Desert Places

by Erica Abbott

  “Well?” Lyons demanded, his Adam’s apple bobbing again. “Can they prove that?”

  Fontana said, “Come on, Ward. You know Lea. Nobody runs a tighter ship. We should be good to go.”

  He looked confidently at Jean, who said, “I’ll know more after the deposition next week, but I’m hopeful we’ll either be able to get the court to dismiss the case on a Motion for Summary Judgment, or at least arrange for a very reasonable settlement.”

  Franklin shuffled papers together, muttering, “All right, we need to move on. McAllister, send in the water board director, will you? He should be right outside.”

  Aye, aye, Captain. Jean bristled at his summary dismissal, but picked up her legal pad. She said her goodbyes to the board members. Carolyn ignored her, seemingly engrossed in something Franklin was saying softly to her.

  Jean escaped to her office and the pile of work sprawled across her desk.

  Chapter Three

  The City of Tesóro was divided into quarters by the two highways that crossed it. Interstate 25 ran approximately north-south, roughly paralleling the line of the Rocky Mountains from Wyoming on down into New Mexico, like a backbone through the state of Colorado. Highway 54 was the main east-west thoroughfare, winding into the mountains west of town and extending across the southeastern plains to the east. Tesóro’s downtown centered on the intersection of the two highways, the working class neighborhoods with their tiny frame houses at the southern end of the city. To the west lay the unincorporated settlement of Joya where the houses were built on one- or two-acre lots, many with either horse barns or giant garages for recreational vehicles and boats. Beyond that, tucked against the foothills, were a few larger holdings, left over from the huge cattle ranches of the 1800s. Jean had looked up the name “Joya” online—it meant “jewel,” which made sense since the name of the city, Tesóro, meant “treasure.”

  The directions Jean received from Sheriff Hawkins were taking her west to the boundaries of Joya. She turned north off Highway 54 onto a county road until she saw the sign for Painted Horse Ranch. She turned onto the road and a couple of miles later she saw the ranch house.

  She maneuvered her sedan down the long graveled driveway. The house was set on a little rise, facing west. As Jean got out of her car, wrestling with briefcase and laptop, she spared a moment to admire the view. There were clouds this morning, fluffy white with flat gray bottoms, hanging as if suspended over the blue peaks of the mountains.

  Jean walked up the driveway with the gravel crunching under her feet.

  Unlike many of the homes in Joya, which favored an adobe look, this was a typical ranch house, a single story with a friendly-looking wraparound front porch. It would have been perfectly at home on the Ponderosa.

  Sheriff Hawkins was waiting for her, comfortably seated in a rocker on the porch, cowboy boots propped on the railing. Hawkins was wearing dark wash blue jeans and a light blue denim western-style shirt. She looked completely at home, as if she could leap onto a bucking bronco at any moment.

  On the table beside her lay her cell phone and a thick white mug with steam gently rising.

  “Good morning, Sheriff,” Jean greeted her. She is really a handsome woman, Jean thought suddenly. Strong features and intelligent eyes.

  “Good morning to you, Counselor,” Hawkins responded. “Why don’t you put that stuff down for a couple of minutes and let me get you a cup of coffee? It’s too nice a morning to rush inside.”

  Jean gratefully dumped her burden onto the table. She smiled and said, “Coffee would be great, thanks.”

  “Sugar? Half-and-half?”

  “Just black.”

  She settled into the second rocking chair and when Hawkins brought her a mug, she sipped happily. “This is really good, thanks.”

  Hawkins resumed her seat. “All ranchers can make good coffee and good steaks. Anything else is a bonus.”

  Jean laughed. “What about beans?”

  “I forgot about beans. But in all fairness, it’s hard to screw up beans.”

  “Good point.” Jean relaxed into the morning air, still with a faint scent of sage and cool breeze. The high desert would warm quickly but in this moment the temperature seemed perfect.

