The Russian Hill Murders (17 page)

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Authors: Shirley Tallman

BOOK: The Russian Hill Murders
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“A few minutes ago I would have said nothing could shock me anymore. Now—” I took myself in hand; nothing would be gained by succumbing to prudery, no matter how justified. “Your affair with a married woman is not the point.”
“Ah, yes, back to murder. Whatever reasons you imagine I had for wishing my sister-in-law dead, you’re wrong. We had a falling out about a year ago. Caroline expected more of our—friendship than I was able or willing to give. Or perhaps I’d begun to experience the revulsion I see on your face right now. Sadly, the relationship had moved beyond the amusing flirtation we initially enjoyed.”
“Was your brother aware of the affair?”
He hesitated. “Not at first. Toward the end, I’m not sure. If he had suspicions, he kept them to himself.”
“And now?”
Pierce’s eyes met mine with a directness that was disconcerting. “I informed my brother myself, sometime after Caroline’s death. I assured him that the affair had been over for some months, and naturally I accepted full responsibility for what had transpired between us.”
“How did Mr. Godfrey take this—confession?”
His smile was derisive. “How do you think he took it? He was understandably upset, actually quite upset. But not particularly shocked. I rather think Leonard had some inkling of what had gone on between his wife and me, even if he chose not to speak of it.”
“Which is why you finally told him yourself, isn’t it?”
His eyes narrowed, and I caught a quick look of surprise. “What makes you say that?”
“There was nothing to be gained, and certainly a good deal to lose, by admitting the truth unless you were fairly certain he already knew. By making a clean breast of it, you usurped his anger and invited forgiveness. The prodigal brother makes his amends.”
His lips curved into the barest hint of a mocking smile. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but I knew I had guessed the truth.
“Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Miss Woolson?”
I sighed. Frankly, I was disappointed. Not only because of
Pierce’s cavalier behavior, but because he’d been less than honest with me—yet again. Moreover, despite several deliberate openings, he’d failed to disclose his joint ownership of the warehouse. What else was he holding back? I wondered.
“I’m just weary,” I replied, more than ready to bring the evening to an end. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to take me home. I have an early morning.”
Pierce studied my face for a long moment, then signaled the waiter and paid the check. Neither of us spoke as we entered his carriage and departed in awkward silence for Rincon Hill.
 
 
A
note awaited me at home, written in a precise, slightly spiky handwriting I recognized.
Miss Woolson,
Mr. Chin offers sincere apologies for his discourteous behavior this morning. He humbly asks that you meet with him again at your earliest convenience.
The note was unsigned, but I had no doubt who it came from. Also in the envelope was a large amount of “one color,” the term the Chinese used to differentiate American dollars from their own, more colorful yuan. Counting it, I found I had been paid a retainer of five hundred dollars! Li Ying seemed determined to purchase the finest defense possible for Chin Lee Fong. A shiver ran down my spine, as I sincerely prayed I was worthy of such faith.
 
