Hostile Witness (7 page)

“Not this time, Hannah.”

Josie twirled the pen between her fingers as she listened to Hannah’s view of her world. The truth was that sometimes saving people wasn’t simple, sometimes saviors weren’t who you expected them to be, all people don’t get saved, and not everyone deserved to be saved. It was time Hannah heard those facts of life.

“Look, Hannah, Fritz is dead, and if Kip were going to help you he would have done it by now. Your mother knows that, so she sent me.”  Josie leaned forward, crossed her arms on the table and looked right into that gorgeous, defiant face.  “You are in a shit load of trouble.  Now, if you want to go home to your mother then you look at me, you talk to me, you listen to me, and you cut the crap because, believe me, this is the last place on earth I want to be.”

Hannah bit her bottom lip – a gesture so like her mother’s. Those broiled fingers were at her hair again. Front. Behind. Front. Behind. Over the ear once, then again.  She swished her hair and her lips moved as if she were counting.  Her eyes wandered as if Josie was no more interesting than a gnat.

Frustrated, unnerved by her surroundings, sick of this kid’s self-absorbed nonsense, Josie shot out of her chair. Her thighs pushed the table as she reached across it and clamped down on Hannah’s wrist.

“Stop that,” she growled.

Hannah’s eyes narrowed. She tried to jerk away.  Josie held on tight and Hannah bared her teeth.

“I can’t. Do you want to make something of it?”

6

Josie backed off, slowly releasing Hannah’s wrist.  She was shaking, stunned at her anger and Hannah’s admission.

“No, I don’t want to make anything of it.”

Josie sank back into her chair. Grown women broke their first hour in this place. Hannah Sheraton was ready to fight.  She had guts, Josie would give her that. 

“So then don’t call me on it.”

Hannah slumped in her chair, resentment seeping out of her. Her jumpsuit gaped open.  Josie could see one perfectly formed breast sans bra.  The nipple was pierced. There was a tattoo staining her shoulder, blue/black and red. Her hand knocked underneath the table in a maddening rhythm. Everything about her said hard as nails but Josie didn’t buy it. There was something beyond the anger that intrigued Josie; something in the way Hannah stood up for herself that Josie admired.  

“So tell me about what you’re doing. There isn’t time for me to guess, and you don’t want the prosecution to know anything your own attorney doesn’t know.”

Hannah closed her eyes and kept them closed. 

“I do it because that’s what I do.  I touch things twenty times. It makes me feel safe.  I’m obsessive/compulsive. All the doctors say the same thing.”  Hannah’s lashes fluttered. Her lids raised half way in an expression that was weary and guarded.  “What a waste of money. What’s wrong with liking to know my boundaries? It doesn’t hurt anyone.  It doesn’t even hurt me.”

“I think I’ll wait for your doctors to tell me if you have severe behavioral problems,” Josie said.

“That’s rich. They only know what I tell them.” Hannah dismissed Josie only to find the ensuing, insistent silence annoying.  She filled it.  “I’m better with doors than I used to be. I saw you looking at me when I touched the door. That’s why I figured you for a doctor. You look like the kind of doctor my mother likes.”

“And what kind would that be?”

“My mom likes women doctors. Extreme women.”

Hannah put her burned hand to her throat and dropped the fingers down to the opening of her jumpsuit. This was a Linda move.  Hannah was a puppy, learning all the wrong things before she was weaned.  Sensing Josie’s discomfort, Hannah teased.

“The kind of women my mom likes either hate to screw, or they screw too much. That’s the kind of extreme they are. She probably likes lawyers like that, too. Which one are you?”

Josie shook her head.

“I’ve heard that word before, Hannah, so why don’t you tell me something I really want to know. Tell me what kind of doctors Fritz liked.”  When Hannah fell silent Josie pushed on. “Your mother said Fritz Rayburn took an interest in you. She said he paid for some clinics and your doctors.”

Josie wasn’t playing Hannah’s game and Hannah wasn’t interested in Josie’s.

“They were just places, just people. I don’t think he ever met any of the doctors in them.  He just sent me there.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“Like he was sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong; like he was punishing me when I didn’t do anything.”

The hair was going back and forth again but slower now as if she was seeing Fritz, hearing him, and was pissed at him. Between the words Hannah breathed her numbers. When she reached twenty twirls she stopped and put her burned hand on the table, always in the same place. She was done.

“I’m not going to talk about Fritz. He was just in the house sometimes, that’s all.  He was a damn hypocrite always talking about the law, and justice, and art, and people falling all over him like he was better than everyone else. Well, he wasn’t better, and he wasn’t around a lot. So let’s not talk about Fritz.”