  To her surprise, Hawkins didn’t say anything for a while and Jean felt herself relax even more. Everything here in San Carlos moved more slowly than she was accustomed to and she was constantly slowing herself down to meet the pace. The coffee was rich and the view of blue mountains and sandy ground, studded with dark green vegetation, soothed her.

  At length she said, “So are you really a rancher at heart, Sheriff?”

  Hawkins seemed to consider the question seriously. That bodes well for her deposition testimony, Jean thought.

  Hawkins answered, “Not really. Law enforcement is what I’m about. But my mother’s family has owned this land for almost two hundred years and ran cattle on it until just a few years ago. So I come from a long line of ranchers. My grandfather and my father’s younger brother were San Carlos sheriffs before I was.” She threw a sidelong glance at Jean and added, “But I imagine you knew that already.”

  “You assumed I checked you out before showing up today?” Jean’s tone was tart.

  “Yep. And just so you know, I did the same. I wanted to know about my new lawyer.”

  Jean hadn’t thought of that. “So did you approve of what you found out?”

  Hawkins drank coffee. “Undergrad and law school at the University of Texas, six years private practice in California, eleven years in the Riverside County attorney’s office defending lawsuits against various county officials. Those ought to be qualifications enough.”

  “Glad I have your approval, Sheriff,” Jean said sharply.

  Hawkins responded mildly, “You’ve got a big case landed in your lap with virtually no time to prepare and my office’s reputation is at stake. Of course I checked you out. Everyone told me you’re a good lawyer and a fine litigator. So let’s get to work. And by the way, save the sheriff stuff for the courtroom. My friends call me Lea.” She pronounced it like “Lee” instead of the two-syllable “Le-ah” Jean might have assumed.

  She rose and helped Jean pick up the file folders.

  They walked through the living room and Jean exclaimed, “What a gorgeous fireplace!”

  Massive stones in the colors of the landscape outside, chocolate and mocha, framed the hearth from ceiling to floor. A huge pine mantel supported an assortment of objects: candlesticks, a stack of books, a few photographs in wooden frames, a hunting knife in a sheath, a box of wooden matches, a pottery vase with a few branches of sage, an old battered clock. The room was fairly tidy, although a stack of magazines was stacked haphazardly on the coffee table and a book was open on the arm of an armchair.

  “Thanks,” Lea said. “I spent most of the money for the house on it. Well, that and the kitchen. And the bathtub.”

  “You built the house?” Jean asked. The building looked so old-fashioned she’d just assumed it was many years old.

  “Yep. I wanted to live close to my family without living with them, so my parents deeded me a few acres and I’ve been here ever since.”

  First person singular, Jean mused. Did she live here alone? Aloud she said, “Bathtub?”

  Lea laughed, a deep rich sound. “I always wanted one of those big claw-foot tubs and I got one. They cost a fortune, but there’s nothing like hot bathwater up to your chin after a long day in meetings.”

  Jean cleared her throat to dispel the image. She murmured, “Sounds nice.”

  The first bedroom in the hall had been turned into Lea’s office and Lea insisted that Jean take the office chair. “Set up your laptop if you want and I’ll sit here in the witness chair.”

  When Jean was ready, she said, “I know you said you’ve been deposed before, but I’d like to remind you of a few things. The purpose of the deposition is discovery, for the other side to find out about the facts of our case. It’s supposed to prevent surp
rise at trial and how the discovery goes helps set the stage for settlement discussions as well as motions that might get us out of the suit early.”

  Lea seemed to be following her, so Jean continued, “The problem is that I don’t know the attorneys on the other side so I can’t guess how competent they are. If they’re not experienced or just not very good, things could go south.”

  “How so?” Lea asked.

  Jean sighed. “Plaintiffs’ attorneys especially have a tendency to argue with witnesses as if they could somehow compel you to agree with them if they just harass you enough. They might try to confuse you, badger you or deliberately misinterpret what you say. There’s no judge or jury in the room so there’s no one to curb some pretty unsavory practices.”

