Death of a Rancher's Daughter

by Susan P. Baker

  “Heaven only knows.” Erma had spread her legs out in front of her. She put one ankle over the other, thinking it might ease the pain in her lower back. She would have liked a short nap, but they were on a tight schedule.

  “Back to your boyfriend, Efrain.” Sandra had begun to act like the prosecutor she had been. She stopped in front of Rufina. “Where has he been all this time?”

  “When all this happened, I told him to run, to stay away. I didn't want people knowing about him.”

  “You realize he's your alibi.”

  Rufina nodded. “I understand, but he can't be. The district attorney cannot know about him.”

  “Why is that?” Annoyance gnawed at Erma. She wished she’d known this earlier.

  “He's been waiting for his papers. He went back to Mexico, like they told him to do. Supposed to stay for four years, but that's a long time, so he snuck back in. Immigration can't find out he's here. He's illegal, and if he gets caught, they'll send him back. He won't ever get his green card.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “If he gets up on the witness stand to give you an alibi,” Sandra said, “Holt will ask him his status. Same as he will imply you aren't here legally. We can't allow Efrain to lie. We can't let him perjure himself.”

  “That's why I didn't tell anyone about him.” Rufina wore a pouty expression.

  “If you have no alibi, you could go to prison for life . . . or worse,” Erma said. “Would Efrain want that for you?”

  “I don't think Efrain knows what trouble I'm in. I'm not sure he even knows I was arrested for killing Katy Jo.”

  “Why's that?”

  “Because I haven't heard from him. I told him to leave. I told him not to contact me or anyone on the ranch. He and I both knew the first person they'd blame for anything that went wrong would be a Mexican—an illegal Mexican—if they could get their hands on one.” A single tear rolled down from her mangled eye. “Well, they couldn't, so they got me.”

  No one spoke for several moments. Sandra held her lower lip between her teeth like she was stopping herself from saying something. Mel twisted her hair in her fingers.

  Erma drummed on the table. “I guess we need to find out if Efrain would be willing to give up the possibility of a green card in order to save your life.”

  Rufina cast her eyes down again as she so often did, which got Erma to wondering if Rufina had always been so demure or only since she'd been charged with murder. Or, maybe since the fire? Or, could her demeanor be an act? “So where can we find him?”

  Rufina didn't answer.

  “Come on, Rufina,” Sandra said, her tone like she was reprimanding a child. “I know what you're thinking, but at least give the man a chance to make the decision himself.”

  “He may have gone to San Miguel de Allende, to be near my mother and father, but he can't testify.”

  “How can we get in touch with him? You need to give us the contact information for your parents.”

  “Efrain, he's not a young man. It's not just about me. He has family here. He wants to spend his last years with his family—and to die here.” She crossed her arms.

  Erma wanted to conk Rufina on the head. Knock some sense into her. Instead, she sighed long and loud and dragged her chair closer to the table. “Enough for now. You think about it. You think about whether this man you obviously care about should be treated with respect, should be allowed to make his own decisions.”

  “We'll discuss this another time,” Sandra said. “We have other issues to cover today.” She slumped into her own chair.

  Mel waved in the air, like a student in a classroom.

  “What, Mel?” Erma's posture reflected Sandra's.

  “I was thinking, I mean, if we're through talking about Rufina's boyfriend. I was thinking about something. Can we go back? Are we sure no one except Doug knew Katy Jo went to see her mother?” Mel was bouncing around like she was being goosed. “Won't Mr. Holt say since Katy Jo and Doug were at Rufina's cottage that Rufina was the only other person who knew besides Doug? Or, could Katy Jo have told someone else earlier that she would be talking to her mother about her and Doug that night?”

  Erma and Sandra looked at each other. Good question. But who?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A few weeks later, Sandra was on the phone with Mel's father when Erma crossed the hall and perched in one of the client chairs. She set a glass of water on Sandra's desk and popped a mint into her mouth.

  “You listening? Sandra?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, Jack, I'm sure Rufina's okay with that. Mel has been a great help to us, and Rufina has taken a liking to her.” She cradled the telephone in the crook of her neck while she stacked files that had been scattered on her desk.

  “But what will she do while you're in trial?” His voice held a patronizing tone she'd grown to recognize, and abhor, when they'd been married.

  She adopted the same tone. “Well, let's see. She'll run errands for us, not only going for coffee, but if we need something filed with the clerk whose office is across from the courtroom, she can take those documents there and come back with our file-stamped copies. She can do research on the Internet.” Sandra picked up a ballpoint and twirled it in her fingers.

