The Third Victim

by Phillip Margolin

  “And you believed her?”

  “Yes. I had no reason not to. Everything was going so well.”

  “Did you suspect she was lying at some later time?” Regina asked.

  “Yes. The third time she was away all night, we had our first argument. She accused me of being jealous and suspicious for no reason. I asked her to tell me her friend’s name. I said I’d call the friend. She blew up and said that I either trusted her or I didn’t. Then she left. I’d gotten her a job as a secretary at another law firm and I called her at work. She was very contrite and she said she was sorry and that she loved me and would never hurt me. She even told me the name of another secretary at her job. She told me to call the friend if I doubted her.”

  “Did you?”

  “I couldn’t. It would have been an act of betrayal. I wanted to call, but I decided that I had to trust Allison if I loved her. I let the matter drop and everything returned to normal.”

  Regina consulted a list she’d drawn up. Then she looked at her client.

  “I’m going to read you the dates and times that Tonya Benson, Patricia Rawls, and Meredith Fenner were kidnapped. I need to know if you have an alibi for any of them.”

  Mason looked embarrassed. Before Regina could read the list, he said, “I might not.”

  Regina could see that her client was very uncomfortable. “What’s going on, Alex?”

  “She told the cops about our sex life, so it’s not private anymore. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but there’s a possibility that I was at home alone on the nights those women were kidnapped. And I may have an explanation for my DNA on the duct tape, though I hope I’m wrong.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Allison makes me sound like a pervert, but the S and M was all her idea. Sex with my first two wives was very conventional. I met Christine when we were students at Harvard. I was in law school and she was an undergrad. She was from a prominent Oregon family and I moved west after we graduated. The marriage wasn’t great. We fell out of love after a few years. I think some of it had to do with my work hours and her inability to have kids. Anyway, we did have sexual relations, but they were few and far between. It was your normal missionary position type of sex. And then she got cancer and was sick for a few years.”

  Mason paused and took a deep breath. Regina thought his distress was genuine. After a short pause, Mason resumed.

  “My relations with Carol weren’t much better. I thought of marriage as a partnership where you shared everything. We had a joint bank account and I used money from it for two investments that turned out to be very bad ideas. She went ballistic because I hadn’t consulted her when I took the money. Before we argued, she’d transferred all of the money from the joint account into her personal account. Some of that was my money, but she wouldn’t acknowledge that and said I had to cover the loss from the investments. The marriage went downhill from there and so did our sexual relations.”

  “Let’s get back to your relationship with Allison.”

  “At first, Allison was a passionate lover, but she wasn’t kinky. That changed about six months into the marriage. We had this conversation about sexual fantasies and she suggested that we could spice up our sex life by acting out some of them.”

  Mason looked at his lawyer. “This was all role playing, a game.”

  “Explain that.”

  “Do you remember the cocktail party at the Hilton? You walked up when I was arguing with your associate about the death penalty. One of our scripts involved a stern husband and a disobedient wife. Allison triggered the game by interrupting me. I pretended to be angry with her and she pretended to be contrite. When we got home, I told her she was a bad wife who had to be punished. Then we went through this ritual where I made her strip and I bound her to the bed and … Look, I’m not proud of this, and I didn’t want to do it, but Allison said that pain heightened the sexual experience for her. I didn’t want to hurt her, but she insisted. I think she might have been punishing herself for things that happened when she was a child. I’m no psychiatrist. I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted, and the sex was intense when I burned her or spanked her.”

  “Wasn’t this dangerous?” Regina asked.

  “Yes, but Allison said the danger made it better for her. And we did have a safety word that Allison suggested. It was pumpkin and either one of us could use it if our game got out of hand and we got scared.”

  Regina made another note.

  “Did Mrs. Mason bind and torture you, too?”

  Mason nodded. “After I’d bound her a few times, she said I should try it. I couldn’t say no after binding and tormenting her, so I let her do it.”

  “Did you buy into it?” Regina asked.

  Mason flushed. “Yes,” he replied softly. “I can’t explain how I felt. I was powerless and she could do anything to me. It made the sex unbelievably intense. Sometimes she’d duct-tape me to the bed, get me aroused, then leave without a word. The first time, I got frantic. I was really scared. But the sex was incredible when she came back an hour later. Then things got out of hand.”

  “What happened?”

  Mason flushed again. “She started tying me up and staying away all night. She did it three times. The last time was right before that Fenner woman was kidnapped.”

  “Did the other times coincide with the dates the other victims disappeared?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but it was close to the times the bodies were discovered. I remember reading about that in the newspaper.”

  “Let’s change the subject,” Regina said. “Meredith Fenner. She swears that a man with a New York accent kidnapped her and took her to your cabin. And there is a lot of evidence that she was tortured there. How do you explain that?”

  Mason started to speak. Then he just looked down and shook his head.

  “I can’t.”

  “You said you might be able to explain how your DNA got on the duct tape that was used to bind Fenner.”

