Hostile Witness (9 page)

“You mean other than wondering if the District Attorney has lost his mind?” Josie laughed and then gave the reporter something to work with. “Top of my head, I’d say the D.A. has tunnel vision. Hannah Sheraton wasn’t alone in the house that night.  Mrs. Rayburn and her husband were home. They had entertained that evening and their guests stayed late. The maid was in the house. Her son had been by earlier. The caterer had two employees with him. If the fire was deliberately set – and that’s a big if - I could probably make a case against any one of them.”

“Who looks good to you?”

Josie wagged a finger.

“I’m not playing that game. I’m only telling you my client had nothing to do with Fritz Rayburn’s death.”

Ending the interview, Josie took Linda’s arm only to stop when the reporter called after them.

“Josie, what do you say to those who might wonder if your opinion is reliable when it comes to your client’s innocence? Considering the Davis case, and all.”

Josie turned around slowly. Her gaze was steady. The bright morning light caught her hard on one side of her face so that she appeared divided, black and white.

“I say Hannah Sheraton is a young girl who is to be afforded all the protection of the law including a vigorous defense. I intend to make sure she gets it no matter who speaks for her in court.”

“Does that mean you won’t be.  . .”

Josie turned her back.  There would be no more questions from anyone. Rudy Klein hadn’t left and Josie wanted to have a few words with him.

“Linda, get Hannah home. Tell her she did good today.”

Josie strode across the parking lot.  She called to Rudy Klein as he was hanging his jacket in the back of the car, looking for his keys, getting on to the next piece of business. He turned and watched her approach.  His handsome face was impassive, his eyes imminently readable. The message was clear.  He didn’t particularly care for Josie Baylor-Bates, and that surprised her. They hardly knew one another. She hadn’t given him a second thought since the Davis trial.

“That was quite a show you put on in there. A little harsh, don’t you think?” Josie smiled, knowing the ice needed to be broken. Unfortunately, it was rock solid.

“I would have gone for special circumstances and the death penalty,” Rudy said flatly. “But the D.A. didn’t want to take a chance there would be any sympathy for this kid.”

“That’s a little harsh even for John Cooper.   If he’s trying to curry favor with Governor Davidson by showing he’s got balls of steel, he might as well forget it.  John Cooper won’t get Rayburn’s seat even if he burned my client at the stake.”

Rudy slammed the back door of his car and opened the front. He hung on it for a minute, shaking his head.

“Boy, you haven’t changed a bit. Always looking for the angle, aren’t you? John Cooper has been prosecuting juvenile felons as adults since he took office. Cruelty has nothing to do with chronology just the same way chronology doesn’t have anything to do with innocence. Or did you miss that during your last trial?”

“Kristin Davis wasn’t my last trial.”

“Really? I didn’t know you were still practicing. I thought you crawled into a hole and stayed there.” Rudy put on his sunglasses.  “Now that we’re clear on the DA’s motivation for prosecuting this girl, is there anything else you wanted?”
 “A deal,” Josie said, surprised he took his failure during the Davis trial so hard.

He had stepped in when the original Deputy D.A. suffered a heart attack. It was late in the game and Josie was in the end zone. Rudy did his best, he had done it brilliantly, but it was too little, too late. Josie won.  Six months later Kristin was at her murderous best again and Josie realized she no longer had the stomach for defending those who should have been indefensible.  Rudy, it seemed, didn’t look at the adversarial system quite so objectively. He carried his disappointment with him like a ball and chain. Victory wasn’t exactly an easy burden but it was something Josie dealt with. The chip on his shoulder was beginning to piss her off but it wasn’t exactly relevant right now.

 “Forget it.” He started to get into the car.

“Are you sure you don’t want to think about that?” Josie stopped him. “You led with your best shot and I still got her bailed. That should tell you something. If you’re going to charge her as an adult, then give her the same break as an adult. You plea people out all the time for worse than this.”

Rudy turned around slowly. The car door was between them.

“Fine. Twenty-five to life, no parole before eighteen.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Josie scoffed. “You might as well ask for the max on all counts and make them consecutive.”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do. The investigators pegged this as arson an hour after they knocked down that blaze. She’s guilty.”

“That’s not enough for murder,” Josie argued.

Rudy crossed his arms over the top of the door.

“Then how about this, Bates?  Fritz Rayburn sustained a skull fracture. Your girl hit him under the chin hard enough to send him flying.  Hit his head on the side of the bed frame and split his skull.”

“Did you see my client?” she asked. “Do you think she could hit a grown man hard enough to do that?”

“I’ve seen women beat up men twice their size and so have you.”

“Then I say it’s internal bleeding from the fall that killed him. That’s not second-degree murder. I might give you assault if you can prove Hannah hit him. But murder? Forget it.”