  “Does she want to be stuck doing stuff like that for a whole week?” He sounded incredulous.

  “She told me she did. Didn't y'all have a conversation about it?” Sandra rolled her eyes.

  “Well, yes, but I find it unbelievable a teenager would want to spend her spring break working like—”

  “Because you offered to take her on a cruise? Honestly, Jack, I did ask her if she wouldn't rather go on a trip with you.”

  “I know you did. I just don't understand it.” His voice held a tone of disbelief that reminded her of the way prosecutors sounded when cross-examining a defendant.

  “What you don't understand, and frankly I don't either, is she's becoming a little advocate, a little lawyer.” She glanced at Erma who tapped her watch. “She's been around when I've bitched about being a lawyer. She's heard me talk of going into a different line of work. But she's adamant she's going to be a criminal defense lawyer like Erma and me when she grows up.”

  He cleared his throat. “No offense, but I'll never understand.”

  “Me, neither. Listen, I'm on a tight schedule. I need to head to Gillespie County after lunch. So thanks for agreeing to take the three of them to the airport on Sunday. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. And if you have to send Mel home for any reason, put her on a plane and call me, and I'll be at Hobby Airport to pick her up.”

  “Take care, Jack.” Sandra disconnected. She knew he wasn't going on a cruise unless Mel would go, but why be argumentative about it?

  “Was he being an asshole?” Erma sat on the edge of her chair like she was ready to spring into action.

  “Not this time. We've been getting along so well lately, it's scary.” She started stuffing legal pads and pens and other office paraphernalia into an ancient, brown leather briefcase the size of a small suitcase. “He doesn't particularly like it that Mel wants to grow up to be an attorney like you and me. I don't either. Maybe she'll change her mind if I move over to the insurance firm.”

  “Don't start that shit again, Sandra.” Erma leaped up. “I'll be damned if I'll let you go work for those bloodsuckers.”

  “Anyhow, he'll take y'all to Hobby on Sunday afternoon, and I'll pick y'all up in San Antonio. No problemo. So did you win our argument with Rufina or not?”

  “We were talking about you going to work for that—”

  “No. We were not. You're trying to talk about it, and I don't have time now to argue with you. I haven't definitely made up my mind, but I will by the end of Rufina's trial.”

  Erma looked like she was ready to explode, her face growing as red as a strawberry. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  “So what happened with Rufina? Did she cave?” Sandra put her laptop in its carrying ca
se and the case in a roller bag.

  Erma sat back down. The red in her face abated a bit. “Should I feel guilty for browbeating a client more than usual?”

  “She agreed?”

  “Sí.” Erma grinned. “I had to promise to find Efrain the best immigration lawyer in Texas if he has trouble with his status.”

  Sandra slapped her desk. “That makes my day. I think we can win this thing if BJ can find someone to drive down to Mexico and somehow bring him back.” Sandra grabbed up her phone to call BJ.

  “I called BJ, if that's what you're doing. I just got off the phone. Shit, she can talk.”

  Sandra set her phone back down. “What'd she say?”

  “She's a basket case. Asked how Rufina was doing. Was she sleeping? Was she eating? Was Rufina a nervous wreck? Hell, BJ's the nervous wreck. Rufina is about the calmest, most controlled person I've ever met.”

  “No, what'd she say about Efrain? About sending someone down to Mexico?”

  “Well, here’s a surprise. She said pretty much nothing goes on around the ranch that she doesn’t know about and that includes Rufina and Efrain—and Efrain’s status.” She gave Sandra a sideways grin. “And I bet she knew about the kids, too, but never said anything.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Something like that would be hard to conceal. She does, after all, own and run the ranch. Her job is to know what’s happening.”

  “Anyway, she’s going to send one of the legal men to see if he can locate Efrain.”

  “I don’t even want to know how Efrain will get across the border. I just hope we won't reach our side of the case until they return.” Sandra slid some file folders into the briefcase. “I called the judge's office to find out if Rufina needs to be there for pretrial. The coordinator said no, but Rufina does have to be there for jury selection.”

  “She ought to be, anyway. She needs to look each juror in the eye until it hurts.”

  “Patricia booked her on the same flight as you and Mel. You don't mind her being here for another weekend, do you? I don't want to have her on the ranch until we have to.”

