Death of a Rancher's Daughter

by Susan P. Baker

  “I told you she worked at the courthouse,” Erma said.

  Sandra slid her legal pad into her briefcase and started for the limestone building, which held the court and clerk's office. “I didn't realize she worked as a court clerk.”

  Erma shrugged. “It just didn't sink in the other day when we discussed things.”

  “Everything's happened so fast.” BJ turned to Erma who was breathing hard. “I thought you told Sandra all about the family.”

  “Nah. She may be my daughter and law partner, but we're not glued at the hip.” Erma hooked BJ's arm in hers. “Let’s go to court and see what's cookin'.”

  “Over there's the library.” BJ pointed to a historical building. “Supposed to become the courthouse but never did.”

  They entered the back door of an ugly building and climbed two sets of Texas pink granite stairs. The air inside wasn't much warmer than outside. Sandra slipped her unencumbered hand into her coat pocket. BJ led them to the courtroom. Outside in the hallway, a few people milled about.

  BJ said, “It's still early. Let's wait on the bench at the far end across from the Ladies Room.”

  They headed away from the courtroom. Erma said, “I'm going to the john. Be right back.”

  BJ sat down and pointed to the bench next to her. “I want to talk to you.” She removed her gloves and loosened her scarf.

  “Has Erma been talking about me?” First chance she got, Sandra was going to kill Mrs. Bigmouth. She set her briefcase down and buttoned her coat. “Isn't there any heat in this building?”

  BJ laid her warm hand on Sandra's. “She tells me you only came up here to do the arraignment, that you won't represent Rufina. Mind telling me why? Is it the money?” BJ's general demeanor, her watery eyes and soft voice, made her plea appealing.

  Sandra recognized the emotions behind BJ's words. This wasn't the first time she'd been faced with this response to rejecting a case. She would have preferred telling BJ on her way out of town or even calling her after they returned to Galveston. That might have been the chicken way out, but it would have been the easiest. Looking into BJ's bloodshot eyes and feeling the slight pressure of her hand made Sandra want to please this motherly woman. “I don't know what all Erma told you.”

  “I'd like to hear it from you.”

  Sandra squared her shoulders. There was no avoiding BJ's eyes, glinting from welled-up tears one moment, filled with determination the next. “Well—it's lots of things. Not the money, but to preempt my cases in Galveston with this one—who would take care of things down there while I'm up here for motion hearings and all? And if Rufina isn't going to plead out, there'll be a trial. Erma can't handle the office by herself in spite of what she thinks.”

  BJ withdrew her hand. “Rufina is definitely not pleading guilty.” She crossed her arms. “She didn't shoot my daughter. She never would have done that. Erma says you have friends, and y'all cover for each other all the time.”

  “It would be an awful lot to ask of someone, especially if the trial is a long one.” Sandra sighed. “Besides, I have a daughter. I've been trying to spend more time with her lately. I won't bore you with the details, but I've been trying to improve our relationship.”

  “You could bring her up here if you have to come on weekends.” BJ's face lit up. “Or, say, how about over her spring break? She could swim and ride. And next summer, same, same. I mean the trial wouldn't be for a while, right?”

  The muscles in Sandra's neck tightened. She rolled her shoulders back. “I don't know. I don't know how they do things up here. Probably not.” She shifted on the bench and glanced over BJ's shoulder at the door to the ladies’ room. Why didn't Erma keep her fat mouth shut?

  BJ grabbed Sandra's forearm. “I would work with you, Sandra, provide you with whatever you need, an investigator, staff.”

  Sandra brushed her hair off her forehead. Saying no was so hard. “Why can't you just hire someone local?”

  “You don't understand. Roy, well he was a great man, but he made a lot of enemies.”

  “What's Roy got to do with Rufina?”

  “Let me be blunt with you, Sandra.”

  “Please do.” Where was Erma?

  “I don't know who I can trust in this town. This is how it is.” Her eyes ventured toward the other end of the hall. “Besides Roy making enemies when he was on the Commissioners' Court for so long, there are people here who don't like, and have never liked, the fact that Rufina is my best friend.”

