Филипп Марголин - The Perfect Alibi

“Okay. If you can ID this guy, we’ll go to the police and tell them what happened. Hastings is out on bail, but this might be enough to get his bail revoked.”

Randi started to sob again. “He’ll just deny he was involved.”

“If we can find the man who threatened you, the police might get him to talk.”

“Blaine will buy him an alibi. He has all the money in the world.” Randi stared into her coffee cup. “Maybe I should just drop it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not testify. Then Blaine would let me alone.”

Robin cupped Randi’s chin and lifted it until they were eye to eye. “That would be a mistake. My investigator has been working up background on Blaine Hastings. He’s got a reputation as a violent bully and an egotist. A person like that won’t forget what you’ve done. Hastings is premed and a preseason All-American. Getting accused of rape is going to cost him when he tries to get drafted or go to medical school. If that happens, he’ll want revenge.

“And there’s something else. A guy like Blaine, if he raped you, you can bet you’re not his only victim. If he’s locked away, you’ll be protecting a lot of innocent women.”

“He’ll never be locked up.”

“Do you remember what you told me in my office—how you wanted to bring the Hastings family down? If your testimony puts Blaine in prison, we will kill him when you sue.”

“All that money won’t do me any good if I’m dead.”

Robin was tempted to pursue her argument, but one look at Randi convinced her that this wasn’t the time.

“Look, you’re scared and exhausted. You shouldn’t be making serious decisions in your condition. What’s important now is that you get some rest. Where do you want me to take you?”

“Not home. They’ll be watching.”

“Is there a friend you can stay with?”

“Annie, maybe.”

“Do you want to call her?”

“It’s so late.”

Robin hesitated. Then she said, “You can stay at my place tonight. I can make up the couch.”

Randi looked up. “That would be good. They wouldn’t guess I was there.”

“It would just be for the night.”

“I get that. Thank you.”

They finished their coffee in silence, which Robin thought was good because it gave Randi time to calm down. Randi was a mess, but Robin understood why. Blaine Hastings was desperate, and he was coming after the only person who could take away his freedom. The man he’d sent was only interested in scaring Randi; otherwise, he wouldn’t have threatened her—he’d have beaten or killed her. Now that plan A had failed, Robin wondered if Hastings would escalate.

Robin lived in a corner apartment in a four-story, brick walk-up in a funky part of town populated by homegrown shops, a movie theater that showed indie films and second-run features at reduced prices, and so many good, reasonably priced restaurants that choosing where to eat was often a problem.

The front door of Robin’s apartment opened into a kitchen and small dining area. Between work and the gym, Robin wasn’t home much, so she let dishes pile up in the sink and old newspapers accumulate on the coffee table and the couch in the open area in front of the television until she couldn’t stand the way the apartment looked and went on a cleaning spree.

As soon as they were in Robin’s apartment, Robin cleared the couch of debris and threw a sheet, blanket, and pillow on it. A combination of exhaustion and alcohol sent Randi into a deep sleep as soon as she lay down on Robin’s couch. Robin was too wound up to sleep, so she booted up her laptop and searched for pictures of the University of Oregon football team.

When Randi woke up a little after nine, Robin cooked her breakfast, then showed her the team photos. “Does anyone look like the guy who attacked you?” Robin asked.

Randi leaned forward and scanned the team photograph slowly, stopping to look closely at a few of the linemen. Then she sat up and pointed at one of the players. She looked scared.

“That’s him.”

“Are you sure?”

Randi nodded.

Robin picked up her cell phone and dialed Detective Carrie Anders.

Half an hour later, Robin and her client were seated in front of the detective who had arrested Blaine Hastings. Carrie Anders was six-two, thick bodied, and as strong as some men. She had sad brown eyes; a large, lumpish nose; and short, shaggy black hair. Her lumbering appearance and slow drawl often led people to conclude that she was slow-witted, but she had majored in math in college and was one of the smartest detectives in the Portland Police Bureau.

“That’s Marlon Guest,” Robin said as she handed the detective a photograph. “He’s a six-foot-six and three-hundred-forty-pound offensive lineman for the Ducks and a teammate of Blaine Hastings. Around two in the morning, Guest attacked Randi in back of a gas station and threatened to hurt her if she didn’t, and I quote, ‘stop telling lies about nice people.’ I saw Guest threaten Randi before I scared him off.”

Anders gave Robin a hard look. “Just how did you do that?”

“I bought a gun after what happened in Atlanta, and I have a permit.”

Anders smiled. “Just asking. So, you got a good look at Miss Stark’s assailant?”

Robin started to answer. Then she hesitated as she tried to recall exactly what she had seen.

“Guest and Randi were standing at the far end of the back of the gas station. There aren’t any lights there, so his face was in shadow. But this has to be him. Randi made an ID from the photo, and there aren’t many people who are that big.”

Anders turned to Randi. “How certain are you that this is the man who attacked you?”

Now it was Randi’s turn to hesitate. “I did see his face.”

“Yes?”

Randi blushed. “I was a little drunk, but I’m sure it’s him.”

“How drunk?”

“I don’t know. I was feeling woozy before he started chasing me. I sobered up a little while I was running.”

“Randi, this is important. Are you sure this is the man who attacked you? You don’t want to accuse an innocent man.”

“I… It was him.”

“Okay. I’ll question Guest. Maybe he’ll admit he attacked you.”

“Thanks, Carrie,” Robin said.

“Hastings is an arrogant bastard, and I want him off the street. If I can get Guest to say Hastings asked him to threaten Miss Stark, I might be able to get his bail revoked.”

Rex Kellerman’s secretary led Doug Armstrong to the assistant district attorney’s office. Kellerman was reading a case when Doug walked in.

“Have a seat,” Kellerman said without bothering to look up.

Doug sat down and waited patiently. Kellerman always treated Doug with disdain, and Doug had dreaded the meeting. After three minutes of the silent treatment, he started to get angry, but he suppressed his emotions. He was hoping to get a decent plea offer in Blaine Hastings’s case, and he didn’t want to antagonize the man who could make it.

Finally, Kellerman looked up from his laptop. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Doug?”

“Blaine Hastings.”

Doug waited for Kellerman to say something, but he just leaned back in his chair.

“I was hoping we could discuss the case,” Doug continued, trying not to seem too anxious.

“What’s to discuss?” Kellerman asked. “Your guy is guilty as sin, and I’m going to see he spends a long time down at OSP.”

“Come on, Rex. He’s a kid, an honor student, and a top athlete. And he says he didn’t rape Miss Stark.”

Kellerman shrugged. “She says he did, and we have DNA test results that back her up.”