The Third Victim

by Phillip Margolin

  Barry McGill had been a top ten middleweight in his day and he kept up on boxing and mixed marshal arts, so he had recognized Robin when she’d filled out her membership application. Now McGill nodded to Robin when she walked in after work.

  “Is Sally around?” Robin asked.

  “She’s changing,” McGill said.

  “Thanks,” Robin said as she headed for the locker room.

  Twenty minutes later, Robin was sparring with Sally Martinez, who had won all-American honors wrestling for Pacific University. Martinez, a CPA, was a few pounds heavier than Robin, but Robin usually came out on top when they sparred. The women walked to a wrestling mat in a musty corner of the gym and started working. Martinez shot a single leg, swept Robin’s other foot, and ended on top after a few seconds of scrambling. Then she caught Robin in a fireman’s carry and put her on her back. By the time she took Robin down for the third time, it was clear that Robin’s head wasn’t in the game.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever beaten you up this bad,” Martinez joked. “Did you drink some slug juice before you came here?”

  “No, I’m just distracted by something I’m working on.”

  “Workouts are for putting work behind you.”

  “You’re right,” Robin said as she shook out her arms and crouched down. “It’s time to kick ass.”

  “In your dreams,” Martinez replied as the women began to circle.

  * * *

  Robin did a little better during the rest of the workout, but she couldn’t shake the thoughts that had kept her from focusing during her sparring session. She kept going over everything she knew about Alex Mason’s case as she walked home, and those thoughts kept her up well after she’d burrowed under her covers.

  Early the next morning, Robin rode her bike across town to People’s Coffee House, where Meredith Fenner used to work. The shop had just opened when Robin arrived and there were only two customers.

  “Is the owner in?” Robin asked the barista when she got to the counter.

  “That’s her,” the young girl said, pointing at a slender middle-aged woman with blue-dyed hair who was stocking a box with napkins in a corner of the store.

  Robin paid for her latte and walked over to the woman.

  “Are you Judy Molineaux?”

  “Yes,” the woman said with a smile.

  “I’m Robin Lockwood. I’m an attorney.”

  Molineaux’s smile widened. “I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

  Robin returned the smile. “No. I’m here to get a little information about one of your ex-employees, Meredith Fenner.”

  Molineaux stopped smiling. “What kind of information?”

  “I’m Regina Barrister’s associate. We represented Alex Mason.”

  Molineaux’s features tightened. “I know who Miss Barrister is. I thought Mason’s case was over.”

  “He was sentenced to death and my firm doesn’t represent him anymore, but there were a few loose ends we’ve been trying to tie up.”

  “If you don’t represent Mason, why do you care about his case? Meredith is a sweet girl and what that man did to her…”

  Molineaux shook her head in disgust.

  “You’re right. I never felt clean while I was working on his case and I wouldn’t bother you now if it wasn’t important.”

  “What did you want to know?”

  “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to see her employment application.”

  “That’s private.”

  “I don’t need a copy. And it may help her,” Robin said, lying. “You know she’s suing Mason for all the terrible things he did to her.”

  “No, I didn’t know that. But how can seeing her employment application help her lawsuit?”

  “There was a rumor that she had an arrest record, but she said she’d never been arrested. If it turns out she lied to the police, it could damage her credibility.”

  “If Meredith was arrested, it’s news to me.”

  “Not in Chicago, Texas, New Mexico, Florida, or New York?”

  “Not that she told me. And I did a background check before I hired her. I had a problem with another employee, who embezzled money from me, so I’m extra careful now.”

  “This is very helpful. And she’s never lived in any of those places?”

  “She lived in Miami before moving here, but none of those other places.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Allison Mason and Meredith Fenner had both lived in Miami, where Allison had been arrested for prostitution. Jeff had found out about the arrest, but, as far as Robin knew, he had never gotten the police report. One of Robin’s classmates from Yale had been hired by a Miami firm. Robin called her, and a day later she received an email with a copy of Allison’s arrest report. A complaint had been made by Daniel Prescott, a salesman with a corporation headquartered in Minneapolis, who traveled all over the South for the company. The report said that Prescott had hired a woman through an escort service and had had sex with her and another woman in his hotel room. After the women left, Prescott discovered that his wallet was missing. Prescott reported the theft. The escort service gave the police Allison’s address, and the wallet was found in her apartment. Allison was arrested, but Prescott didn’t press charges after he got the wallet back. The report didn’t name the other woman, but the fact that there had been two women sparked Robin’s curiosity.

  * * *

  Robin called in sick as soon as Daniel Prescott agreed to meet her. The flight to Minneapolis took a little under three hours, so she was able to go to Minneapolis and back and only miss a day at work. Robin had imagined that a traveling salesman who hired prostitutes would be ugly and dumpy, but Prescott was tall, handsome, tanned, and fit.

  “Thanks for coming,” Robin said when they were seated in a booth in a restaurant near Prescott’s office.

  “You said a man’s life was at stake.”

  Robin nodded. “Alex Mason was convicted of multiple murders in Oregon and he’s on death row, but there’s a possibility that he was framed.”

