Hostile Witness (20 page)

There, on the floor of that cold, small, windowless room Hannah Sheraton told her stories until the bailiff opened the door and told Josie it was time to begin again.

21

“This one is over.” -  Maeve Clark, reporter, to herself.

Josie learned how to hold her breath when she was ten. Not just hold it for a minute, but hold it as if it was a matter of life or death.

The first morning they were in Hawaii, before the boxes were unpacked, Emily Baylor-Bates bundled her daughter into their old car and drove off the base to find an adventure.

Two hours later, Emily and Josie picked their way down a bluff through a light tropical rain toward a stretch of white beach, blue water, and waves that curled on to each other.  Laughing, meeting the waves head on, Emily ran into the water. Josie went after, apprehensive, but so anxious to be her mother’s daughter. Emily turned her back. A wave caught her and lifted her up. She reached out her hands calling to Josie over the roar, moving further into the bright blue water, moving away from Josie.

Josie, smaller and more vulnerable than Emily, was buffeted by the waves. It took all her might to stand her ground.  One hit her. Another came. A third slapped her down, dragging her into a whirlpool of sand and water.  Josie was twisted head over heels, her small arms flailing, until she didn’t know which way was up, or where down was. She hit the sand hard.  Salt stung her shoulder where it was scraped bloody by shell and rock.  Over and over again Josie was tumbled and dragged on the rocky bottom only to be sucked back up into the churning, crystalline bubble of water. She was suffocating. Death was around the corner. There was no savior in sight.  She wanted her mother. Where was her mother, Josie wondered, as Hannah fought for her life?

Just when Josie was sure she couldn’t hold her breath one minute longer, just when she was sure she was going to die, the ocean threw her up on shore. Lying on the sand, gasping for air, Josie looked up. Emily was dancing in the waves, oblivious to everything but her own pleasure.

Hannah Sheraton had been like Josie. She had held her breath as she tumbled through the beautiful treacherous waters of the Rayburn house while Linda and Kip danced outside the surf and Fritz dragged her under the tide of his sickness.  Linda hadn’t saved her, but Josie would. She was convinced that Hannah’s story was not a fantasy. The girl knew too much, gave too many names, and was too specific as to Fritz Rayburn’s particular habits.  By the time the court reconvened Josie knew what she had to do. She had to believe in Hannah unconditionally.

Mired in her outrage, guarding against the slippery slope of skepticism, Josie stood rigidly behind the defense table; eyes forward as she controlled her breathing and planned her attack. Josie didn’t realize Linda was near until she heard her voice.

“You can’t keep me out of that room,” Linda hissed. “I’m her mother.”

 Josie looked at Linda, unmoved by such outrage. It was too little too late. Josie stepped to the bar, close enough to smell Linda’s expensive perfume, to see the little scar on the side of her lip twitch.

“I can do what I damn well please,” Josie assured her coldly.

“You’re going to kill her. I told you that in the beginning.  It was just a matter of time before she went nuts. Tell the judge now. Tell him you want to talk to the prosecutor about a plea.” 

Josie looked at the empty jury box. She could hear Linda’s voice but Josie’s mind was elsewhere. Her entire defense would have to change now and she wasn’t clear what direction it would take. Self-defense? Battered woman’s syndrome?  All Josie knew was that Linda hadn’t just ignored her daughter’s pain; she had inflicted it on Hannah with her selfishness.  Finally, she looked at Linda.

“You are disgusting. Did you think I wouldn’t find out what Rayburn was doing? Why didn’t you tell me up front? What was there to protect? Your husband? Your reputation?  It would have all been so different if you just told me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Linda snapped, but she’d gone pale. She took hold of Josie’s arm. “What are you going to do? What did Hannah tell you?”

“You’ll know when everyone else does,” Josie growled. “Now let go of me and sit down, or I swear I’ll make this worse for you than it needs to be.”

“Josie, I don’t know what Hannah told you.  . .”

But Josie had turned her back. People were watching. Linda sat down, pulling herself tall, squaring her shoulders. Behind her, spectators were filing in, wondering about Hannah and judging Linda.  Linda hated judgment.  How could they know anything about her life? How could these people – the press, the spectators, the vacant faced bailiff and clerk, the jury and even the judge himself – presume to think they knew anything about Linda, or the way she had raised her daughter, or the things she had to do to survive?  It sickened Linda Rayburn to think that anyone felt superior – even in their perception – to her.

Linda threw back her head, turning just as Rudy Klein walked past. He fixed his eyes on her until he pushed through the swinging gate of the bar. Unnerved, Linda’s chin dropped, her hand went to her throat. There was something in those eyes of his that put her off as sharply as if he had poked her with a stick; as if she was a rock he was trying to turn to see what crawling things were underneath.

Then the judge was seated, the court reporter’s hands were poised above her machine, and Kip was being called back to the stand for Josie’s cross. Kip stopped to touch Linda’s hand. That was all it took to put her on the right track again. The end was too close to let anything knock them off course. Finally Kip seemed to understand that.

Judge Norris instructed the jury to attend to the matters at hand and gave Josie the nod. Standing in front of Kip Rayburn, Josie clasped her hands low, planted her feet and led with her strength.

