“Thank you,” Sandra said. “Good to meet you, Velma.” The indictment and the rules were each only one page long.
“Do you need anything else, Mrs. Salinsky?” Annie asked.
Sandra let out a little chuckle. “I'm divorced, Annie. So Ms. Salinsky, but please, Sandra is my first name.”
“I apologize.” She grinned and shrugged.
“So, Annie, I understand your judge presides over several counties. In the part of the state I come from, each judge has only one county, so how does—what does he—”
“The judge today isn’t our regular judge. He's a visiting judge.”
“I got that, but your regular judge—”
“He has four counties. Each county gets a week unless something huge is going on.”
Sandra had the distinct feeling her questions were beginning to annoy Annie. “So visiting judges substitute for him a lot?”
“Not every month, ma'am, but if he has to be in another county, yes. Depends...”
“How does he handle everyday stuff in this county when he's in another county and no visiting judge is here?” She needed that information for when she returned for motion hearings and other pretrial matters.
“The lawyer goes to the county where the judge is that week.”
“How far are the other county seats from here?”
“Varies. Forty-five-minutes to an hour.”
“So people actually drive all the way to another county instead of waiting for a judge to be here? How does that work?”
“They pick up their file and take it over there. Like if someone is in a hurry or something. If they want a TRO or Protective Order, they'll definitely drive the file to the judge.”
“What if the party doesn't have a lawyer?”
“They pick up the file themselves.”
Things were different in Galveston. Only clerks, judges, or other court officials handled the files. With most everything being online now, it wasn't as much of a problem as in times past.
“Do you have e-filing here?”
“Yes, and, of course, fax filing.”
“Thanks, Annie. You've been a great help. Please tell your boss I hope to meet her next time I'm up here.” Sandra walked back to the courtroom, which had emptied. She perched on a bench and read through the indictment, which said Rufina was charged with murder, “to-wit: with a handgun.” Sandra grabbed her coat and went to the District Clerk's Office again where Annie was eating a sandwich at her desk. “I don't want to bother you when you're eating. I can come back later.”
Annie jumped up. “No problem.” Muffled voice. “What do you need?”
“I'd like to use the library this afternoon if I may. I didn't bring my computer and using my cell phone to do research is a pain since everything is so small.” She hated to lie, but she needed to check out the setup before Erma and she went back home. “Also, could you please write down the court coordinator's phone number for me?”
“Sure.” Annie left her desk and went out a side door. After a few minutes, she returned. “The judge says go to lunch. You can use the room after the Grand Jury recesses, most likely after two.”
“I'll be back then. And that phone number?”
“Listed on the local rules at the bottom with the coordinator's name.”
“Oh, sorry. Didn't see it. Thanks so much. I'm out of here and headed—which direction should I go?”
“Out the front door, turn right, and you'll find most of the shops and restaurants on Main Street.”
“Thanks again, Annie, you've been wonderful. See you later.” Sandra pulled on her coat and took the stairs down to the first floor. She looked forward to the distraction of a new town and new shops. Heck, she looked forward to focusing on something other than murder. While she was nosing around, she hoped to find a place that would deliver an edible arrangement to the clerk's office as a thank you for being so patient.
Chapter Seven
Erma and BJ headed back to the ranch. The sun hid behind cottony clouds. A slight breeze moved the cedar, but the oaks stood firm.
BJ had grown quiet. Erma wanted a siesta and wagered BJ could use a rest, too. All the court business had clearly overwhelmed her. While there was time, Erma wanted to nose around the house, particularly the master bedroom where Katy Jo had been killed. “BJ, do you mind me examining your bedroom?”
BJ slumped over the steering wheel. “I can't get my head around everything, especially Sandra's agreeing to take this case. She didn't really want it, did she?”
“I told you that last night, but I was right, wasn't I? She's changed her mind. That's all that matters. So do you have a problem with me checking out your bedroom?”
“I hate to make her do something she doesn't want to do.” Her listless eyes never wavered from the road.