  Mason looked sick. “I used duct tape to bind Allison and I ripped the tape off of the roll with my teeth a few times instead of tearing it with my hands.”

  “You’re saying Allison may be responsible for the duct tape winding up on Meredith Fenner’s body?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “You realize the implication if that’s true?”

  Mason nodded and his face darkened. “I definitely do. It means the bitch is setting me up. If Allison is trying to frame me, it would explain a lot of things she told the police.”

  “It would also mean that she was involved in three kidnappings and two murders,” Regina said. “What would motivate her to do that?”

  “My money. About a year after we were married, my firm settled the case with the company represented by the New York firm where Allison had temped. The settlement was huge and our attorney’s fees were in the millions. My cut was fifteen million. We got a lot of business after that and the firm’s income exploded. If Allison divorces me, she’ll be a very rich woman.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Carrie Anders found Alex Mason’s second wife on the terrace of the Westmont Country Club. She was sipping iced tea while two middle-aged women volleyed on a court just below her. The sweat from a recent match was drying on her tanned skin and a racket leaned against her chair. Carol Richardson had wide blue eyes set in a broad face and looked tough and self-assured. From her Web search, Carrie knew that the athletic blonde in the tennis outfit was fifty-seven and the recently retired CEO of a software company.

  “Mrs. Richardson?” Carrie asked.

  “You must be Detective Anders,” Richardson said, flashing a welcoming smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carrie said as she started to reach for her credentials.

  Richardson waved them away. “Please, if you flash a badge, there will be more gossip about my ex.” She held up her glass. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No thanks. You know, we could have met someplace more private.”r />
  “I would have suggested it, but I imagine there’s some urgency, given the horrible nature of these crimes.”

  “You’re right.”

  “So, what do you want to know?” Richardson asked.

  “As much as you can tell me about Alex Mason.”

  Richardson’s pleasant smile faded. “Are you convinced that Alex really tortured and murdered those women?”

  “Our investigation is ongoing, but there’s a lot of evidence pointing in that direction.”

  Richardson blew out some air. “I have to tell you that I am very surprised. Don’t misunderstand. There’s no love lost between me and Alex, but…” She shook her head. “I would never have thought he would be capable of something this awful.”

  “How long were you and Mr. Mason married?”

  “A little less than three years.”

  “How did you meet?” Carrie asked.

  “I traveled in the same social circles as Alex and Christine, his first wife. They were members of the Westmont and Christine and I played tennis with several other women who had been on college teams. Alex wasn’t very athletic, but he’s a decent golfer, so we were in foursomes on occasion before I split from my husband.”

  “Were you friends with Christine?”

  “We weren’t close. Tennis buddies, really. She didn’t work, and my work kept me pretty busy. By the time she discovered she had cancer, she was very sick. I did call and I paid a visit, but she didn’t want visitors toward the end.”

  “How soon after Christine died did you and Alex get together?” Carrie asked.

  “About a year. Alex was a very eligible widower and was invited out a lot. We kept running into each other at charity events, social functions at the club. I was into the second year of my divorce and we were thrown together because we were both single. Alex isn’t handsome, but he can be charming.” She shrugged. “Everybody makes mistakes.”

  “What led to the breakup of your marriage?”

  “A lot of things. Alex spent a lot of money. When I learned that he was draining our joint account, I put a stop to that pretty quickly. Then I learned he was cheating on me. I confronted him and he got very belligerent and denied he was fooling around. He claimed that I was the victim of a vicious rumor. I made the mistake of accepting his word.

  “About a year and a half after I suspected he was cheating on me, I found out he was having an affair with a trial assistant at his firm and I confronted him. We had a screaming argument and he slapped me. I will not stand for that. I called the police and locked him out of my house.”

  “How long had you been married at that point?”

  “About two years.”

  “I hear that the divorce was a knock-down, drag-out affair,” Carrie said.

  “You got that right, but I hired the best lawyers in town before I filed, and we ended with a draw. I was just happy to be rid of the asshole.”

  “If you don’t like Mr. Mason, why don’t you think he murdered those women?” Carrie asked.

  Carol thought about the question before answering.

  “Alex is not a very nice man. I’ve heard other lawyers call him ruthless and he can’t be trusted, but kidnapping and torturing women is on a whole different level of evil.”

  “You did say he hit you?”

  “Yes, but this was in the middle of a heated argument and he apologized right after he did it.”

  “So he’d never hit you before?”

  “No.”

  “I’d like to ask you about your sex life because it’s very relevant to our investigation. Would you be willing to talk about that?” Carrie asked.

  Carol shrugged. “It wasn’t that exciting.”

  “Did Alex ever ask you to do something odd?”

  Carol’s brow wrinkled. “Like what?”

  “Did he ever try to tie you up or burn you with cigarettes?”

  Carol laughed. “You’re kidding?”

  “No, I’m serious.”

  “You mean S and M stuff?”

  Carrie nodded.