“How did all that make him a hypocrite, Hannah?” Josie pressed for information, looking for the bottom of Hannah’s resentment.

She shrugged, “I don’t know. He thought he was above everybody. Forget it. Forget him.”

“That’s all anybody’s going to be talking about, so you better get that through your head.  You’re charged as an adult. You’re going to have to start acting like one.”  

Hannah shifted. She sat up straight, still cautious but suddenly engaged.

“Okay. I’ll be an adult. I have some questions. How come my mom sent you and not some guy?”

“We went to school together,” Josie answered. “I told her I’d see you through the bail hearing, and then find someone to help if you go to trial.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“I haven’t done criminal work for a long time,” Josie said, averting her eyes. “Not like this anyway.”

“How come?”

“Because I haven’t,” Josie retorted, peeved that this kid should insist on an answer.

“But why?” Hannah persisted.

“Because I was very good at it and sometimes I got people off who should have gone to jail. Sometimes they hurt more people. That’s why.”

“Oh, so you’re scared,” Hannah decided.

“I made a decision not to do major criminal work any more,” Josie insisted.

“You didn’t choose.  You quit. You were scared you’d do it again.” Hannah smiled as if they had suddenly found a meeting ground. Now they could be friends. “I’d want you to help me. People who are scared think better. Besides, if you choose not to do something you can choose to do it again - if the person is innocent - right?”

Josie wasn’t listening to Hannah. Another voice came out of the walls and wrapped itself around her brain in tantalizing whispers. She had been in this room, in this place, listening to another client say the same words. Choose me. Help me. I’m innocent. I am.

 “Isn’t that right? You can choose, right?” Hannah demanded, and Josie blinked.

“We’ll keep our options open,” she answered.  “Do you have any other questions?”

Hannah eyed Josie, checking out every twitch, every evasion, and every noncommittal statement. Then she started to probe.

“Do you know my mom really well?”

“I did a long time ago.”

“Did you know she gave up being a pro volleyball player so she could have me?”

Josie inclined her head.  Josie didn’t care about that little bit of fiction, but she noted the point of it:  Hannah the child wanted to be life-changingly important to her mother. That was something Josie understood better than anyone on earth.  In Hannah’s case she probably had been, just not the way she thought.

“So, are you sure Kip isn’t going to do something for me?” Hannah suddenly demanded.

“Yes, I am.”

Hannah nodded.  Her fingers were tapping. Twenty. Then her left hand covered her right and stroked the mottled skin. Twenty.  Josie’s muscles tightened in annoyance. It was hard to watch, this lack of self-control.

“There’s another question.” Hannah said finally.  “I want to know if you think I’m crazy?”

Josie eyed her coolly and answered honestly.

“I don’t know.  I haven’t talked to your doctor.”

“I mean from what you’ve seen? Counting and touching stuff.  Do you think that’s crazy?” The tapping began again.

“No, that doesn’t fit the legal description of insanity if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are you sure?” Restless and troubled, Hannah’s hands moved a mile a minute.

“Why would you want me to think you’re crazy, Hannah? Why would you want anyone to think that?” Josie asked, trying to read between Hannah’s lines.

“Because if I was crazy they couldn’t say I murdered Fritz, could they?”

Josie finally got it. This girl was thinking ahead, figuring ways to get herself out of this predicament. Her permutations were flawed, but Josie found the exercise to be extraordinarily clear headed for someone so young.

She had done the same thing when her mother disappeared; planned her own destiny, planned how to find Emily.   In the end Josie failed to find her mother and learned that destiny had a will of its own.  If nothing else, Josie understood and empathized with Hannah Sheraton. When she spoke again, Josie committed herself more deeply than she intended.

“Hannah,” Josie said evenly. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.  I can review the information the District Attorney has, and try to get the charges dismissed. If I can’t make that happen, you will be indicted for murder. Then you’ll have a choice: plead guilty, plead to a lesser charge, or we can fight.

“If we fight don’t think for me. Don’t try to beat this system on your own because it can’t be done.  Knocking on wood and twirling your hair doesn’t constitute an insanity defense. Do you understand that?”

Hannah listened, thinking hard, weighing the worth of Josie’s advice against that of other adults she knew. Finally she made a decision.  Slowly she brought her hands from under the table, unbuttoned the cuffs on her jumpsuit and deliberately rolled up her sleeves - ten rolls each. Twenty in all.