  “Because . . .”

  “I'm white, and she's not.”

  “You're shitting me.”

  “I kid you not. You've got to understand these small-town people. There’s only been one Latino elected to office here, and that was recently, not that a lot have run for office, but still . . .”

  “So you think that would make a difference—you think if you hired a local attorney to represent Rufina that would make a difference in the kind of representation she got?”

  BJ nodded. “I'm convinced a local lawyer wouldn't do as good a job as someone who doesn't live here.”

  “Aren't there any Latino lawyers here?”

  “Criminal lawyers? You're kidding. They'd starve to death. The whites wouldn't hire them. Most Latinos don't make a lot of money, so they couldn't pay a lawyer much.”

  Erma may have been right when she called it Podunk Junction. “Still, BJ, what about the surrounding counties?”

  “Same. Did Rufina tell you she ran for district clerk in Mason County and was soundly defeated? You can be an employee, but you can't be the boss.”

  “What about San Antonio or Kerrville or Austin?” Sandra rubbed her forehead and glanced at the ladies’ room door again.

  “But why not you, Sandra? You can do it and not knowing anyone here would work to your advantage.” BJ inched a little closer.

  “Well, to be perfectly honest—a phrase which I abhor—I'm quitting criminal defense work.”

  “Erma said you're not serious. She said you'd get over it. Said you're too good a lawyer to throw it all away, and that insurance companies are blood-suckers.” She raised her eyebrows. “Did I get that right?”

  Sandra clenched her jaw. “To put it in the vernacular.” She could see she needed to make at least a temporary concession just to get out of the conversation. “I'll think about it, but I'm not promising anything. I'll just think about it.”

  “Think about what?” Erma's voice rang out like a mission bell.

  BJ glanced at Sandra who had stood up. “Representing Rufina.”

  “Oh, that,” Erma said.

  “We need to go down there,” Sandra said. “We'll talk about this later.” She gave Erma the stink eye.

  A number of people sat on benches outside the courtroom or stood in twos and threes. The lawyers were easy to pick out by their apparel—suits—and their race—Caucasian.

  Erma and BJ followed Sandra into the courtroom where there were a few more people. The temperature, if anything, was even lower. “Y'all have a seat.” Sandra left her briefcase on the counsel table and walked to the front of the courtroom, which was traditional, but outdated. A wall furnace rattled and smelled like something dead was burning. Two wide counsel tables with thin, wiry microphones centered in them and a couple of chairs each, crowded the area in front of the bar. The jury box sat under windows overlooking the parking lot. Worn spots in the tile floor showed where lawyers traditionally did their posturing.

  The court reporter didn't really have a station, not even a shelf for her materials between herself and the public. She sat in front of, and to the right of, the bench. Sandra handed her a business card. “I'm Sandra Salinsky, appearing for Rufina Barboza at the arraignment.”

  They shook hands and the reporter said, “LuAnn Steadman.” She was so short that when she stood, Sandra thought she had not yet gotten up.

  “What's the routine?”

  “This week there's a visiting judge. He calls the docket first and disposes of the easy cases,” L
uAnn said. “You may as well take a seat. It'll be awhile. Unless you want to go back there and meet the judge.”

  “Sure.” Couldn't hurt to be introduced before the hearing. Sandra pulled another card from her shoulder bag and followed the reporter not twenty steps to the judge's tiny chambers, where a white man in a black robe sat at a small metal desk. He slipped a pen between the pages of a file and stood.

  “Judge, this is Mrs. Salinsky, an attorney from Galveston.”

  Sandra didn't bother to correct LuAnn about her marital status. She held out her hand. “Good morning, Judge.”

  “Jay Jefferson.” He shook her hand with his massive warm one. “Galveston. Not been there in years. What brings you to these parts?” He had cheeks like a cherub, white-blond hair, and bushy white eyebrows and mustache. He stood only a bit taller than Sandra but had a broad body.

  “Arraignment on Rufina Barboza.”

  He nodded. “Nasty business. Have you conferred with the district attorney yet?”

  “No, Your Honor. Haven't met him.”