 
M
ay second meeting with Chin took place the following day.
While the cook was slightly more forthcoming, it did little
to reassure me about the probable success of his case. Patiently, I took him over the details of his acrimonious relationship with Lucius Arlen.
“He was fool,” Chin pronounced, as if this were the only explanation required on the subject.
“Yes, but what did he actually do to you?” I persisted.
“Oh, he do plenty. Call me chink and yellow monkey, cut pay, call me thief. He no care how patients eat.”
“So you and he argued about this.”
“Hah! We fight all time.” Chin made this sound like something to be proud of. “He say Chinese stupid. But I get him back.”
My blood turned cold. “What do you mean, you got him back?”
“I tell him to stay out of my kitchen or I fix him good.”
Oh, wonderful, I thought, closing my eyes while I let this latest admission sink in. “And did Mr. Arlen stay out of your kitchen?”
“Nah, he do as he please.” He grinned, and I realized with a start that this was the first time I’d seen the disagreeable man smile. “But I chase him with skillet. He run so fast!” Chin dissolved into a fit of laughter, delighting in the memory. “Not bother me again for long time.”
Good Lord, I prayed. Has this man no idea how damaging this sounds? Doesn’t he realize how much trouble he’s in?
The remainder of the interview went much the same. When I tried to point out the danger of repeating how much he hated Arlen, Chin didn’t seem to comprehend. He hadn’t killed the accountant, and that should be good enough for anyone. To his mind, the fact that he’d repeatedly threatened Arlen had no bearing on his current situation.
Before I left, I made Chin promise not to discuss the case with anyone, including his jailers or any fellow prisoners. His reluctant agreement was hardly reassuring.
“No one talk to but jailers,” he protested. “Why can’t I tell them about son-of-bitch Arlen?”
When I’d exhausted every conceivable argument, I left the stubborn cook to stew in his own juices—pun intended.
Difficult as Chin was proving to be, he wasn’t the only challenge facing me as I prepared for trial. Rumors of my new client had spread like wildfire, speedily reaching Joseph Shepard and the firm’s other senior attorneys. I knew the time of reckoning had arrived when a delighted Hubert Perkins cheerfully summoned me to Shepard’s office.
“What’s this I hear about you accepting some tomfool case?” my employer demanded the instant I entered the room.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve agreed to represent a Mr. Chin Lee Fong, who’s been accused of—”
“But he’s Chinese!” Joseph Shepard looked at me as if I’d taken on the devil himself as a client. “You must be out of your mind to agree to defend a—a John Chinaman!”
“The fact that he’s Chinese,” I said, “does not preclude his right to an appropriate legal defense.”
“Yes, but—” Seemingly unable to come up with another line of attack, he fell back upon that awful noise in the back of his nasal region.
Refusing to be drawn any further into this argument—which seemed to be going nowhere in any event—I silently reached into my briefcase and pulled out the portion of Li’s money that rightfully belonged to the firm. Shepard’s fit ended as quickly as it had begun, and his small eyes bulged as I handed him the stack of bills.
“That is the initial retainer,” I explained, careful not to mention Li’s name. “I think you’ll find subsequent payments from my client will be more than generous.”
“But he’s a cook. How can he possibly afford … ?”
“Evidently, he has a secondary source of income.” Which was true enough, I thought, if Li were viewed in that light. “Trust me, Mr. Shepard, the firm will not suffer financially by my representation of Mr. Chin.”
I could see by his aggrieved expression that he was only partially appeased by the money. While the firm was always eager to bring in lucrative new accounts, the newspapers had already gotten wind of the Chin Lee Fong case and were blazing it across their front pages. Which left Shepard in a bind. If he fired me for accepting such an undesirable client, he would not only deprive the firm of a beneficial account, but my dismissal would merit banner headlines. Once again, I’d placed him in an indefensible position.
“Very well, Miss Woolson,” he said in clipped tones, “you seemed to have left me with no choice. But, as you are completely lacking in criminal law experience, I will assign someone with more practical knowledge as lead attorney. At his discretion, he may see fit to request your assistance. Under no circumstances, however, are you to appear in a court of law as an associate of this firm.”
Seeming to feel he had at least partially redeemed an impossible situation, he waved a dismissive hand and went back to the paperwork crowding his desk. Knowing Li would never agree to this arrangement, I stood my ground.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Shepard, but what you suggest is out of the question.”
He looked up at me with a frown, as if only half comprehending my words. “What are you babbling on about?”