Hannah held up her arms. At first Josie’s eyes were drawn to her hands. Then she saw what Hannah was offering. On the delicate skin of her forearms was a web of scars and welts, red scratches and deep cuts, some viciously fresh. Josie took a deep breath and forced herself not to look away.

“Does this count for crazy?” Hannah asked, holding out what she considered to be her ticket to freedom.

“No, Hannah.  It doesn’t count for crazy.” Josie whispered.

Hannah’s expression changed, the hope drained away, the light in her eyes dimmed. She didn’t seem as much disappointed as sadly accepting. Lowering her arms Hannah rolled her sleeves down, buttoned the cuffs, buried her hands beneath the table and started knocking the underside again.

One, two, three. . .ten. . .twenty.

7

Archer: “So? How’d it go?”

Josie:  “She needs help.”

Archer: “And?”

Josie:  “Bail hearing’s tomorrow.”

Archer:  “You going to be there?”

Josie: “Yeah.”

Archer: “Sounds good, Jo. ‘Nite, babe.”

Josie: “Nite, Archer.”

There were no halls of justice in trailer C, department 32 of the Superior Court, the Honorable Judith Davenport presiding.  There were, in fact, no halls at all.

Hannah was scheduled to be arraigned in Santa Monica but the actual courthouse was overcrowded. The proceedings would take place in one of the modular units the state had plopped in the middle of the parking lot in an effort to solve the problem.  Unfortunately, while that had been a practical decision it sorely undermined the dignity of the court.

Still, it was what Hannah Sheraton drew.  Josie had no doubt that if it came to an actual trial The People v. Hannah Sheraton in the matters of arson and murder would be played out on a much finer stage.

It was early. Half a dozen cars were scattered over the asphalt parking lot. Beyond the fence that separated court property from the West LA police station cops were changing the guard. Black and whites pulled in and out. Tired officers went home; fresh ones hit the streets.  A roach coach was doing a brisk business in breakfast burritos and bad coffee.

Checking her watch, Josie hurried past a woman dragging a two year old behind her, a couple of attorneys conferring by a green Mercedes, and two marshals before opening the metal door to Department 32.  It closed with a thud. The walls wobbled. This was a judicial trailer park hoping for a bureaucratic tornado to wipe it out.  Still, there were things that made Department 32 feel just like every other courtroom: a Court TV camera, a jar of candy on the clerk’s desk, an empty jury box, and the seal of the state hanging behind the bench. But there was one thing missing: people.  Josie thought the place would have been packed. Instead, she tagged only the AP and the LA Times reporters. A young blond man sat in the back. He was too well-dressed to be a court watcher, and too relaxed to be the prosecutor. Linda was up front alone. If this was all the public interest the DA could muster, that was a good thing.

Josie shrugged into her jacket then walked down the aisle toward Linda. They had been on the phone for over an hour last night discussing Hannah’s history, and what the family was willing to do to secure bail. Josie touched Linda’s shoulder and motioned her to move over.  Linda looked up, gratitude plastered on her face like an extra layer of make-up.

“I was worried. I thought maybe I was in the wrong place.” Linda kept her voice low.

“How long have you been here?” Josie asked.

“Half an hour. Seems like forever.”  Self-consciously Linda touched her hair. It was pulled straight up and gathered into a sleek knot on top of her head. On her ears were diamond hoops.  She was nervous but controlled; a far cry from the woman of a few nights ago. They would have to talk about clothes if this went to trial. The last thing Josie wanted was for Hannah and Linda to look like escapees from Rodeo Drive.

“Is your husband coming?”

“No, he couldn’t make it.  He had a meeting. But he wanted to. He did.”

Josie nodded, understanding it was futile to hope Kip Rayburn would stand by Hannah.  Josie shifted closer to Linda.

“There’s a camera in the back of the courtroom. Don’t react to anything you hear during the proceedings. If you have a question, let me know about it when we’re out of here, okay?”

Linda nodded. Josie started to get up. Linda grabbed her.

“What about you? Are you okay? I mean, I know you didn’t want to do this.”

Josie slipped her hand from Linda’s.

“Everything is fine. Don’t worry,” Josie assured her.

Just then the back door opened. Rudy Klein, Deputy District attorney had arrived.  It was time to go. Rudy and Josie passed through the bar together.

“It’s been a long time, Rudy,” she said.

“Not long enough,” he muttered.

They took to their respective tables.  Things moved quickly after that.  The door to chambers opened. Her honor, Judge Judith Davenport, was announced.  Everyone stood. The court was called to order.  There was a millisecond of silence before Hannah Sheraton, still dressed in orange, was led into the room.

This time she was buttoned up to the chin.