  “LuAnn, take her out in the hall, and find Mr. Holt.”

  “Yes, sir.” LuAnn stepped outside.

  “Thank you, sir,” Sandra said.

  “Be with you in a little while, Mrs. Salinsky. Pleasure meeting you.” He sat back down, dismissing her.

  As Sandra passed back through the courtroom, she shrugged at BJ and Erma and followed LuAnn into the hallway, through double doors to the right of the District Clerk's Office and into a large break room. People had gathered around a coffee pot, which filled the air with an aroma far more pleasing than what the courtroom furnace spewed. LuAnn approached a medium-tall white man dressed in a patterned, long-sleeved shirt under suspenders, dark gray slacks, and black western boots. He was speaking with a uniformed Texas Ranger with a gray Stetson under his arm.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Holt.” LuAnn touched his elbow. “The judge asked me to introduce you to someone.”

  Holt turned to Sandra. While not as grim looking as her nemesis in Galveston, the glint in Holt's dark brown eyes set her on edge when he flashed a smile and held out his hand. “You are?”

  “Sandra Salinsky.” She didn't hesitate to put her hand in his. Shaking hands with one's opponent was customary.

  Holt cupped Sandra's hand with both of his, as though she were a long-lost friend. “Samuel Holt. Pleased to meet you.”

  Sandra pulled her hand away. “Could we step into the hall, Mr. Holt?” She nodded at the ranger and turned toward the door.

  Before scooting back through the doors leading to the hall, LuAnn's eyes met Sandra's and flared for no more than a millisecond. What was behind LuAnn's almost imperceptible bit of body language?

  Once outside in the hall, Sandra said, “I'm here for Rufina Barboza's arraignment.”

  He stepped back and crossed his arms. “The Mexican maid who killed the Schindler twin.”

  Sandra blinked twice and maintained her composure. Did he really say that? Like most prosecutors she knew, and she'd known a fair number having worked in a DA's office, he'd already tried, convicted, and sentenced Rufina. “Allegedly, Mr. Holt. Allegedly killed Katy Jo Schindler.”

  “Yes, of course.” He rocked on the balls of his feet and ran his thumbs up and down his suspenders like he was nothing but a good old country boy. His breath was like the inside of a coffee urn in need of a scrubbing. He wore his dark brown hair a bit long with a lock dangling almost down to his left eye. His glasses were oversized square black frames. He had a dark stubble beard and a heavier mustache. “So you're a lawyer?”

  “Yes. I'm representing Mrs. Barboza in the arraignment and wondered if we could talk about bail.”

  “No bail, Mrs.—”

  “Ms. Salinsky. Bail is standard in any given murder case, so what's the problem?”

  “Flight risk. Don't want to lose her to Mexico.”

  Sandra cocked an eyebrow. “She's an American citizen. As the prosecutor, you already know that.”

  He shrugged. “I'm not agreeing to any bail. You don't like it, go to the judge.”

  “That's exactly what I'll do today.” Her neck had heated up. Why did all district attorneys desire to achieve perfect assholedom?

  “We'll see about that,” Holt said.

  “What do you mean?” Sandra tried to think of happier times. Pleasant thoughts were the only way to contain herself when she got pissed off, like sipping wine while sitting on her balcony, enjoying the view of the Gulf.

  “Nothing, Mrs. Salinsky.” He slurped from his coffee cup, his eyes never leaving her face.

  She mentally shook herself to get back to the present. “Ms. And I don't understand why you won't agree to a reasonable amount of bail. All defendants are entitled to bail. In Galveston, a murder defendant can easily get a couple of hundred thousand.”

  “Well this ain't Galveston, Houston, or even San Antonio. You're in Gillespie County, and in Gillespie County, we don't let our capital murder defendants make bail.”

  Sandra gritted her teeth and made her best effort to retain her cool. “What are you talking about? The indictment says murder.”

  “We're fixin’ to re-indict her. The Grand Jury's meeting now.”

  “I don't get it. How is it cap murder? It was a shooting, right?”

  Holt laughed. “You've been talking to the defendant. Should have come to me first. Retaliation, my dear. Retaliation makes it capital murder.”