Clearly BJ needed a nap. She acted like she was on drugs, unable to focus on what Erma was saying. “Are you worried she can't do the job?” Erma didn't drag Sandra all the way up there just so BJ could be fickle and change her mind.
BJ's eyes darted to Erma's and back to the road. “Rex thinks we should hire a San Antonio lawyer.”
The little runt. What was his problem? “When did this come about?”
“He thinks y'all not being anywhere near local might affect Rufina's case.”
On her return to the courtroom from the clerk’s office, Erma had found Rex still there. He hung across the bench and whispered to BJ. Rufina and the other prisoners were gone. “What's going on with your son? I'm not convinced he gives a shit about Rufina,” Erma said. He'd been unbelievably charming the night before, but Erma wasn't convinced he had Rufina's best interest at heart.
“You're wrong.” BJ took one hand from the steering wheel and patted Erma's arm. “Rex is like a son to her, and she's like another mother to him.”
That cleared up any question in Erma's mind about whether BJ could listen objectively to what Rex said. Annoyance churned inside her. “I don't know what to say, BJ. We're either in or we're out. If you want Rex to run this case, tell us now, and we're out.”
“Erma—”
“You're not going to jerk us around like a couple of marionettes. If we're to handle Rufina's defense, it'll be start to finish or not at all.”
“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. God.”
“Just practicalities. We've begun working on Rufina's case, but barely, so we can quit now and refund your retainer, minus our time for coming up here for the arraignment, and y'all can hire another lawyer.” Erma gritted her teeth. She knew she shouldn't get riled up, but BJ even mentioning what Rex had said rubbed her the wrong way. “We're not going to put a lot of time in and then you give the case to someone else.”
“Rufina's brother, Carlos, wants a San Antonio lawyer, too.”
Erma cut her eyes at BJ. Was something going on she was unaware of? “If Carlos cares so much, why wasn't he in court this morning? What's his story?” Could it be that Rex didn't think a woman was as competent as a man and Rufina's brother thought so, too?
“Carlos thinks a Latino would do a better job for his sister.”
“What's an attorney being Hispanic/Latino/whatever have to do with anything?”
BJ shrugged. “I don't know. Carlos seems to think it makes a difference though.”
“BJ, people are weird. I know a black attorney who keeps a white attorney on her staff because clients come in who want a white attorney. I'd kick their ass to the curb, but she takes their money and doesn't worry about it. Everybody is prejudiced in some form or fashion. Sounds like Carlos is no exception. That doesn't make what he thinks any truer than what Rex thinks. Don't y'all know it's a defense attorney's job to wade through all that? And to piss off the judge sometimes?”
BJ's snort sounded like a piglet's squeal. Erma laughed, too.
“I'm so confused.”
“I know it. You recently lost one of your daughters and your best friend is in jail. Now are we in or out? If we're in, I need to see the insid
e of your bedroom.”
They pulled into the circular driveway, and BJ switched off the ignition. “I don't know why I listen to Rex. He doesn't know what he's talking about half the time anyway.”
Erma wasn't about to weigh in on that. She unbuckled her seat belt and reached across the console to hug BJ. “It's going to be fine. Sandra will do a bang-up job for Rufina. So will I.”
BJ wiped away a tear. “Do you mind if I don’t go into my bedroom? I had the girls move my things to one of the guest rooms after—after—I haven't been inside the room since the night of the—”
“Why don't you go get us a cup of coffee and rustle up some lunch. After that, I think we both could use a nap.” Erma climbed down from the truck. “I need a few minutes to—uh—see the room.” She had started to say the murder scene but caught herself. BJ got out and went inside. Erma followed her
“You'll have to excuse the room's appearance. No one's been inside except the sheriff's deputies and all those official police-type people, except for the girls to get my things.” BJ turned toward the kitchen. “I haven't let them clean it.”
“Make my coffee decaf,” Erma said to BJ's back.
