Woman with a Gun

by Phillip Margolin

  “I’m working tonight but tomorrow is my day off. Do you want to have dinner? They serve a mean chowder at the Seafarer.”

  Jack hesitated. Kathy Moran was a key witness in the Cahill murder case. But he was curious and he was still attracted to her.

  Kathy knew why he hesitated. “We won’t talk about the case. I’d rather not think about it anyway. We’ll just catch up on the last five years.”

  “Dinner sounds good.”

  “Is seven okay?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Glen Kraft was employed as Henry Baker’s associate because it was the only job he could get after he graduated from law school. It wasn’t that Glen was a poor student. He was in the top quarter of his class at Lewis & Clark, a fine law school in Portland. The problem was the market, which was tight. No one was leaving the public defender’s or district attorney’s offices because of the economy. The big Portland firms only wanted you if you were at the very top of your class in an Oregon law school or had graduated from some place like Harvard, Stanford, or NYU. Most midsize firms weren’t hiring at all, and the ones that had an opening had their pick of the litter. Glen’s father had told Henry Baker about Glen’s depressing job search during a round of golf at the Palisades Heights Country Club, and Henry had told him to have Glen give him a call because his associate had just quit.

  Coming back to his hometown was depressing. Glen had such big dreams when he graduated first in his high school class and was accepted at Amherst. But the competition at Amherst had been a lot stiffer than the competition at Palisades Heights High. A middle B average and so-so LSATs hadn’t gotten Glen into a top-ten law school. Instead of going to Boston or New York, Glen found himself returning to Oregon. And now he was back where he’d started, in Palisades Heights. In his darker moments, Glen realized that he wasn’t just going nowhere, he was going backward.

  Henry Baker was a nice guy to work for and a competent lawyer, but he had a small-town practice, which meant he survived by handling whatever came in the door. Most of the work was dull as dust: real estate closings, simple wills and contracts. Every once in a while Henry would go to court on a criminal case, but they were never the kind of cases that Perry Mason handled, because Perry didn’t take DUIIs or shoplifts. Glen kept his spirits up by convincing himself that he was getting experience that he could parlay into something better somewhere down the line, although he had no idea what that might be.

  When his intercom buzzed, Glen was working on an appeal for a local CPA who had been caught sharing a joint with an underage girl. Henry Baker’s secretary sounded excited.

  “There’s a call for Mr. Baker. I told her that he wasn’t in. She wants to talk to you.”

  “Who does?” Glen asked.

  “Megan Cahill!”

  Glen couldn’t have sat up faster if he’d been jabbed by a cattle prod. Raymond Cahill’s murder was front-page news in Palisades Heights. More important, Perry Mason did take cases where the victim was a multimillionaire and the defendant was his beautiful wife.

  “Did she say why she was calling?” Glen asked.

  “No. So, do you want to talk to her?”

  Glen’s mouth was dry but he managed to tell the secretary to put the call through. He knew that Megan Cahill lived in L.A. most of the year and he found it hard to believe that she would want a Palisades Heights lawyer to represent her in a murder case but what if . . . ?

  Glen drove four miles south to the small hospital that served Palisades Heights and the coastal towns near the county seat. After going to the nurses’ station, he was directed to a private room. Glen had gone to high school with the Palisades Heights police officer who was stationed outside the room, and they talked about the prospects for the football team for a few minutes before Glen explained why he was at the hospital. The officer went into Megan Cahill’s room to find out if she was expecting Glen. Glen had checked himself in the mirror in the restroom before going to the nurses’ station but he smoothed down his hair and adjusted his clothes again while he waited in the hallway.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Cahill,” Glen said when the policeman stepped aside so he could go in. “I’m Glen Kraft, the lawyer. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” Megan said. Her voice was so low that Glen had to strain to hear her. He closed the door and pulled a straight-back, gray metal chair next to the bed. Megan was wearing a hospital gown, her hair was unwashed and her face was bruised, but Glen knew that she was a beautiful woman because he had a vivid memory of the first time they had met. It had been a sultry summer night and Glen was dining with his parents and Henry and Alma Baker on the flagstone patio of the Palisades Heights Country Club. A light breeze gently ruffled the leaves of the trees that lined the fairway and a luminous moon bathed the verdant green of the eighteenth hole in silver light. Into this magical setting walked one of the most beautiful women Glen Kraft had ever seen. Henry Baker had done some simple real estate work for Raymond Cahill and they’d played golf a few times, so Ray, fresh from divorcing wife number two, led Megan to a table next to Henry’s and introduced his new friend to everyone.