  Lea lifted one corner of her mouth. “Except you, my hard-working lawyer, of course.”

  “Except me,” Jean agreed. “I can make an objection for the record but you’ll have to answer unless they really get inappropriate. If I instruct you not to answer, then don’t. But the truth is that discovery isn’t just to establish admissible evidence. The rules of procedure say that anything that might lead to admissible evidence is the subject of discovery and that’s pretty broad. So they can go a long way with their questioning and there’s only so much I can do. But there’s a lot you can do.”

  Lea leaned forward, her eyes bright and sharp. “Well by all means, tell me.”

  “Don’t answer a question unless you understand it,” Jean began. “All you have to say is ‘I don’t understand’ and they’ll have to rephrase it until you do. Don’t try to answer a question if you’re not sure of the answer. It’s perfectly fine to say ‘I don’t know.’ I know there’s a lot of pressure when you’re being questioned and you can get into a rhythm of trying to answer everything, but the fastest way to get into trouble is to try to come up with an answer when you’re not sure. Sometimes they try to confuse things by asking you the same question several times. I can object, but you can control that more easily by just saying, ‘I’ve already answered the question.’ They hate that.”

  “It’s a little like an interview during an investigation,” Lea said.

  “Is it?”

  “It can be like a game,” Lea explained patiently. “The witness or the suspect has something you want and sometimes they’re willing to give it to you and sometimes they’re not and sometimes they don’t even know what you want. So you have to figure out how to get it.”

  “Fair enough,” Jean agreed. “What we’re going to do is this: I’m going to harass the hell out of you today so by the time they get to ask you the same questions next week, you’ll already know where to go with the answers. I’ll show you the documents they’ll probably ask you to explain and try to think of every possible question they could come up with. Okay?”

  “Will you actually ask me any questions at the deposition itself?”

  “Probably a few, but only to clarify something you said. I don’t have to use the deposition to get information from you. I can get that anytime.”

  Lea gave her the crooked smile again. “You’ve got my number.”

  Jean pulled up her list of sample questions on her laptop screen. “They’ll go over your background, training, experience, things like that first, so we’ll start there. But before we begin, I have to ask you something awkward. Is there anything they could ask you that would be embarrassing or difficult to explain?”

  The smile vanished and Lea leaned back, one finger tapping on the arm of her chair.

  “Like what?” Her voice was cooler.

  “Anything. Complaints filed against you for excessive force or allegations of misuse of funds?”

  Lea uncrossed her legs, crossed them again and shifted in her chair. Jean was beginning to suspect that Lea had something she didn’t want to discuss.

  Finally Lea shook her head. “Nothing like that.”

  Jean sighed. “Or it could be something personal.”

  “Personal?” Lea’s voice was low and sharp.

  Jean nodded. “Could be anything. A DUI. A nasty divorce. I once had a lawyer try to embarrass a social worker when I was defending the department of human services by bringing up the fact that she was living with her boyfriend ‘outside the bonds of matrimony.’”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. The lawyer was a creep but it did rattle my witness for a while. The best way to handle something like that is to know about the possibility ahead of time and be honest about it.”

  Lea was frowning now. “How could something personal like that possibly be relevant to the case?”

  “It’s not,” Jean said, “but as I told you, the rules of civil procedure are so broad, they can bring up all kinds of shit in discovery. And they will.”

  Lea was silent for a long time. She had grown still, her only movement the quietly tapping forefinger. Jean looked down at Lea’s hands: they looked strong. They were working hands, like those of a chef or a pianist, with long tapering fingers.

  “I don’t know you,” Lea said at length.

  The comment startled Jean. “What?”

  “I don’t really know anything about you. Other people say you’re a good lawyer, but why would I trust you with something personal?”

  Jean was faintly shocked. “I’m your attorney.”

  The half smile returned. “Forgive me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I can trust you.”

