The Simeon Chamber

THE SIMEON CHAMBEr by STEVE MARTINi Copyright 1988

by Steven Paul Martini, Inc.

BOOK JACKET INFORMATION iii THE SIMEON CHAMBEr

“Chilling … Provocative …

Stunning.” —_Publishers
Weekly Don’t miss these bestselling legal thrillers by STEVE MARTINi PRIME WITNESs

“RIVETING, YOU-ARE-THERE IMMEDIACY … FIRST-RATE!” —Publishers
Weekly Compelling Evidence

“TRIAL WARFARE … GOOD SUSPENSE … TIGHTLY WRAPPED.” —John Grisham Steve Martini, a former trial attorney, has worked as a journalist and capital correspondent in the California State House in Sacramento. He has been engaged in both public and private practice of law, most recently as a state attorney in Sacramento. Martini lives on the West Coast. His bestselling novels include Compelling
Evidence and
Prime
Witness.

“THE
SIMEON
CHAMBER CAPTURES THE IMAGINATION … A TANGLED WEB INVOLVING MILLIONS OF DOLLARS, FAKE IDENTITIES, AND MURDER … STARTLING [AND] SKILLFUL!” —UPi John Grisham, bestselling author of
The
Firm, called Steve Martini one of the top three masters of legal suspense. In
The
Simeon
Chamber, Martini delivers the unpredictable twists and turns that keep readers spellbound …

THE SIMEON CHAMBER v

Lawyer Sam Bogardus thought it was a routine adoption case. His client believed her natural father had died years ago in a bizarre accident. But now, she has received a message that her father is still alive. The message is attached to four pages of an ancient journal that could be the key to a hidden fortune. And Sam’s investigation leads to a loved one’s murder …

What he uncovers is more shocking than greed or revenge. It’s a web of conspiracy that spans four centuries …

And it’s enough to make a lawyer take the law into his own hands.

“KEEPS THE READER ENGROSSED … A STUNNING FINALE!”—Publishers
Weekly “A FINE FOOT-TO-THE-FLOOr THRILLER!” —New York
Daily
News PHENOMENAL PRAISE FOr THE SIMEON CHAMBEr BY STEVE MARTINi

“Intriguing … chilling … a fast read!” —Publishers
Weekly “The last payoff should knock some socks off!”

—New York Daily
News

“The reader is easily coaxed into turning page after page as events unfold to reveal several startling conclusions.”—UPi “An impressive debut novel by a real-life attorney … a startling revelation and climax that reverberate long after The
Simeon
Chamber is finished.”—_Mystery
News “Thrilling … a winner … Martini demonstrates a confident hand and deft control of literary suspense … a continuous chain of leads and puzzles that should keep any mystery thriller fan interested … excellent, top-quality adventure.”—
Sacramento
Bee vii

“Intriguing twists and turns!”—Orlando
Sentinel “A good yarn … lively … compelling.” —
_Wichita Falls TimesstRecord
News

“Everything spirals to an exciting and very satisfying conclusion. There is even a delicious little twist on the final twist!”—Smyth
County
News (VA.)

“Rousing!”—_Kirkus
Reviews MORE PRAISE FOr STEVE MARTINi AND HIS BESTSELLING NOVELs

“Martini writes with the agile, episodic style of a lawyer quick on his feet …”—John Grisham, bestselling author of The
Firm and
The
Client “We unquestionably have a new literary lion in the fictional crime genre.”—Vincent Bugliosi “The author reveals how the law really works.” —
San
Francisco
Chronicle

“Sheer storytelling professionalism!”—

Los
Angeles
Times PRIME WITNESs

Steve Martini’s powerful novel of an attorney’s desperate attempt to convict a serial murderer …

“Riveting, you-are-there immediacy …

ingenious … nail-biting … fascinating … first-rate … Prime is indeed the word for this involving read!”—Publishers
Weekly “The trial begins and Martini rolls up his sleeves to do what he does best … packs a satisfying punch.”—
Kirkus
Reviews COMPELLING EVIDENCE ix

