The Third Victim

by Phillip Margolin

  Robin returned the grin. “Miss Barrister said you set this up, and I can not thank you enough.”

  “I thought you’d like working with Regina, and I told her she was lucky to get you. I was certain you two would hit it off.”

  “We did. I really felt comfortable with her.”

  Robin stopped smiling. “One thing, though. She wants me to start next week. She said she cleared it with you, but is that okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. The associate you’re replacing is leaving today and she’s got tons of work for you. I’ve already lined up your replacement. He’s coming in Monday. He’s a good kid, second in his class at Lewis and Clark. Get him oriented, then take off.”

  “You’re the best, Judge.”

  Cloud grinned. Then his expression became stern. “Enough chitchat, Lockwood. I need that draft of the Sierra Club opinion on my desk pronto.”

  “Yes, sir,” Robin said as she saluted and did an about-face. As soon as her back was turned, she couldn’t help breaking into another grin.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “What do you think?” Carrie Anders asked Dr. Sally Grace.

  Everyone in the room was watching the assistant medical examiner, a slender woman with frizzy black hair and sharp blue eyes. Dr. Grace was known for her sense of humor, but she wasn’t smiling as she looked at the pictures of Meredith Fenner that Carrie had laid on the conference table after playing the recording of her interview with the young victim.

  Dr. Grace had examined the corpses of Portland prostitutes Patricia Rawls and Tonya Benson. Benson’s body had been found in a Dumpster behind a restaurant forty miles west of where Caleb White had found Meredith Fenner. Rawls’s body had been discovered a month later in the woods at a rest stop by a couple who were walking their dog. The rest stop was thirty-seven miles east of the spot where Fenner had stumbled out of the forest a week after Rawls was killed.

  “I think there’s a good chance that the person who murdered Rawls and Benson is also the person who kidnapped and tortured Meredith Fenner,” Dr. Grace said.

  Deputy District Attorney Kyle Bergland and the detectives grouped around the conference table let out a collective breath. They had been hoping for a break and it looked like they might finally have one.

  Dr. Grace put photographs of the battered faces of Benson, a black woman, and Rawls, a white woman, next to a picture of Meredith Fenner’s face.

  “The damage to the faces of all three women is similar and Fenner said her kidnapper sealed her mouth with duct tape. Traces of duct tape were found around the mouths of Rawls and Benson. All of the victims were found wearing only underpants and a top.

  “By the way, has the lab come back with any results?”

  Bergland nodded. “We have partial prints on the duct tape removed from Meredith Fenner’s wrists and ankles. They’re not good enough to run, but there are several points that could be used for comparison. The really good news is that Fenner’s kidnapper used his teeth to rip the duct tape on Fenner’s ankle and he left some saliva on it, so we have a sample of his DNA.”

  Dr. Grace placed photographs of the torsos of Rawls, Benson, and Fenner on the table.

  “Look at these burn marks and the cut marks on the victims’ waists and breasts. They’re almost identical, as if the perpetrator was following a ritual. And there is no indication that any of the women were raped, which makes sense if the perp masturbated while he was torturing the victims instead of seeking to penetrate them.”

  “Does anything else connect the crimes?” Anders asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Grace replied. “Rawls and Benson also had dried urine and feces in their underwear. My guess is that the killer wanted to humiliate and infantilize his victims by making them soil themselves, like he did with Fenner.”

  “This has been tremendously helpful, Sally,” Bergland said.

  “I’m glad. You guys are dealing with one sick fuck and I hope you stop him fast. I’m guessing that as soon as he finds his captive is gone, he’s going to go after someone else.”