  “What does what happened in Miami five years ago have to do with an Oregon case?”

  Robin placed a photograph of Allison Mason and another of Meredith Fenner on the table. Meredith’s photo had been taken at the hospital on the day Caleb White found her.

  “Do you recognize either of these women?” she asked.

  Prescott studied the photos. Then he pointed at Allison’s picture.

  “No question. I remember her.”

  “What about the other woman?”

  Prescott frowned. “I can’t be certain. She looks familiar, but this woman’s face is all marked up and she has brown hair. The woman I remember was wearing a blond wig.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Robin asked.

  “Sure,” Prescott said, showing none of the embarrassment Robin thought he’d display when discussing his sex life with a woman. “I’m a bachelor and I’m on the road a lot, so I don’t have time for serious relationships. I also like the ladies, so I’ve found discrete escort services in some of the cities I hit regularly. I never use company money, and the people I deal with make certain their girls are clean and high-class.

  “When I got to Miami, I called the head of the service I use when I’m there. I like soft-core S and M and she’d sent this redhead over the last time I was in town. I don’t remember the name she used. It was Alice or Allie, something like that, but I definitely got my money’s worth, so I asked for her again.”

  “Does Alexis Cooper ring a bell?”

  “It could have been. That sounds right. Anyway, the redhead showed up with another woman and suggested a threesome. That sounded great, so I said I was in.”

  “Did you ask the service to send over two women?”

  “No. That was Alexis’s idea. She said the other woman was a friend.”

  “Did you catch the other woman’s name?”

  “Sure, but she called her
self Candi, with an i, so I’m guessing that wasn’t her real name.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual about Candi?”

  “Not really. Alexis captured most of my attention. When we got down to business, Alexis worked the top half and the other woman disappeared down below, if you know what I mean. Plus, I was wearing a blindfold part of the time.”

  “Did the other woman say or do anything that you remember that might help identify her? Did anything unusual happen?”

  Prescott thought for a moment. Then he laughed. “There was one thing I definitely remember, but I don’t know if this will help. S and M can get dicey. I like being teased, but I don’t enjoy pain, so Alexis told me a safety word I should say if things got too rough. Anyway, like I said, Candi was down below and she bit me.” Prescott laughed again. “That really hurt, so I yelled ‘Pumpkin’ and she stopped and apologized.”

  “What happened next?”

  Prescott grinned. “Great sex. Then I sent the girls off because I had an early appointment the next day. They left while I was in the shower. When I got out, I noticed that my wallet was missing. That’s when I called the cops.”

  “Weren’t you afraid you’d get in trouble?”

  “I was pissed off and I had a lot of cash and credit cards in the wallet.”

  “The police report said you got your wallet back.”

  “Yeah. Some guy in Vice knew the owner of the escort service. I’m a good customer and they didn’t want to get a bad rep, so they gave him Alexis’s address. The service said they’d only sent Alexis over and didn’t know anything about the other woman. The police found the wallet and credit cards in Alexis’s apartment. She claimed that she had no idea how they got there and she refused to give up the other woman. I didn’t need the hassle of a trial and I didn’t think a woman working for that escort service would boost a client’s wallet. I figured her friend Candi was the culprit, so I didn’t press charges. My cash was gone, but my credit cards were there.” Prescott smiled. “I was out a couple of hundred bucks, but the little thief gave great head, so I figured I broke even.”

  “This has been a big help. If we needed you to eyeball a woman who could be Candi, would you be willing to do that? We’d pay for the flight and room and meals.”

  “You say your guy’s on death row?”

  Robin nodded.

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Robin took a red-eye back to Portland and walked down the hall to Jeff’s office at eight the next morning. Half an hour later, she and Jeff went to see Regina.

  “Do you have a minute?” Robin asked.

  “Sure, have a seat.”

  “The day I won Mrs. Washington’s case, Jeff and I were walking back from court and he told me that Meredith Fenner was suing Alex Mason. That got me thinking. Then one thing led to another and I started wondering if we’ve gotten this case all wrong.”

  “I’m not following you,” Regina said.

  “Everyone has assumed that Meredith Fenner was Alex Mason’s third victim, so we didn’t look into her background. She was so vulnerable and pathetic that we all felt sorry for her. But what if she wasn’t a victim?”

  Regina frowned. “What are you getting at?”

  “What’s Alex Mason worth?”

  “About fifty million dollars if you take his real estate holdings into account.”

  “Fenner’s lawsuit against Mason is a slam dunk. When she wins, she’s going to be a very rich woman. One reason I thought that Allison Mason was telling the truth is the fact that she didn’t have to commit serial murder and frame her husband to get his money. She gets a lot of Mason’s fortune just by divorcing him. But what if she and Fenner were coconspirators? Between the divorce settlement and the lawsuit, they’ll end up with every penny Alex owns.”

  “Go on,” Regina said.

  “Without Fenner, there would have been no case against Alex. Fenner led the police to Mason’s cabin. She said that a man with a New York accent and a crescent-shaped scar on his hand kidnapped her.