“I could probably make a case for first degree,” he said quietly. “Justice Rayburn didn’t die from the head injury. He was still alive when the fires were set. Hannah Sheraton killed Fritz Rayburn when she could have helped him. She set those fires knowing he would burn to death.  Just one of those special little touches your female clients seem to like.”

Josie barely breathed. They stared at one another, Josie silenced for a minute by his rancor. Her throat was dry. The sun seemed to have distorted her vision. Josie swayed ever so slightly but Rudy didn’t reach out to steady her. He knew what she was thinking. How could a sixteen year old possibly be so vicious? How could it happen again?

Finding her voice, Josie said:

“Someone killed him Rudy. Don’t forget that. There could be someone else.”

“Not this time, Josie. That girl assaulted the judge earlier in the evening. There was a witness. Rayburn told the witness he was going to talk to Hannah later.”

“And who’s the eyewitness to that meeting?” Josie drawled.  “You’ve got nothing but circumstantial evidence.”

“And there’s a reason circumstantial evidence is admissible, Bates.” Rudy pushed away from the door. “I’ll send over the discovery. You take a look and see what you think about your client then.”

He slid into the driver’s seat and was about to close the door. Josie held on to it. She rounded the open door and stood between him and the sun. She was nothing but a silhouette and he looked at her as if he could see through her.

“You still haven’t answered the million dollar question, Rudy. Why would she want to hurt that old man?”

“Since when do your clients need a motive, Bates?” he asked, pulling on the door handle.  Josie pulled back and kept it open. The metal was hot on her hand.

“Wait a minute. I want to know what this is all about. I want to know if you’re going to dump on Hannah Sheraton because you’re mad I got Kristin Davis off.”

 Rudy shook his head.

“No, I’m not mad at you. I think defense attorneys like you are pitiful. You sell out. You create a maze of evidence and argument to help criminals, but you never acknowledge the victims.”  Rudy looked away.  “I’m mad at myself. I should have put Kristin Davis away before it was too late. I’m going to make sure I don’t make the same mistake this time.”

“It’s not the same,” Josie insisted.

“How can you be sure, Bates?” He closed the car door with a slam and looked at her through the open window. “How could you live with yourself if you were wrong again?”

Josie peeled off her jacket and slapped it into the backseat of the Jeep. She threw her briefcase in after.

Goddamn Rudy Klein thought he had a lock on conscience? The hell with him. How dare he judge her?  Or her motives. Or Hannah’s innocence. She pulled herself into the Jeep and snapped on the ignition. The radio blared. Josie flipped it off, threw the car into reverse, and swung out of the parking space. She shifted into drive and curved around to the gate, only to slam on the brakes.

“Jeez!”  She slapped the steering wheel.

A truck blocked the exit, the blazing sun was fueling her anger, and all she wanted to do was get back to the office and talk this out with Faye. Too late to put up the ragtop, Josie reached in the back seat for her baseball cap.

Her hand was on it but her eyes were on something else. Linda Rayburn was in her car; her head was back.  She had loosened her hair so that it fell over her shoulders. Her arm was held out the window and there was a cigarette dangling between her fingers. She was talking to someone sitting beside her.

Josie looked closer, trying to see who it was. Perhaps Kip Rayburn had arrived late but Josie doubted it. This man was too young to be her husband.  As Josie watched, Linda sat up. She leaned forward intensely interested in what her companion was saying when she should have been gone long ago, rushing to bring Hannah home.

The passenger door of Linda’s car opened.

The man got out.

Josie strained to see.

It was the young, blond man who had been in the back of the courtroom. He was still leaning into the car as Linda turned toward him. . .

A horn honked. Startled, Josie looked ahead. The truck had moved. There were cars behind her. Josie tore her eyes away from Linda, grabbed her baseball cap, put it on her head, and put her hands on the wheel.   Josie Baylor-Bates eased into the left lane and merged onto Santa Monica Boulevard. It wasn’t even ten o’clock.

9

Linda Rayburn shivered, but it had nothing to do with the air-conditioning in the waiting area at Sybil Brand, it had to do with her imagination.  She hadn’t seen past the steel door that separated the waiting area from the prison but Linda knew what was there and it made her sick. For three days Hannah got up when she was told, went to bed when she was told, ate when and what she was told. She wore that ugly jumpsuit and slept under a coarse blanket.  The real world wasn’t just far away, it was forbidden.

Linda was imagining herself behind that door when it suddenly opened. She stood up, hands together, sweat beading on her upper lip. What would she say to Hannah?  How would they get through the next moments? But the woman who came out wasn’t young and beautiful. Her hair was chopped off at the ears, her face pock marked, and her skin leathery. She looked at Linda with flat eyes, unimpressed by the tall lady with the fancy clothes. Linda looked away.  She could have been that woman if she hadn’t been smart enough, talented enough, and tenacious enough to change everything.