  Alma Baker walked out on Henry two weeks later, and Glen guessed that Henry had probably been working hard at keeping up appearances that evening. His boss probably thought that he had kept his composure during the introduction and small talk that followed, but something about the way Henry acted made Glen think that his boss had been as affected by Megan’s beauty as he had been.

  “How are you feeling?” Glen asked.

  “I’m shaky. I was hit on the head really hard.”

  “Do the doctors think there’s anything seriously wrong?”

  “They say I have a concussion. My biggest problem is that I can’t remember what happened to me and . . .”

  Megan took a deep breath. Her eyes teared. Glen scrambled to her bedside and poured her a glass of water.

  “Thank you,” Megan said after she’d calmed down enough to continue. “I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, crying. I just can’t remember anything that happened after we left the wedding reception . . . Have you ever lost your memory?”

  Glen shook his head.

  “I’m frightened. What if I never remember and Ray’s killer is never caught?”

  Megan lost focus and Glen fidgeted for a few seconds. Then he remembered why he was there.

  “Mrs. Cahill, can you tell me why you called Mr. Baker, so I can tell him what you need.”

  Megan looked at Glen. He was worried that she might start crying again.

  “Do you know that I was holding a gun when she found me on the beach?” she asked.

  “I don’t know anything about what happened except what I read in the Gazette.”

  “The police wanted to know why I had a gun and I can’t remember.”

  She broke down again. “What if they think I killed Ray?”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Glen said. “I can’t imagine you wouldn’t remember something like that. And how could you hit yourself hard enough to get a concussion and amnesia?”

  Megan flashed Glen a weak smile. “Thank you. It’s so nice to know that someone believes me. That’s very important to me, because I’m afraid they think I killed Ray. That’s why I called Henry. I need someone to protect me.”

  Megan sounded so sad and so lost that Glen’s heart went out to her.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Cahill. Mr. Baker is a very good attorney. I’ll call him as soon as I get back to the office. When he hears that you’re in trouble, I’m sure he’ll be here right away.”

  During the drive to his office, Glen could barely contain his excitement. A murder case! This murder case! It would be huge. There would be national coverage—television, the press—he might even be interviewed, although Henry would probably do all the talking because he would be lead counsel.

  Glen mulled over his first impressions of Megan Cahill. There had been no mention of a gun in the r
eport in the Palisades Heights Gazette, but she’d told him she was holding one when she was found on the beach behind her house. She seemed genuine when she said she had no memory of why she was holding a gun or how she got to the beach. Did he believe her? He wanted to. She seemed so helpless. Did he want to believe her because she was a beautiful damsel in distress? By the time Glen parked, he decided that it was too early to draw any conclusions because he didn’t have all the facts. Still, he thought, it would be nice to represent an innocent person.

  Glen raced to the phone as soon as he was in his office. Henry Baker was in court in Portland and it took forever to get through to him.

  “Mr. Baker, this is Glen.”

  “Yes, Glen. I know your voice. You sound out of breath.”

  “You have to come back to Palisades Heights right away. We just got a big case and she wants you to be her lawyer.”

  “Calm down. Who wants me to be her lawyer?”

  “Megan Cahill.”

  “Why does Megan need a lawyer?”

  “Don’t you know about the murder?”

  “I’ve been in court. What murder are you talking about?”

  “Raymond Cahill was murdered late Sunday night or early this morning.”