The electrifying courtroom thriller that made Steve Martini a bestselling author—the story of a lawyer defending his ex-lover for the murder of her husband …

“Not only do I write legal suspense, I thoroughly enjoy reading it … The best debut, in my opinion, is Compelling
Evidence by Steve Martini.”—John Grisham “Superb … truly on a level with
Presumed
Innocent.” —F. Lee Bailey “A wonderfully crafted and clever courtroom thriller.” —Vincent Bugliosi “What a trial! Absolutely thrilling.” —Clifford Irving “A taut, tense tale that I simply could not put down.” —Dominick Dunne “The trial excitement is pitched high … packs a wallop!” —
Publishers
Weekly “Riveting and compelling.”—
Detroit
Legal
News “
Compelling
Evidence will leave you dazzled.” —Edward Stewart

“Thoroughly entertaining.”—Melvin Belli “All that a courtroom drama should be—

seamless, suspenseful …”—New York
Daily
News Jove Books by Steve Martini xi COMPELLING EVIDENCe PRIME WITNESs THE SIMEON CHAMBEr This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or publisher. xiii __To the fathers, Ernie and Murray, in whose unqualified love I found the embers of
inspiration.

AUTHOR’s NOTe

This novel is a work of fiction, as noted on page xii. There is no “Simeon Chamber,” no “Committee of Acquisition.” While a naval blimp did crash on a street in Daly City near San Francisco in August 1942, and while its crew has never been found, Raymond Slade, James Spencer, George Johnson and Louis Davies are the offspring of the author’s imagination and bear no relationship to members of the actual crew or their families. While William Randolph Hearst is known to have been a consummate collector of art, there is no evidence that he ever defrauded or dealt knowingly or unknowingly in black market art. Francis Drake did sail the Pacific off of what is today San Francisco, and in the summer of 1579 he and his crew made camp for thirty-six days at a site the location of which is a matter of scientific and historic speculation. It is true that he called this place “Nova Albion.” It is also known that Drake maintained a detailed journal of his voyage around the world. That journal has never been xv

found and is presumed lost to history. ACKNOWLEDGMENTs

In writing this book I received the assistance and encouragement of many without whose support it would not have been possible. I am indebted to Murray Arnold, Keith Arnold and Dennis Higgins, who supplied the cornerstone of all creative endeavors—honest criticism. To Dr. Robert Anthony, M.D., Ph.D., Forensic Pathologist with the Sacramento County Coroner’s Office, I owe thanks for collaboration in the commission of an accurate fictional homicide. I would like to thank Sally L. Scott, Regional Interpretive Specialist, and Rita Nunes, Special Assistant to the Regional Director, California Department of Parks and Recreation, Hearst Castle, for their assistance in providing information and access to the Hearst San Simeon Historical Monument. I thank Victoria Blyth Hill, Senior Paper Conservator, Los Angeles County Museum of Art, for information in the preservation and identification of documentary artifacts. To the staff of the California State Library at Sacramento I owe thanks for assistance in locating xvii valuable research and resource materials.

To Donald I. Fine, George Wieser, and George Coleman I am indebted for their good grace, support and sponsorship of a first literary venture.

I thank my aunt Vivian Benedetti and my mother Rita Martini whose stories of the fated “Ghost Blimp” fixed firmly in my child’s mind the lore of mystery and the seed of this story.

I owe unending gratitude to my wife Leah and my mother-in-law Betty for their tireless and selfless editing and encouragement.

And finally, but not least, I thank my 14-month-old daughter Meggie, whose sparkling eyes and infectious smile provided the ultimate discipline and resolve to finish this manuscript. SPM Auburn, California March, 1988 PROLOGUe APRIL 17, 1906 MARIN COUNTY, CALIFORNIa A slight smile spread between hollow cheeks under haunted gray eyes as Earl Huber considered the fact that he owed his good fortune to a cockroach. He’d named her “Beauty,” for she’d never been bested in the nightly races that Huber presided over for amusement in his solitary cell.