Erma flipped on the lights and eyeballed the huge bedroom. Even from as far away as the door, which she estimated was twenty feet, the bloodstained mattress drew her attention like a magnet. After a few minutes of staring, of thinking what the night of the murder must have been like for BJ, Erma focused on the rest of the room. Thick padded rugs in a deep blue and burnt orange covered the floor. Rafters made of four-by-eight beams ran across the ceiling. Heavily draped windows kept out natural light. The air smelled stale. One side of the room was a sitting area with a small, round oak table and two hardback oak chairs. The opposite side was the sleeping area. Matching night tables with tooled leather lamps stood on each side of the king-sized bed. Identical dressers lined the opposite wall with about a sixty-inch television on a stand between them. The door to the bathroom was not far from the right side of the bed.
The Schindlers had significantly come up in the world since Erma had become friends with them. She remembered their tiny four room house that had not much more furniture in the bedroom than a double bed and a nightstand. If BJ and Erma had wanted any privacy for girl talk, they'd go out on the porch or take a walk. Erma extended her arm toward the bed as though she held a handgun. Though the room was quite large, there would be no problem for a shooter to hit someone from that distance if circumstances were right.
She paced at the foot of the bed and stared down at the stains. A deep sadness tugged at her heart. To lose someone so dear would be almost unbearable.
The death of Erma's friend Phillip the year before had devastated her. Now she realized how she would feel if she ever lost Sandra, her only child. She would lie down and never get up. Shaking her head, Erma walked over to the bathroom and peered in. At least BJ had the other two kids, not that the two of them combined would equal one Katy Jo, who had always been the nice child, the obedient child, the most loving child.
Satisfied she'd seen enough, Erma went to her room to wash up. A few minutes later, following the aroma of bacon and coffee, she found BJ in the kitchen assembling BLTs with one of the Latina workers.
Erma pulled a mug out of the cabinet and poured herself a cup of coffee. “BJ,” Erma said and took a sip, “where were you when Katy Jo was shot?”
Grief marred BJ's face like it had been carved into her skin with a dull knife. “Bathroom. Like we all do at our age, I'm up several times a night, especially if I've been entertaining and had a few drinks. Everyone had more than a few that night.”
From the bar stool she'd climbed up on, Erma looked at BJ, who towered over her. “That must have been a humdinger of a family get together. Why was Katy Jo in your bed?”
BJ swiped at her hair. “Ever since she was a little girl, she'd climb into bed with us. Well, after Roy died, just me. We'd cuddle when she was little. When she got older, we'd talk sometimes way into the night, like best friends.” She mopped her face on a dishtowel. “Earlier that night, she said she wanted to discuss something with me, but not around all the others.”
Erma sipped her coffee. “And Kathy Lynn? What about her?”
BJ shook her head. “Sometimes when she was little she'd cuddle, but after she reached her teenage years—puberty, I guess—never. We didn't have the same kind of relationship.”
Erma had a couple more questions she hoped wouldn't upset BJ too much. She didn't want to cause her friend any more angst, but if they were going to try Rufina's case, they would be delving into intimate matters. She took BJ's arm and pulled her closer. “Tell me honestly, BJ, is it possible Kathy Lynn was jealous of her sister?”
BJ huffed out a sigh. “Kathy Lynn has always been a handful. She might have been jealous of my relationship with her sister, but you'll never convince me she would harm Katy Jo.” She plopped down on the stool next to Erma and put her face in a dishtowel, a sob escaping. The young Latina who'd been helping fix lunch turned her attention on the kitchen counter.
“Aww, now.” Erma rubbed her friend's back. “I didn't mean to upset you, hon, but you've gotta know this whole business is going to be tough. Sandra and I will be asking a lot of hard questions.”
BJ lifted her head. “I understand. Next you'll be asking about Rex.”
Erma held her hands and shrugged. “Well...”
“I can't believe that of Rex either. Katy Jo was devoted to him.” She dried her face. “I can't believe it of either of my other children.”
“Well, let me ask you this.” Erma bit her lip and waited for BJ to look her way. “Has it occurred to you that maybe Katy Jo wasn't the target?”