  “You’re kidding? I was at the wedding.”

  “That must be why Mrs. Cahill called you. She was found on the beach holding a gun. She’s a suspect.”

  Megan Cahill and Glen Kraft were killing time by talking about a movie they’d both seen when Henry Baker walked into Megan’s hospital room. She stopped in midsentence.

  “Henry! Thank you so much for coming. Glen told me you were in Portland and drove all the way back.”

  Henry stood by the side of Megan’s bed. “This is unbelievable. I just saw you and Ray at the wedding. How could something like this happen? I am so sorry.”

  Megan’s eyes teared. “I can’t process it, Henry. It’s like some bad dream.”

  Henry pulled a chair next to the bed and took Megan’s hand in his.

  “You’re going to be okay. I’ll talk to Teddy Winston, the DA. I’m sure they don’t think you had anything to do with Ray’s death.”

  “Don’t be too sure. I was holding a gun when Kathy Moran found me on the beach.”

  “Was it the murder weapon?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t know,” Megan answered. “I can’t remember anything from the time we left the country club until Kathy found me.”

  Glen could hear the desperation in her voice and tried to imagine how he would feel if he were in her situation.

  Henry turned to his associate. “Do you know whether Megan was holding the murder weapon?”

  “No. I called Teddy Winston. The police don’t know, either. They’re waiting on the results of the ballistics tests.”

  “Okay,” Henry said. “But even if it is the murder weapon no one can think you’d shoot Ray on your wedding night. Everyone at the wedding could see how much in love you two were.”

  Megan squeezed Henry’s hand. “Thank you for that, and thank you for coming to see me. Will you be my lawyer? Will you protect me?”

  Henry hesitated. “I’d like to say yes, but there are a few things you have to think about before you hire me to represent you.”

  “What things?”

  “I can foresee several ways this could go, and I might not be the best person to represent you in some of the scenarios. Best case, Teddy Winston doesn’t think you’re involved or they find the person who did this. In that situation, you won’t need a lawyer. But sometimes the police don’t get it right and they go after the wrong person.

  “Now, I believe you didn’t kill Ray but innocent people are sometimes accused of crimes they didn’t commit. If you’re charged with aggravated murder you’ll be facing the death penalty. I’ll be honest with you, Megan, handling a death penalty murder case requires special expertise. I’ve never handled a capital case. I’ve never even represented anyone charged with murder. If Teddy indicts you for aggravated murder I shouldn’t be the attorney who represents you. You’ll need an expert, and they’re expensive, very expensive.”

  “Ray was rich. I’m his wife. Can’t I use Ray’s money if that happens?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to talk to Ray’s attorney and find out the terms of his will. But all this may not be necessary. Glen told me that the person who killed Ray stole valuable items from his collection. I’m certain that the police are concentrating on finding the person who robbed you. He’s the obvious suspect. I think the odds are good that you will never be accused of a crime. In the meantime, I’ll be here for you.”

  “Thank you, Henry. I knew I could count on you.”

  Peter Fleischer, a reporter from the Palisades Heights Gazette, and an Oregonian reporter were waiting for Glen and Henry when they left Megan’s room.

  “Are you representing Mrs. Cahill?” Fleischer asked.

  “For now, Pete.”

  “Did she kill her husband?” the Oregonian reporter asked.

  Henry laughed. “Of course not. They were just married. Now I have nothing more to say.”

  The reporters pestered them with more questions until it was obvious that they weren’t going to get any more answers. When they were in the hospital’s parking lot and away from the reporters Henry turned to his associate.

  “What do you think?”

  “Mrs. Cahill seems genuinely confused. It doesn’t look like she’s faking amnesia. But I don’t have the training to spot someone who’s pretending to have lost their memory.”

  “Well, I believe Megan,” Henry said firmly. “And I’m going to make sure that there’s no rush to judgment. The first thing we have to do is convince Teddy to give us the police reports so we can see what the investigation has turned up. Then we have to contact the executor of Ray’s estate to see if she’ll have access to funds for her defense if the worst happens.”