  Lea seemed genuinely worried so Jean said lightly, “What? Are you saying all attorneys aren’t worthy of your utmost faith?”

  Lea caught the tone. She said, “Okay, all right, I get it. It’s just…”

  Her voice trailed off and Jean got a sudden insight. Was she just indulging in wishful thinking? The possibility jolted her a little, but she knew a quick way to resolve the situation.

  Jean said abruptly, “I’m a lesbian.”

  A lock of wavy hair fell over Lea’s forehead. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Lea was staring at her and for a moment Jean feared that she’d been wrong. Men and women in law enforcement tended to be more conservative than otherwise. Was Sheriff Hawkins a homophobe? Hell, I’ve stepped in it now. Jean braced for her reaction.

  “Why would you tell me that?” Lea asked finally.

  “Now that I’ve told you something personal,” Jean explained, “maybe you can feel better about whatever it is you need to tell me.” She crossed her fingers under the desk, hoping fervently that whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be a major issue.

  Lea looked out the window at the view of the desert visible through the glass and Jean followed her gaze. Sandy soil supported a surprising variety of small trees, piñon and mesquite, few of which grew taller than six feet. At length Lea said, “So you’re not just pulling my chain or something?”

  “Of course not,” Jean said quickly. “I’m telling you the truth, believe me. I wouldn’t joke about that.”

  Lea sighed deeply and Jean could see in her expression that she had come to a final conclusion. “Here’s the thing,” Lea began. “It’s not really a secret. My family knows, a few people in my office know, a couple of people in the county are aware as well. I’ve never lied about it, it just doesn’t come up. It’s like a weird ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ deal I have with the county voters. I don’t really talk about it and no one has ever asked me about it.”

  Jean said, “Um, what are we talking about, exactly?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Lea said. “I thought you’d figured it out. Me too. I mean, I’m gay.”

  Jean blew out the breath she’d been holding and uncrossed her fingers. Thank you, God.

  “Okay,” she said briskly as she rearranged her paperwork. “Chances are it won’t come up at all and if it does, I’ll certainly object on the grounds of relevance. But if you’re compelled to answer, tell the truth. Always tell the truth.”

  The half-grin reappeared. “What kind of lawyer are you, Ms. McAllister? Advising your clients to tell the tr
uth like that.”

  “Very funny. Now that we’ve got all of this settled, it’s Jean, all right?”

  “All right. And since you didn’t ask, I’m not in a relationship now and haven’t been for a couple of years.”

  I wonder what the ex was like. The thought came unbidden to Jean and she shook her head to be rid of it. “Got it. Anything else you need to tell me?”

  Lea said dryly, “Sometimes I forget to recycle and just throw my cans and bottles into the regular trash.”

  “Oh, my God!” Jean exclaimed in mock horror. “Well, if they find out, we’re going to have to settle the case right away. How awful.”

  The moment relaxed them and Lea eased back into her chair. “Okay, Counselor. Bring it on.”

  * * *

  Two hours later Jean took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know about you but I could use a break.”

  Lea stretched out her legs. She said, “Absolutely. Let me just say I’m glad you’re on my side because I wouldn’t want you asking those questions for real.”

  “You’ve done really well,” Jean said. “We went much faster than I thought we would. If you can stay that cool during the real deposition, we’ll be in fine shape.”

  Lea did have a calm, almost zenlike quality about her that Jean admired. It probably came in very handy in emergencies.

  Lea stood and lifted her arms overhead, moving slowly side to side to realign her spine. On her right hip, Jean glimpsed a small gun holstered at her waistband. Lea caught her gaze. She asked quietly, “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  The question surprised Jean. “No. I guess I’m just a little stunned that you’re wearing a weapon in your own home.”

  “I’m always armed,” Lea said gravely, “unless I’m asleep. I’m the chief law enforcement officer for San Carlos County and I’m accountable for the safety of every citizen here. I take that responsibility seriously.”