It was typical of his pitiless surroundings that even Huber’s privacy had been purchased at the misfortune of another. For rumor had it that the convict Joaquin Sanchez had been beaten to death by two guards only days before Huber had been moved into the Mexican’s single cell in the Old Spanish Block. Others might have cringed in superstition, but not Earl Huber. He accepted his newly found solitude as an omen of good fortune.

On that night two weeks earlier his ritual had not varied. Sealed for the night in his solitary cubicle, he lined up the box with the cockroaches directly at the edge of a granite block beneath his cot. He slapped the floor near the xix wooden container, and five of the antennaed beasts bolted like thoroughbreds from a starting gate and headed toward the wall, Beauty clearly in the lead.

Under his breath he kibitzed and whispered encouragement to the competitors, while in his mind he imagined bleachers filled to overflowing with cheering wagerers.

Four feet from the starting point Beauty suddenly stopped, veered slightly to the left as if to cross over the partition between two of the large granite blocks and disappeared into a minute crack. Huber instantly lost interest in the race. He pushed the box under the cot and crawled on his hands and knees in search of his prized insect.

He sprinkled the area with stale bread crumbs to coax her out. He slapped the block with his hand, hoping the concussion would cause her to surface—

all to no avail. Finally, in desperation he grabbed the metal spoon from his dinner plate and carefully worked the flat handle between the two blocks. After several minutes of fruitless probing, he tried to extract the spoon and discovered it was stuck fast in the granite crevice. Huber braced himself on both knees, gripped the oval spoon in one hand and wrapped it with the other palm. Pulling with all of his strength, he jerked on the spoon. With a grunt he tore it free and was thrown onto his back near the cot.

As Huber stood, examining the mangled handle of the spoon, he noticed that one stone had lifted from the uniform surface of the floor and now overlapped the edge of the adjoining block.

Settling back to his knees and studying the three square feet of granite, Huber discovered that it was not a block at all, but a granite slab, no more than an inch thick. He slid the spoon handle under the flat piece of rock and pried it up enough to get his fingers underneath. He lifted the slab and propped it against the wall of the cell.

As he turned to examine the area left by the loose stone, his mind was instantly purged of any thoughts concerning the wayward cockroach. His gaze was met by the sight of an open shaft, three feet square, that descended from his cell beneath the missing stone. He dropped to his knees and discovered a smooth lip carefully tooled and etched in the surrounding granite blocks upon which the slab had rested.

Huber grabbed the coal-oil lamp from xxi its hook on the wall and lowered it into the opening.

The shaft dropped only four or five feet but appeared to widen after it passed beneath the cubical granite blocks that formed the floor of his cell. Pulling the light up and placing it on the floor, he lowered himself into the opening, picked up the lamp and carefully hunched down onto his knees.

He crawled about ten feet through the open cavern, becoming dizzy from the noxious vapors emitting from the coal-oil lamp. The stifling odor kindled panic in his mind, and he was about to retreat when he saw them: a small pile of half-used white candles, one set in a crude wooden holder. Quickly he lit a candle, blew into the glass chimney and abandoned the lamp.

Huber’s eyes strained as his gaze wandered down the seemingly endless tunnel. The muted light of the candle flame was lost in shadows as the open shaft continued beyond his view. He became giddy with excitement, realizing for the first time that he had traveled beyond the limited confines of his cell walls. To his best guess he’d passed under the broad alleyway that separated the Old Spanish Block from the more modern cell blocks that adjoined it. He was amused by the thought that he now crawled with absolute impunity under the cells occupied by some other poor souls who rotted in the eight by ten feet of privacy allowed by the prison authorities.

Cautiously he inched his way along the earthen corridor, sucking in the sweet odor of dank soil. After years of breathing the dry dust of the jute mill, the scent of wet earth was itself a liberating experience.

For nearly twenty minutes he crawled in a straight line under the cell block and the open exercise yard. He’d lost all sense of distance, but he guessed that he was closing on the forty-foot-high perimeter wall, beyond which lay open ground and freedom.