Shaking her head, Linda walked toward the back of the room, then turned on her heel and retraced her steps. The window in the center of the steel door was laced with chicken wire. She paced off the waiting room, empty except for the long row of molded plastic yellow chairs bolted to the floor around the perimeter of the room.

Just when Linda thought she couldn’t take another minute, the door opened again and there stood Hannah dressed in the clothes she’d worn when she was arrested. Linda mewled, making a sound that translated into anxiety, relief, and apology. 

“Mom?” Hannah’s arms pumped. Linda didn’t move. Scared now, Hannah’s arms went faster. She pleaded, “Mom?”

Hesitantly, Linda stepped forward then rushed across the room, gathering the girl into her arms, nearly crushing her.  She held Hannah back, pushed at her hair, and touched her cheek.  Then Linda pulled her close again.

Hannah held on tight, her arms wrapped around her mother. Linda felt the patting and counted to twenty. Then it started again, and again Hannah counted to twenty. Linda clung to her daughter and buried her face in the wild frizz of Hannah’s hair.

“Oh, baby. You did so good. So good. ” Linda whispered her assurances over and over again, but when she looked again she saw the door. It opened two ways. It let women in and it let women out. Quickly Linda Rayburn turned her daughter away from it and headed to the exit. “We’re out of here, and we’re not coming back.”

“Promise?” Hannah asked as they walked free, out into the bright sunlight.

Linda didn’t answer. It was hard to talk when she heard the quiver in her daughter’s voice, and felt Hannah’s hands holding tight to her clothes like she used to when she was small.

Promise?

How could she? No matter how much she wanted to, Linda Rayburn couldn’t do that.  Not with what she knew.

“That was Alex Schaeffer.”

Ian Frank hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.  Kip Rayburn kept looking out the floor to ceiling windows of Ian’s office.  To the casual viewer he might look pensive. Truth of the matter was he felt sick. He was afraid to hear what Alex Schaeffer wanted. He hated the fact that some kid was the Governor’s mouthpiece and another kid, his stepdaughter, might stand between him and an appointment. The last thing he wanted Ian Frank to see was his fear.  Finally, he took a deep breath and turned around.

“What? I’m sorry, Ian. What did you say?”

Ian almost smiled. After all these years Kip was still inept at playing his hand.  Not that it mattered. Kip had his uses. If the truth be told, Ian almost preferred the son to the father. The son was less complicated, more malleable, smart without being too smart, and Kip was just desirous enough of success to know he would never get it on his own.

 “I said that was Alex Schaeffer on the phone. He was at the bail hearing this morning. He talked to Linda after the hearing.”

 Kip wandered over to a chair and sat down. He crossed his legs. His arms crossed over his chest.  He’d stay that way until he was satisfied all was well. It took a lot to make Kip Rayburn relax.

“What did he say?”

“Hannah’s bailed. Linda went to get her. They should be home by three.  The prosecution is taking it to the grand jury, but Alex is feeling good that there won’t be an indictment.  He thinks the bail is a good sign.”

“Is he a lawyer?” Kip asked.

“Nope, a politician’s paid eyes and ears. Those guys understand nuance. That’s their job. He’s got a good feeling.”

Kip sat silently. His arms were no longer crossed over his chest. Instead they rested on the arms of the chair. He was feeling better, but Ian knew he still needed reassurance.

“Kip, it’s okay. The governor was very clear that Hannah’s problems won’t derail the nomination if you handle them the right way.”

“I shouldn’t have to handle them at all,” Kip grumbled. His eyes slid toward Ian. “What would you do? I mean if you were me.”

“I guess first thing I’d do is figure out if I thought she was guilty. I’d have a tough time even looking at someone who did that to my father,” Ian answered truthfully. His gaze met Kip’s head on and he revised that thought.  He was, after all, talking about Fritz. “But, that’s something you’ll have to deal with personally. Next thing I’d do is act judicial.”

“Meaning?”

“Think about it. How does a judge comport himself?”

“I don’t know, Ian. Why don’t you tell me?” Kip snapped.

“Well he doesn’t act like a spoiled kid, for one thing. And don’t start with me for another,” Ian answered coolly. “I’m not your father and all I care about is the health of this firm. If you want my help and support during your confirmation, I would suggest you listen. Be proactive, or Hannah’s troubles will overshadow your opportunities.”

Kip swung out of the chair and paced. “I don’t want anyone looking into my private life, or Fritz’s. I don’t want them looking into my business.”

“Don’t worry about it. Business is totally irrelevant to what’s going on,” Ian insisted. “If you hide away, though, people will ask questions.”

“And if I show my face people will ask questions.”