  “There’s a rush on the DNA,” Anders said, “but our best bet for identifying Fenner’s kidnapper is Fenner. We have property records for cabins in the area where she was held. Her doctor says she’ll be healthy enough in a day or so to go house hunting. If she ID’s the cabin, we may have our killer.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  After spending Tuesday and Wednesday breaking in Justice Cloud’s new law clerk, Robin drove to Portland, where she got lucky. By Thursday afternoon, she’d found a furnished apartment over a Thai restaurant on the east side of the river. Several other ethnic restaurants, an old-time movie theater that showed indie films, and blocks of funky locally owned stores gave her new hood character. Finding a furnished apartment made the move from Salem easy, and living in a neighborhood where there were a lot of restaurants that had takeout was great, since she wasn’t much of a cook.

  Once she was settled in her apartment, Robin joined a gym on the west side of the river that was within easy walking distance of her office. Most mornings, she got up at five, donned sweats, and ran several miles to the gym, a duffel bag filled with her work clothes slung across her back. After working out for an hour and then showering, she would walk to work, stopping to pick up the large latte and scone or bagel that made up her breakfast.

  Regina Barrister had a corner office in a glass-and-steel high rise in downtown Portland. Glancing out her floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see the snowcapped majesty of Mounts Hood and St. Helens and sailboats and rowing crews cutting through the current in the Willamette River.

  Robin Lockwood had no window in a narrow office that barely accommodated her desk, a bookcase, and a small filing cabinet, but she didn’t mind because she was enjoying her job so much. Mark Berman, Regina’s other associate, had gone out of his way to make Robin feel at home. Mark was tall and handsome, with long brown hair and a pleasant smile. He was married, had a three-year-old daughter, and seemed to be immune to stress.

  Robin was dying to get into court, but Regina had her handling some very interesting research projects because of her appellate background. At Regina’s suggestion, she had put her name on the list for court appointments, and Mark had invited Robin to sit at counsel table with him for motions and a few misdemeanor trials.

  On her second day, someone walked into Robin’s office and said, “So you’re Regina’s new victim.”

  Robin looked up from the memo she was writing. She saw a man about six two with shaggy reddish blond hair that almost touched his broad shoulders, green eyes, and pale, freckled skin. But what drew Robin’s attention were the faint tracery of scars that crisscrossed his face.

  “Jeff Hodges,” the man said as he extended his hand. “I’m Regina’s investigator, which means that I’m also your investigator.”

  Robin realized that she was staring at Hodges’s scarred face and felt a burn in her cheeks. She stood up and walked around her desk, grateful for the chance to avert her eyes.

  “Robin Lockwood,” she said as they exchanged firm handshakes.

  Robin guessed that Hodges was used to people staring, because he ignored her reaction to his face. Instead, he gestured at the stack of briefs and memos piled on her desk.

  “I see the boss has you toiling in the coal mine already.”

  Robin smiled. “I love research, and the issues are really interesting.”

  “Different strokes for different folks,” Hodges said. “I’d go nuts if I had to be cooped up all day. Well, I’ll let you get back to work. I just wanted to introduce myself. If you need help on any of your cases, I’m just down the hall.”

  “Thanks,” Robin said.

  When Hodges walked out, Robin noticed that he limped, and she wondered what had caused the damage to his face and leg.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Harry White, Meredith Fenner, Carrie Anders, and Roger Dillon, Carrie’s partner, drove in one car to the spot in the road where Meredith had come out of the woods. Two Hammond County depu
ties followed in another car with Kyle Bergland. Harry pulled to the shoulder and Bergland’s car parked behind him. Everyone but Meredith got out. She looked pale, drawn, and frightened.

  Harry spread a map of the area on his hood. “We’re here,” he said. Then he pointed at two lines on the map. “Roads lead to Whisper Lake here and here. There are summer cabins all around the lake.” Harry pointed at one of the roads that led away from Country Road 24. “Let’s concentrate on the cabins in this area.”

  Everyone got back in their cars and Bergland’s car followed Harry’s car down a poorly paved, narrow road that led toward Whisper Lake. Carrie noticed that the car was bouncing.

  “Close your eyes, Meredith. Is this how you remember the ride when you came to in the trunk?”