  “No. When we started going to bed, it was okay, but there was nothing kinky.” She shrugged. “I liked it when he went down on me and he liked the occasional blow job, but latex and cat-o’-nine-tails…” Carol laughed.

  “So he never suggested any kind of bondage or using pain to enhance your sexual experiences?”

  “He did bite me one time, but I told him I didn’t like that and he stopped. Actually, our sex life got pretty dull to nonexistent pretty soon after we tied the knot. And that wasn’t because of me. I like sex, but he seemed to lose interest soon after I closed our joint account and put my foot down about the finances.”

  “Have you met Allison Mason, Mr. Mason’s new wife?”

  “A few times. She comes to the club.”

  “What do you think of her?” the detective asked.

  Carol thought for a moment before answering Carrie’s question.

  “She’s gorgeous but a little slow. And she seems out of her depth here. I don’t want to sound mean, but she impresses me as trailer trash that’s been given a makeover.”

  Carrie had grown up in a trailer in Hammond, but she masked her emotions.

  “What gave you that impression?” she asked.

  “The way she acts around men. They all drool over her and she leads them on, though I can’t say it’s intentional. I mean, if you’re not that smart but you’re a ten on the sex meter, you learn to use what you’ve got to get what you want.”

  “Is there any man in particular she’s come on to?”

  Richardson pointed at the far court, where a handsome young man was giving a lesson.

  “I know this will sound like a cliché, but she seemed pretty friendly with Jake Conroy, our tennis pro, and I’ve seen her sniffing around one or two of the members of Alex’s firm.”

  “Can you give me a name?”

  “Do you mean, is there someone I caught her with in flagrante? The answer is no. She just seems overly friendly at times.”

  “Can you think of anything else that might help the investigation?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then thanks for talking to me,” Carrie said as she handed her a business card. “You’ve been very helpful. If you do think of anything, please give me a call.”

  “I will, but I want to tell you that I’m having a hard time believing Alex would do something this cruel.”

  “That’s a common reaction people have when they find out their neighbor or their spouse is a serial killer.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As soon as Miles Poe filed his lawsuit, Arnold Prater vowed to put Poe in a cage or a coffin. Prater hoped that Poe would do something when he came to arrest him that would present him with the opportunity to plead self-defense. Killing Poe would be great, but Prater also imagined a number of ways he could horribly maim the pimp.

  Tailing Poe had proved difficult because Poe had become paranoid after Prater started his harassment campaign. But Prater knew that Poe had to move product and he was betting that the pimp would screw up eventually. All that was required was patience, and being patient had just paid off.

  Early this evening, Prater had watched Poe trade his fire engine red Porsche for a nondescript brown Toyota Camry. Prater had followed Poe to an industrial district near the river. When night fell, the area was dark and deserted. Poe turned into an area with several warehouses. Prater smiled because he knew exactly where Poe was headed. Jackson Wright, one of Poe’s flunkies, worked in a warehouse owned by an export-import firm. The job gave him access to overseas shipments, some of which the DEA had long suspected contained narcotics.

  Prater turned off his headlights and parked. He knew he should call for backup, but he didn’t want witnesses. He drew his weapon and moved along the side of a building. When he reached a corner, he peeked around it. What he saw warmed his heart. Poe was standing in front of an open door. A moment later, Jackson Wright handed Poe a package that was just the right
size for a kilo of heroin.

  Prater hunched over and glided through the shadows. When he was close enough for a good shot, he stepped into the light and leveled his gun at the men.

  “Good evening, assholes.”

  Poe turned, his mouth wide open and a shocked expression on his face.

  Prater grinned. He started to say “I’m betting that’s not talcum powder,” when Poe and Wright dived into the warehouse.

  “Fuck!” Prater screamed.

  He leaped forward. The door slammed shut. Prater grabbed the knob, yanked, and barreled inside. The door closed behind him, leaving the interior of the warehouse in shadows. Prater froze. Then he heard footsteps running away from him and he ran in their direction.

  * * *

  The first officers to respond to Arnold Prater’s call for help found him slumped in his car, ashen-faced and with a deep, bloody gash on the back of his head.

  “Are you okay?” one officer asked as his partner went back to their car to radio for an ambulance.

  “Do I look like I’m okay?” Prater snapped. “Those two fucks ambushed me.”

  “Who ambushed you?” the officer asked.

  “Miles Poe and Jackson Wright. They’re drug dealers. I tailed them to this spot and they took off when they saw me. I followed them into the warehouse, and the next thing I knew, I was coming to on the floor.”

  “Did you have anyone with you? Is there another officer inside?”

  “No. I didn’t have time to call for backup.”

  The policeman straightened up as his partner returned. “Okay, we’re going in to check things out.”

  “They’ll be long gone by now,” Prater muttered.

  “You’re probably right, but there may be some evidence we can use.”

  Prater watched the two policemen go into the warehouse. Moments later, lights shone through the thick glass windows. Fifteen minutes later, one of the policemen came outside and walked over to Prater.