Ian threw up his hands, “Kip, come on. Don’t think what could happen; decide what you want to happen. If you answer questions then you control the spin. You’ve got to make a pre-emptive strike because the sooner Hannah is out of the public eye, the sooner she’ll be forgotten, your father will be forgotten, and you can get on with your life. Only you can make that happen.”

Ian Frank smiled as Kip Rayburn’s eyes lit up - finally.

“So you’re saying. . .”

“Have a game plan. Ask yourself what you can do to make this disappear faster. There’s no upside to dragging this out like a civil matter.”

Kip’s fingers drummed on the arms of the chair as he thought.

“If there’s a trial?”

“Assist Hannah’s attorney. Give her what she needs to wrap it up fast.”

“If there’s no trial?”

“Send the kid to boarding school. Once she’s eighteen she’s on her own,” Ian said, opening his hands as if he had the world between them.  “Unless Linda would object.”

“Linda?” Kip cocked his head as if he had just heard something disturbing. “Linda has been very protective.”

“Okay, work that out later. For now be supportive, talk about your faith in the law and do what you can to expedite this. The key word is expedite. Do that, and Hannah Sheraton is nothing but a memory.” Ian rested his cheek on an upturned hand and smiled. “Expedite, expedite. Expedite the matter of Hannah Sheraton.”

“Hi. Good morning, Ms. Bates.”

The new receptionist grinned as Josie came through the door.  She was a coat tree of a girl: all skin and bones, hard angles and points. Anorexia would have been the logical assumption if Tiffany wasn’t constantly munching, eating, tasting and sipping. Today it was a tall Frappacino and pizza bagel.

“Tiffany, I want you to call me Josie. Got it? Josie.”  Tiffany grinned and nodded while Josie collected her message slips. There was only one, and Tiffany gave the audio version while Josie read.

“Mr. Fistonich called and said he’d be in the neighborhood and could sign his living will any time. No problem.” She stopped for a breath and a bite. “I think he likes you.”

“I like him, too,” Josie muttered. “Call him back and tell him it’s ready. Check with Angie so she can be available as a witness. Whatever time this afternoon is good with me.”

“Okay.”

Tiffany made a note and took another huge bite of her bagel. Josie crinkled her nose.

“You don’t do that when anyone is waiting, do you?” She raised her chin indicating the bagel that had just disappeared into the receptionist’s mouth. Tiffany shook her head and put her fingertips over her lips; too polite to speak when it was full.

“Is Faye here?” Tiffany nodded, swallowed hard and said:

“Yes. She wants to see you the min. . .”

 Josie was already gone, stopping in Angie’s office to ask her to open a file on Hannah Sheraton, putting her briefcase in her own office, heading down the hall to Faye’s, and dropping into one of the client chairs.

“Boy, am I glad you’re back. I have had one miserable morning.”

“Funny, I heard you had a great morning in Santa Monica.” Faye set aside her work and took off her glasses. She looked tired – or worried. “I got a call from Marge Sterling at the AP. Then a man named Wobley from the Times got on the horn. They wanted a comment regarding your representation of a girl accused of murdering Fritz Rayburn.”

“What did you tell them?” Josie asked.

“I told them the firm had no comment and would issue a statement when it was appropriate. So,” Faye opened her hands, inviting Josie to fill her up with information. “What happened between the time I left Friday night to see my grandchild, and this morning?  Leaving me a message that you were helping out an old friend whose daughter was in trouble wasn’t exactly on target.”

“That’s what I was doing.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that this had to do with Justice Rayburn?”

“It was a bail hearing,” Josie insisted, knowing she should have given Faye a head’s up. There was only one reason she didn’t. If she failed, she didn’t want Faye to know.

“A bail hearing doesn’t take all morning,” Faye pointed out.

“I talked to the prosecutor about a deal. I thought I could make it go away.”

“And could you?”

“No.” Josie shook her head. She looked at her short nails. Her fingertips were calloused from tile work. She dropped her hand, and when she looked at Faye her expression was one of frustration and confusion, anger and concern. “I have a history with the prosecutor.  I’m not his favorite person.”  Josie sat up and forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “He thinks I knew Kristin Davis was guilty when I defended her. He thinks I only cared about winning.”

“What’s that got to do with this girl?” Faye asked.

Josie’s blue eyes rested thoughtfully on a midpoint over Faye’s shoulder.

“He wants a pound of flesh to make up for Kristin.”

“Is that what you want?  To make up for Kristin?”

“Maybe.” Josie’s gaze met Faye’s. “Maybe a little of this is making up because Kristin’s kids died because of me. I don’t carry it around the way Rudy does, but I think about it. I dream about it. When he laid into me, I wondered what I was doing with Hannah Sheraton. I mean, is she just a challenge? Is the case a challenge? Is that what I was doing there this morning, or was I trying to make amends?”