Chapter Eight
“Hey,” Sandra said into her cell as she climbed into her car, shutting the door behind her to keep out the cold. She was chilled from walking the couple of blocks from the last place she’d shopped. She dropped her packages on the passenger seat and started the engine.
“Hey back,” Erma said. “Where are you?”
“Still in town. I knew you'd hang with BJ and find out what you could so thought I'd do a little shopping.” She'd splurged on a pair of tall black leather boots she could wear to court with her skirt suits and a black alpaca jacket. “Find out anything interesting?”
“Hold on.” After a moment of background noise, Erma said in a loud voice, “BJ, I’m going to take this in my room. Be back in a few minutes.” In a muffled voice, she said into the phone, “I was surrounded. BJ and I had a nice visit. Kathy Lynn was here for a while, though she resisted speaking with me alone. I looked over the crime scene, but that's about it. What about the courthouse? Any place we can use for home base?”
“It didn't take me long after I went back to figure out Gillespie County has no amenities for lawyers.” Sandra punched a button on the dashboard so the heater would run full blast.
“Nothing? No conference room?”
“Nada. Nilch. Nicht. And the law library is minuscule—a small room with few books. The judges and local lawyers have to be on Westlaw.”
“Saves the commissioners a lot of money if they don't have to buy updates for law books. Not much help for the regular person, though, if they can't afford a lawyer.” What Sandra had said just affirmed Erma’s impression of commissioners everywhere.
“I doubt that would worry the commissioners. Anyway, that little room can't double as an attorney-client conference room either, since jurors will be in and out. There's no space available to us.”
“Humph. I'll talk to BJ,” Erma said, “tell her we'll need a room in town.”
“Tell her close to the courthouse and with some kind of kitchen, so we'll have a table to spread our stuff out on and at least be able to have some semblance of breakfast. There might be an extended stay hotel. I'll drive down Main and see if I spot one.”
“Anything else we might need to think about?” Erma would prefer to hit up BJ for everything at one time.
�
��We'll bring my laptop and our own printer unless we want to use the business office if the hotel has one, which is not my preference.” Sandra scanned the parking lot. When she didn't see anyone, she backed out.
“Mine either. So when you get here, we can both talk to BJ about the kind of space we want.”
“Is Kathy Lynn still there? I'd like to speak to her.”
“She left mighty fast after lunch. She's pretty skittish. Rex's here if you want to talk to him.”
“Yeah. No. I'll leave that to you.”
Erma groaned. “Thanks a lot. So I'll see you in a little while?”
Sandra grimaced. No way. “I don't see why I shouldn't have dinner here in town. I saw a cowboy bar-restaurant not far from here where I could eat.” And be sure to avoid Rex.
“Sandra—”
“Erma—”
“Don't you think you should spend more time with the family?”
“Uh—no. I need some time by myself to digest all this, plus there are a couple of clients whose calls I need to return. I want to touch base with Mel, too. And call Patricia in a minute and fill her in about us spending another night here, unless you've done that.”
“No, I haven't. All right, I'll see you later, but be careful driving out here tonight.”
Sandra laughed as she hung up. Erma would always be her mother and act like it. Sandra would always be the daughter and act like it, too.
She drove around the courthouse to the place across the street, Will's Bar & Grill, in a two-story limestone building with oak tree roots erupting out of the sidewalk. They had blocked off the original entryway, so she walked through a white picket fence, past outdoor picnic tables, and down a narrow walkway to enter. The aroma of cooked beef and onions floated out to greet her.
Inside, a low-to-the-ground stage and a faded red velvet curtain were in the front of the room. Next to the stage, a short-order kitchen looked like it had been carved out of a wall. A few people sat at wooden tables with worn, oak chairs and rolls of paper towels mounted on sticks in the center. Sandra skirted around them to the back of the room, to the table in front of the locked-off, glassed-in former front door. Through the window, she had a view of the pecan trees across the street and traffic flowing back and forth. She threw her coat on the back of a chair and glanced around to see what the drill was.
Death of a Rancher's Daughter Page 6