  “We considered the idea that Allison set up her husband, but Meredith said that a man kidnapped her. What if there never was a man? What if Meredith was Allison’s accomplice and no male was ever involved?”

  Regina’s mouth opened and she stared at Robin. “That … Oh my God.”

  “Think about it. The person who kidnapped and killed Benson and Rawls didn’t have intercourse with them. Meredith said that her kidnapper masturbated instead of trying to penetrate her, which we thought explained why none of the victims showed signs of having been raped. But there would be no signs of intercourse if two women kidnapped Rawls and Benson.”

  Robin told Regina about Jeff’s demonstration at Mason’s cabin that showed how easy it had been for Meredith to escape.

  “What if there was no escape?” Robin asked. “What if Meredith let Allison beat her up and starve her to make her look like she was a pathetic victim? What if the escape was staged?”

  Regina went quiet and stared into space. Then she refocused.

  “I’m not saying I buy your idea, and Alex Mason isn’t our problem anymore, but I feel responsible for what happened to him.”

  She turned to Jeff. “I never suggested that you check out Meredith Fenner, even though I usually have you look at all of the witnesses, but, as you know, I haven’t been at my best lately. It wouldn’t hurt if you ran a background check on Fenner now to see if you can come up with something suspicious.”

  “I’ve already done a little investigating,” Robin said.

  She told Regina about her meeting with Daniel Prescott.

  “Meredith lived in Miami around the same time that Allison Mason lived there and met Prescott.”

  “Do you think Candi is Meredith?” Regina asked when Robin was through.

  “Prescott only said she could be. If she is, it proves Allison and Meredith knew each other before they moved to Portland, and that changes everything.”

  “Let’s assume Robin is right,” Jeff said. “Allison must have figured that she’d hooked a live one when she saw that Mason was falling for her in New York, so she and Meredith concoct a plan. Allison gets Mason to marry her, then initiates S and M sex with him that mirrors the way they plan to torture their victims. If Mason denies using the duct tape or burning Allison, he’ll flunk a polygraph.”

  “Then Allison starves and tortures Meredith to make her situation seem real. She saves a piece of duct tape that has Mason’s saliva on it and attaches it to Meredith when she makes her phony escape,” Regina said.

  “All Meredith has to do after that is wait until a driver comes along, lead the cops to the cabin, and—voilà!—Mason is screwed,” Jeff said, summing up.

  “It would be great if we could get Prescott and Fenner in the same room,” Regina said.

  “How do we do that?” Robin asked.

  Regina smiled. “I may know a way. Cyrus Benfield is representing Alex in his divorce and defending Mason in Fenner’s civil suit. He’d be very interested in finding out if Meredith and Candi are the same person. Cyrus and I go way back. Robin, why don’t you stick around while I give him a call.”

  * * *

  The conversation with Cyrus Benfield had been very productive and Regina was excited by the time it ended. Robin left to work on other projects and Regina swiveled her chair so she could look out at the mountains and the river. The medication Dr. Guest had prescribed was helping, but she was definitely not herself anymore. In fact, she felt as if she was losing pieces of herself every day.

  Regina’s excitement waned as she came to grips with the fact that in the near future she would no longer know who she was. A tear formed and she began to choke up. It had felt so good conceiving her plan of attack and putting it into action. For a short time, she’d felt like her old self. But that feeling was gone now. Robin and Jeff would implement the plan because she no longer trusted her judgment, no longer felt that she could be trusted by others to … />
  Regina stopped and frowned. It suddenly occurred to her that something Robin had said about her trip to Minnesota was important, only she couldn’t remember what it was. Something about … No, it was gone. But she’d made notes. She could review the notes and maybe that would spark a memory. Yes, that is what she would do. She would rest for moment. Then she would read the notes.

  Only, moments later, when she turned away from the view, Regina had forgotten what she had planned to do.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Cyrus Benfield was a beanpole with curly white hair that seemed to want to fly off in all directions. In a prior life he’d been the lead guitar in a rock band called the Wooly Bullies and he’d never changed his hairstyle. That turned off enough potential employers to convince Benfield to hang out a shingle. The dot-commers didn’t care about Cyrus’s hairstyle or tattoos, and his firm, which now employed seventy-five attorneys, owned a good chunk of the dot-com business in Oregon.

  Cyrus had served the firm representing Meredith Fenner with a notice that he wanted to depose her. Benfield had agreed to hold the deposition in Atlanta, where Meredith had moved, so she would not have to fly to Portland. Benfield had gone to law school with a partner at an Atlanta firm that occupied four floors at the top of an office building on Peachtree Street, and the partner had made a conference room available to the parties.

  During the first hour and a half of the deposition, Benfield led Fenner through a series of background questions. Then he started asking about Meredith’s time in Florida.

  “Now, Miss Fenner, you lived for a while in Miami, where I understand you studied nursing?”

  “I went to community college with the goal of obtaining a nursing degree.”

  “Well, that’s very admirable. And I understand you still plan to pursue that dream.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know a woman named Alexis Cooper when you lived in Miami?”

  Fenner hesitated for a second before answering. “I had a few friends in Florida, but that name doesn’t ring a bell.”