  Meredith closed her eyes for a few moments. Then she opened them.

  “I can’t be certain because I was still woozy, but I think it was like this.”

  “Great.” Carrie reached over from the backseat and laid her hand on Meredith’s shoulder. “We’re going to get him. You’re going to get justice.”

  After a short drive, the road turned and they drove past an unpaved driveway. Harry turned in and a cabin appeared. They could see the lake through the trees. Harry stopped the car and looked at Meredith.

  “No. This isn’t it.”

  Harry turned the car around and drove back to the road.

  “What if I don’t remember?” Meredith asked after they had driven down three driveways without success.

  “That won’t be on you,” Harry assured her. “Just try your best. Don’t make up anything. You’ll either recognize the place or you won’t.”

  Harry turned into the next driveway and Meredith gasped when a large modern cabin with a blue metal roof came into view.

  “That’s it! I remember the roof. And there’s the shed.”

  Harry stopped the car and Bergland pulled in behind him.

  “Stay in the car,” Carrie said as the detectives and the deputy DA got out. “Harry, you stay with Meredith, just in case our guy is here.”

  Harry stood beside the car and Bergland leaned in the window on the passenger side.

  “I’ve got a judge waiting,” Bergland told Meredith. “We’re going to get a telephonic warrant. Are you certain this is where you were held?”

  “Yes, definitely.” Meredith pointed toward an area where the lawn met the woods. “That’s where I ran into the forest. And I told you the cabin was big and new, like something a rich person would have built.”

  Dillon, Anders, and the deputies approached the house with guns drawn. Harry, Bergland, and Meredith waited. Ten minutes later, the detectives returned to the car.

  “The back door was open, just like Meredith said,” she told the DA.

  Bergland dialed a number and spoke to the judge. “We can go in,” Bergland said as soon as he hung up. He turned to Meredith. “I know this is going to be hard on you, but I need you to come with us and show us where you were held.”

  Meredith turned pale. “I really don’t want to go back in there.”

  “I know you don’t, Meredith, but we have to be certain this is the right cabin.”

  “I’ll be with you all the way,” Harry said.

  Meredith swallowed. Then she nodded. The detectives and sheriff’s deputies surrounded her and they led the way around the back. When they got to the rear door, they stopped.

  “Is this what you remember?” Carrie asked.

  “I wasn’t paying attention. I just found a door, opened it, and ran.”

  “But you were in the back, not the front?”

  “Yes.”

  Carrie opened the door and switched on a light. They were in a large kitchen with an island covered in gray slate.

  “Show us where you were held,” Carrie said.

  “I never turned on a light. I just felt my way along.”

  Meredith looked in the direction of a hall that led off to one side of the house.

  “There, I think.”

  Carrie took the lead and turned on a light as she started down the hall. Every time they came to a closed door, the detectives stood on each side and opened it cautiously, even though they were convinced no one was in the house. The rooms looked ordinary until they opened a door in the middle of the hall. An odor swam out, and Carrie held her breath. When she flicked the wall switch, bleak light from a low-watt bulb showed them a bed surrounded by bloodstained sheets. Meredith peeked in, then blanched. She wobbled on unsteady legs and Harry braced her.

  “Is this it?” he asked, even though they all knew it was.

  Meredith nodded.

  “Who owns the house?” Bergland asked.

  Carrie pulled a sheaf of papers out of her jacket pocket and ran a finger down a list. When she got halfway down the list, she stopped.

  “Hey, I know this guy,” Carrie said. “He’s a lawyer; a real asshole.”

  “Who is he?” Bergland asked impatiently.

  “Alex Mason.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tremaine, Mason, Ozaki and Holt, the leading plaintiff’s firm in Oregon, occupied the top three floors of a twenty-five-story office building in downtown Portland. The senior partners had made millions suing corporations for manufacturing faulty automobiles, using asbestos in buildings, and selling pharmaceutical products with drastic side effects. Alex Mason was the leading rainmaker in the firm and rated the largest corner office. When his intercom buzzed, Mason looked up from a complaint he was drafting.