“My client will not accept another attorney. We discussed my inexperience, and he was adamant he would accept no one but me as his legal representative.”
“That’s ridiculous! What man in his right mind would chose a woman to represent him in a murder case? Believe me, your client
will be more than grateful when he discovers that Clark, or even Jefferson, will be representing him.”
I stared at him in disbelief. Clark and Jefferson had been with the firm barely a year longer than I had. Neither man had acted as lead attorney in a civil case, much less one for capital murder. In fact, I wasn’t sure they’d even been part of a defense team. Joseph Shepard cared not one whit whether Chin escaped the hangman’s noose, only that a woman attorney not embarrass his firm in public.
“That will not do, Mr. Shepard.” I steeled myself to be fired on the spot. It was bound to come sooner or later, I thought. At least this would be a cause worthy of dismissal, not some trifling typewriting or filing error.
Shepard’s fleshy face turned an ugly red. “You go too far, Miss Woolson. How dare you attempt to tell me who I may or may not assign to a case?”
“It is not I who tells you, sir, but my client. He refuses to accept anyone else. If you replace me as lead attorney, I will be forced to defend Mr. Chin on my own.”
His watery eyes blazed into mine. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Actually, Mr. Shepard, I would. I am morally bound to carry out my client’s wishes in this matter. It is, after all, his life that is at stake.”
I don’t know what kind of a response I expected, but it seemed I’d driven Joseph Shepard beyond his limits.
“Get out of my office,” he yelled. “Now!”
For once our wishes coincided, and I made my way out of the room as speedily as decorum, and my pride, would allow. Once I’d closed the door behind me, I stood in the hall trying to steady my thudding heart. It seemed I was still an associate at Shepard, Shepard, McNaughton and Hall, or at least I thought I was. One could never be certain with the senior partner. He was as mercurial, and often as dense, as the fog that billowed in from San Francisco Bay.
Returning to my office, I was surprised to find Robert waiting for me. “What was that all about? I could hear you two shouting at each other from the hallway I suppose it had to do with the Chin case.
I’d made the mistake of telling Robert about my visit with Li, as well as my commitment to defend Chin.
“I’m in no mood to hear more of your gloomy ranting about my career,” I said, sinking into the chair behind my desk. “I’ve agreed to be Chin’s lawyer and that’s that.”
He stared at me, astonished. “Are you telling me that Shepard went along with it?”
“I didn’t leave him with much choice.” I ran a hand over my forehead, surprised to find it damp with perspiration. “All this wasted energy, and I haven’t even begun to develop a defense strategy.”
“How can you come up with a viable defense when we both know your client is guilty?”
“Not that again, Robert,” I moaned. “Please.”
His face contorted into a mask of incredulity. “You are beyond belief—or comprehension. Sarah, the prosecution is going to crucify you. You say you want to see women attorneys in the courtroom. Think of what a defeat like this will do for your precious cause.
“The evidence against Chin is overwhelming,” he went on when I didn’t respond. “The public is already clamoring for his head on a platter.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “A woman attorney and a Chinaman. Now there’s a partnership for you!”
I opened my mouth to retort, then closed it again. Li Ying once told me it was necessary to accept reality. Well, the reality was that the evidence against my client seemed all but insurmountable. And most of San Francisco, for all its pretense of valuing diversity, regarded its Chinese population as subhuman—slightly above animals,
but not by much. What Robert said was true. I was risking everything I’d worked so long and hard for to defend an unpleasant, not to mention ungrateful, man, who seemed to be as eager as the police to stick his head in a noose.
“Robert, I honestly don’t think Chin is guilty of killing Arlen or Dora Clemens, although I’ll grant you, his innocence is going to be next to impossible to prove. But don’t you see? I have to at least try. That’s the promise I made when I became an attorney.”
“Oh, please, spare me those damn ethics of yours!”
“It’s more than ethics. Someone has murdered four people—yes, I’m including Caroline Godfrey and Josiah Halsey, whether you agree or not—and I’m convinced that person is not Chin Lee Fong. No one’s working very hard to find Halsey’s killer, and Caroline’s death was ruled a heart attack. Yet I’m certain they were poisoned by the same individual who killed Arlen and Clemens. If I stand by and do nothing while Chin is convicted of two crimes he didn’t commit, the real murderer—the person who has callously taken four lives—will go free. I would never forgive myself if I protected the future of women attorneys by allowing an innocent man to hang.”

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