Lily. Mr. Gentry passed away quite suddenly. I married Lily soon after and became a member of the Westmont.
“Several months ago, Samuel Moser, the manager of the club, accused me of sexually harassing female members and staff, including his secretary, Sophie Randall. He also accused me of cheating at cards. There was no truth to these accusations, and I told him so. Mr. Moser continued to insult me, and I demanded that he be fired. When the board refused, my wife and I resigned.
“In December, someone sent Mr. Moser a box of chocolates. He gave the box to Mrs. Randall. She ate a few pieces and died. The papers reported that the chocolates contained cyanide. Now I’ve learned that the police believe that Mr. Gentry may have been poisoned.”
“Are you being accused of murdering both victims?” Regina asked.
Chesterfield nodded. “Do you know a prosecutor named Peter Ragland?”
“I do.”
“Have you had any cases against him?”
“I have.”
“How did you do?”
“Of the four cases I tried against Peter, three ended in not guilty verdicts. I lost one case, but I appealed, and the Oregon Court of Appeals reversed because Peter failed to tell me that his key witness had not identified my client at a lineup and a photo throwdown. When the case was sent back for a new trial, Peter’s boss told him to dismiss it. Is Peter the DA on your case?”
“Yes. He’s also a member of the Westmont and he seems to be having the