“Mr. Rayburn, isn’t it true that your father, Justice Fritz Rayburn, abused you?”

The silence lasted exactly five seconds before the buzz started.

What did she say? Did I hear that right?

“Objection, Your Honor!” Rudy called out, on his feet, as pale as his witness. “This is outrageous and beyond the scope. . .”

Josie was quick and fierce. Her head snapped toward the bench for only as long as it took to explain herself.

“Goes to credibility, Judge.”

“Request a sidebar, Your Honor,” Rudy demanded.

Norris crooked a finger, simultaneously calling for quiet, threatening to clear the courtroom if he didn’t get what he wanted.  Josie went reluctantly, unwilling to take her eyes off Kip Rayburn.  She wanted him to feel the depth of her disdain. Norris covered the microphone on the bench and leaned forward. Rudy went first, so incensed Josie feared he would combust.

“Your Honor, this is outrageous. Ms. Bates will have a chance to present her case but to abuse this witness with histrionics is blatant sensationalism and demeans this court.”

“Oh please,” Josie shot back in disgust. “You opened the door. This witness has testified to the kind nature of Justice Rayburn. He has painted a picture of a selfless man bent only on helping my client and that is, quite simply, untrue according to my client. I should be allowed to explore the character of the victim since the prosecutor is holding that character up to scrutiny. ”

“She is right counselor,” Norris ruled.

“Then limit the scope, Your Honor,” Rudy pleaded. “Allow Mr. Rayburn to testify only to what he experienced in regard to the defendant.”

“Your witness is already on the record regarding his insights into Justice Rayburn’s treatment of my client. If you limit me, I will have no way of discrediting his testimony without him admitting to perjury. Please, Your Honor.   This girl deserves every opportunity to prove her truthfulness.”

Norris hesitated.  This case had taken a turn that would whip public interest to a frenzy and that worried him. He was already hearing the sound bites, the debates, and the speculation that would erupt on talk shows and in the press.  A California Supreme Court Justice had gone from saint to sinner and it was clear Josie Baylor-Bates was going to milk this for all it was worth. Still, he had a job to do. Much as he hated to, Norris would let this play out.

“Overruled, Mr. Klein. Step back.”

Rudy went back to his corner, unnerved by the ruling. He was barely seated when Josie closed in on Kip Rayburn.  The man looked gray. His hair seemed to have thinned. He seemed to have wilted inside his suit. Then she saw a spark deep in his eyes.  Kip wasn’t afraid.  He was examining the predator and the nature of her attack in order to protect himself.  That meant only one thing. Hannah hadn’t lied.

“Mr. Rayburn. I ask you again, when did your father, Fritz Rayburn, start abusing you?”

“I am not going to answer that. . .”

“Your Honor, permission to treat as hostile.” Josie never took her eyes off Kip Rayburn as she circled and left him open to the jury’s scrutiny.

“So directed.”  Norris instructed.

Josie inclined her head in thanks. She could now demand his answers, insist on the truth, pound at his responses until she was satisfied her client had been well served.

“Do you need the question read back, Mr. Rayburn?” Josie asked.

Kip let his eyes linger on Josie for a minute. His expression was condescending. His gaze wandered to Linda.  Josie could feel the minute their eyes locked.  Methodically he surveyed the spectators and the jury.  Finally, disdainfully, Kip Rayburn answered the question.

“My father never abused me, Ms. Bates.”

“Did Justice Rayburn use a wooden paddle on you when you were eight?”

“Yes.”

“When you were twelve did your father cut your right index finger so deep that it exposed the bone and took twenty-seven stitches to close it up?”

“That was an accident.  He was trying to show me how to whittle,” Kip said.

“With a carving knife, Mr. Rayburn?” Josie asked disdainfully.

“You had to be there, Ms. Bates,” he answered.

“And on your ninth birthday did your father lock you in the closet with a. . .”

“This is ridiculous.” Kip Rayburn muttered. One hand went to his mouth; the other was cocked back on the arm of the witness chair.

“Mr. Rayburn, you are directed. . .” Judge Norris began but Kip had other ideas.

“No. I will not be directed to talk about things that are personal. The way my father and I dealt with one another is no one’s business. This isn’t about me. It’s about her.” Kip tossed his head toward the empty defense table.

“Fine,” Josie stepped forward. “Then tell us this, Mr. Rayburn, did your father abuse Hannah Sheraton?”

“Of course not,” Kip snorted.

“Verbally?”

“No.”

“Emotionally?”

“No.”

“Did he touch her, Mr. Rayburn?”

“Only in the way a concerned old man would touch a child he cared about.”

“Did he physically discipline her?” Josie snapped.

“He disciplined her within reason,” Kip shot back.

“Did that include burning her with wax from a candle, Mr. Rayburn?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Wax. Hot wax on her thigh. Hot enough to burn through a summer skirt. Did your father do that?”

“No! I mean, how would I know? I didn’t monitor my father’s behavior.”

“Considering the way your father disciplined you, don’t you think you should have watched how the great Justice Rayburn interacted with the defendant?”

“Hannah was a big girl. . .”

“So you’re saying that your father only abused small children. Is that what you’re saying?”