  “Yes.”

  “Two police detectives are here,” Mason’s secretary said. “They want to talk to you.”

  Mason frowned. “Detectives?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they say what they want?”

  “No, sir. Just that they wanted to talk to you.”

  “Show them back,” Mason said after a brief pause.

  A few minutes later, the secretary held open Mason’s door and Carrie Anders and Roger Dillon, walked into his office. Dillon, a lanky African-American with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, was four years away from retirement. He had been around the block so many times that he was considered a reference tool by the other detectives, thus his nickname, “OED,” which stood for the Oxford English Dictionary.

  “What can I do for you?” the lawyer asked.

  Carrie noticed the New York accent that Meredith had described.

  “I’m Carrie Anders and this is Roger Dillon,” she said as they showed Mason their IDs. “We’re detectives with the Portland Police Bureau and we were hoping you could help us with an investigation we’re working on.”

  Mason frowned as he pointed to a pair of client chairs in front of his desk.

  “Please sit down. What kind of investigation?”

  “It’s a homicide, sir,” Dillon replied.

  Mason looked confused. “Why do you think I can help you?”

  “Do you own a cabin on Whisper Lake?” Carrie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you owned it?”

  “Fifteen years. There was an old cabin there originally, but it was small and in very bad shape. I had it torn down and we built a modern cabin.”

  “‘We’?”

  “Christine, my first wife.” Mason paused. “She passed away just after the cabin was completed and she never got to use it.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Carrie said.

  “What does my cabin have to do with a murder investigation? And why are Portland detectives investigating something in Hammond County?”

  “Bear with me for a moment more and we’ll explain why we’re here,” Carrie said as she flashed a reassuring smile.

  Mason looked like he was going to protest. Then he said, “Go on.”

  “Can you tell us how often you use the cabin?”

  “We go out several times in the summer. Less when the weather gets bad.”

  “‘We’?”

  “I remarried.”

  “Who other th
an you and your wife uses the cabin?”

  “I’ve taken clients and friends out there.”

  “Have you or any one else been at the cabin recently?”

  Mason looked annoyed. “Look, I want to help, but I’m not going to answer any more questions until you explain why you’re here.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Mason, about that,” Dillon said. “We have evidence that three women were kidnapped in Portland and tortured in your cabin.”

  “What?”

  “The first two were murdered, but the third victim escaped and identified your cabin as the place where she was imprisoned,” Carrie said.

  “That’s … that’s ridiculous.”

  “Actually,” Carrie said, “it’s not. We found bloody sheets in the room where the surviving victim was tortured. DNA tests prove that some of the blood is hers and the rest matches the blood of the two dead women. What troubles us is the DNA we found on the duct tape that was used to bind the last victim.”

  Mason blanched when Carrie mentioned the duct tape.

  “Want to guess whose DNA we found on the tape?” Dillon asked.

  Mason just stared at the detectives. Carrie and Dillon stared back. Then Carrie produced an arrest warrant.

  “Alexander Mason, I am placing you under arrest for the murders of Tonya Benson and Patricia Rawls and the kidnapping of Meredith Fenner.”

  “That’s absurd. I didn’t murder anyone.”

  “If that’s true, you’ll be exonerated,” Carrie said. “For now, you’re going to have to come with us.”

  Mason tensed and the detectives stood up. Dillon pulled back his jacket so Mason could see his firearm. Mason stared at the gun, then raised his eyes.

  “I want to call an attorney.”

  “That’s your right, sir,” Carrie said. “And you can make your call after you’re booked. Now please stand up so we can handcuff you.”

  “Handcuff? That’s not necessary.”

  “I’m afraid it’s procedure.”

  “All right, but let me tell my secretary where I’m going.”

  Carrie hesitated. Then she nodded.