  Her heart lurched. This was the first she'd heard of a retaliation charge. “No one has said anything about retaliation. You want to clue me in?”

  “You met your client this morning, I hear. Surely you saw her face.”

  Sandra frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. What did Rufina's looks have to do with anything?

  “Obviously, no one's told you. Guess you don't know Katy Jo Schindler was responsible for the fire that killed Mrs. Barboza's husband and scarred her for life. She finally got her revenge.”

  Now it was Sandra's turn to step back. She couldn't believe her ears. “You'll never get a conviction on that, Holt.”

  “If you think so, little lady, you'd better go back to the big city where you came from and let a real attorney handle this case.” He wadded up his cardboard coffee cup and sank it into a trash can across from where they stood.

  So, the cocky district attorney thought the case would be a slam dunk? Sandra's face burned with anger as she headed back into the courtroom. The circumstances of the murder, the interview with Rufina, and BJ's plea had all left her with mixed feelings. Now, as much as she'd never intended to involve herself in Rufina's case, after everything she'd seen and heard since they'd arrived the night before, she changed her mind. The insurance firm that had offered her the job in Houston would just have to wait. She was all in for Rufina Barboza.

  Chapter Five

  “This is one of the ugliest goddamn courtrooms I have ever seen,” Erma said when she and BJ approached the first row of benches behind the bar. “See that filthy wall furnace. I didn't know anyplace used those things anymore.” She'd have been all over the County Commissioners to get off some money for a new one had that been a courtroom in Galveston.

  BJ shrugged. “You gotta understand. They don't want to waste resources on a room that's not occupied that often. There are four counties in this district. There's not a judge here every week.”

  “You're defending it because Roy was one of those tight-fisted County Commissioners.” Erma swiped her hand over the place on the bench where she intended to sit.

  “Remember you're in Fredericksburg, Erma.” Rex slid across the seat behind them. “This ain't the big city.” He hung his elbows over the back of their bench.

  Erma had an urge to tell Rex to go jump in the Pedernales River. He'd been annoying ever since the evening before. BJ shook her head and ignored him.

  “Uh oh, here comes trouble.” Sandra looked fired-up enough to launch a rocket.

  “What is it? What's wrong?” BJ's eyes followed Erm
a's.

  “Somebody's pissed Sandra off. Steam is practically coming out of her ears.”

  Sandra stalked to the counsel table and opened her briefcase. Several other lawyers sat there.

  “How can you tell?” BJ asked. “She looks just like she did when she left a few minutes ago.”

  “Her walk. You can tell by her stride and that fixed smile. She's fit to be tied about something.”

  Sandra slammed her pen and legal pad onto the table.

  “All rise,” the court reporter said.

  The judge entered the courtroom and positioned himself in his chair. “Be seated.”

  A man and a woman came from the same doorway as Sandra. Erma scrutinized them. Which of them had set her off? The two of them sat at the other table.

  “That's not the regular judge,” BJ whispered. “I don't know this one.”

  “Appears agreeable enough. At least he's smiling under that mustache,” Erma said. “But with judges, you sure as hell can't go on appearances.”

  “Listen up while I call the docket.” The judge began to recite cause numbers and names, just like in any other courtroom in the State. Lawyers stood and answered for their clients, proving up uncontested divorces as the judge reached them.

  Sandra sat, back rigid, arms crossed. Erma wanted to find out what had happened, but she couldn't talk to Sandra until the judge called a recess.

  “Keller v. Keller,” the judge said.

  An attractive young woman, wearing a flowered dress and carrying a black wool coat, stood. She'd been sitting down the pew from Erma. “I'm Mrs. Keller, Judge, but my uh—attorney hasn't shown up yet.”

  “We'll hold on that. Go see if your lawyer called the clerk.”

  “Yes, sir.” She scooted in front of Erma and BJ to get to the aisle.

  After the civil cases, the judge said, “We'll take ten-minutes while the deputies bring in the defendants.” He stepped off the bench.

  As soon as the judge exited and several attorneys left, Sandra bounded out of her chair to get to Erma and BJ.