  “And if she doesn’t.”

  “I said I’d protect her, and I’m not going to let her down.”

  Glen walked to his car with a smile on his face. He was happy his boss was so enthusiastic about this case because Henry had been severely depressed since Alma Baker had filed for divorce. After Alma walked out, Henry had put on a brave front in public, but Glen had caught him crying in his office and he was certain that Henry was drinking.

  There had been a serious physical toll, too. Henry Baker was a big man but he’d kept his weight in check by jogging, tennis, golf, and the occasional gym workout. After Alma left, he’d lost the will to exercise so the pounds had rolled on, his cheeks had puffed up, his jowls had sagged, and his once tight gut had begun to inch over his belt line. Since the divorce, Henry had just been going through the motions, working just hard enough to keep his practice afloat. Glen hoped that the Cahill case would bring Henry back to the living.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Frank Janowitz had been hired by Raymond Cahill to be the curator of his collection and he had flown up from L.A. as soon as Teddy Winston called. Janowitz and the DA were talking in the living room of the Cahills’ house when a policeman opened the front door for Jack Booth. Jack took in the view as he walked down the staircase. The bright sunshine and frolicking waves were in sharp contrast to the tragedy that had occurred in the house.

  Winston made the introductions, and Jack and the curator shook hands. Janowitz surprised Jack, who had expected a curator to be an absentminded, wizened old man with a pince-nez and mismatched socks. Janowitz had blond hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw, and he was wearing pressed jeans and a black T-shirt that molded to a wide chest and showed off boulder-size biceps. His only concession to Jack’s stereotype was a pair of gold, wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Frank’s had a chance to look at the collection and examine the gun. I asked him to wait to tell me his conclusions until you got here,” Winston said.

  “The robber definitely knew what he was looking for,” Janowitz said. “The items that were stolen are the cream of the collection.�
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  “Frank is going to prepare a detailed list of the stolen items with photographs, which I’ll circulate to local and national law enforcement agencies,” Winston said.

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath about making an arrest,” Janowitz told them. “It would be impossible to sell the stolen stamps, coins, and firearms on the open market. Any legitimate buyer would know that Ray owned them. But there are unscrupulous collectors who will buy stolen items for their private collections at high prices. I’m betting that our thief not only knew what to look for but who would pay top dollar for the items and ask no questions about how they were acquired.”

  “Do we know if the gun Megan Cahill was holding is the murder weapon?” Jack asked Winston.

  Winston nodded. “The ballistics tests say it is.”

  “What an odd choice for a murder,” Jack mused.

  “My thought exactly,” Winston said. “You’d think the robber would have brought a gun with him if he wanted to shoot Cahill. How would he know that an antique gun would work?”

  Winston turned to the curator. “What can you tell us about the murder weapon?”

  “You’ve heard of the Gunfight at the OK Corral?” Janowitz asked.

  Jack and the DA nodded.

  “On October twenty-sixth, 1881, Wyatt, Morgan, and Virgil Earp and John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday faced off against Frank and Tom McLaury, Ike and Billy Clanton, and Billy Claiborne. The fight only took thirty seconds and it didn’t really take place at the OK Corral. The confrontation actually took place in a vacant lot several blocks east near C. S. Fly’s photo studio.

  “When the smoke cleared, Billy Clanton and the McLaurys were dead. Holliday had a few bullet holes in his coat, Virgil Earp was shot in the calf, and Morgan Earp had been shot in the shoulder. Wyatt Earp was uninjured, and Ike Clanton and Claiborne fled when the shooting started.

  “No one knows for certain what gun Wyatt Earp used during the gunfight. The best guess is that his six-shooter was either a Colt Single-Action Army or a Schofield .44 Smith and Wesson revolver. The gun Mrs. Cahill was holding is a Schofield .44 Smith and Wesson revolver that Ray believed was Wyatt Earp’s gun.”