  Erma shook her head. “She's no problem. In fact, she's been cooking breakfast for me. How do you like them apples?”

  “I'd like to bite into a juicy apple right about now. I'm hungry.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Listen, when I arrive, I'm going straight to Rufina's cottage, which will now be ours, and dumping my stuff. Afterward, I'll inspect the one BJ set aside for Rufina. Rufina's belongings should have been moved and put away by then. BJ promised she'd have the women Rufina is closest to move everything, on the QT. And I'm going to check to make sure there are several locks on each door as well as locks on the windows.”

  Patricia walked in, two fingers gripping a smallish, gray, triangular-shaped leather bag by one of its corners. “I think this is yours, Sandra. A man with a punched-in nose brought it in, saying it's cleaned and oiled and ready for use.”

  “That would be Cliff. Set it here on my desk. I'm sure it's not loaded so it can't hurt you.”

  Patricia set the bag on a corner of Sandra's desk, a good distance from the edge. “I don't know why you think you need that thing.”

  “What about the trial notebook? Is it ready?”

  “Oh, yes ma'am.” Patricia did an about-face and marched back out of Sandra's office.

  “Think Rufina needs a weapon in her cottage?” Erma asked.

  “She might need one,” Sandra said, raising her eyebrows, “but she's not getting one. She'd be violating her bail conditions. I can see Holt somehow hearing she has a weapon and sending some deputies to arrest her. I don't want deputies bringing her to court every day and standing around in the courtroom, do you?”

  “Hell no. We don't want anything to jeopardize Rufina's freedom.”

  “By the way, you did tell BJ to make sure no one, including Rex and Kathy Lynn, knows where Rufina will be staying during the trial?”

  “Yep, I don't care if they're her kids or what, I'm as suspicious of everyone as you are.”

  Patricia returned and heaved the trial notebook into Sandra's arms. Sandra thumbed through the tabs. “Well done. Thanks so much.”

  “I'm glad you approve. I spent a lot of time on it.” She turned up one of her long sleeves that had fallen down.

  “We know you did,” Erma said. “We appreciate you, though we don't say it often.”

  “Thank you, ma'am.” Patricia's face broke into a wide smile. “I'll go back to my desk if there's nothing else.”

  “Patricia, if you want, you can take tomorrow off,” Sandra said. “I won't be here, and Erma's other work can wait 'til Monday.”

  Patricia glanced from one to the other of them. “I don't think so. Something might come up, and what would you do without me, Miz Townley? You can't even turn on the computer.”

  Erma sputtered for a moment.

  “But I'll save that day until something comes along and I need it.”

  Sandra gave Patricia a thumbs-up. “You're a gem. You don't have to do that. We'll always let you do what you need to do.”

  Patricia's eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I know.” She beamed and went back to her office.

  “I wish we could take her with us,” Erma said. “We could use her for any emergency motions we need to file. We could stash her in that man's office.”

  “Jared. His name is Jared Longley, and I told you his sister will help us out if we need something I can't pound out in the evenings after court. We need Patricia here, but someday, let's take her to court, so she can see us in action.”

  “You mean me, right? You're probably not going to be here.”

  “Let's not discuss that now.” A series of quiet musical notes came from Sandra's desktop computer. She checked her emails. “Rex, again.”

  “What does that annoying little bugger want now?” Erma walked around to stand over Sandra's shoulder.

  Sandra opened the email. The first thing that popped up was a picture of a syringe. Below that:

  I hear the district attorney is going for the needle. Just want to keep you informed of what I learn.

  Rex

  Erma leaned in, squinting at the screen. “What the hell?”

  Sandra moved back to let Erma read. “I thought he had a job in San Antonio. Doesn't he ever work?”

  “I'm starting to think he enjoys annoying us. Sweet one minute, irritating the next.”

  “Well, this time he's misinformed. In spite of Holt's threats, he's never gotten a cap murder indictment out of the Grand Jury.”

  Erma circled back around the desk and sat down. “Does he think we're so stupid we don't know what Rufina's charged with?”

  “He's just getting his jollies with his continuing emails. I've started wondering whether he knows Holt as well as he'd like us to believe.”

  “Are you sure Holt didn't file something at the last minute?”

  “Of course he didn't, why would he? He can't make a capital murder case. Besides, it's too late. And tomorrow at pretrial, I'm going to ask the judge to give the lesser included charge of manslaughter.”

  “Which he'll never do. It's either murder or nothing. I hate for you to do that since we don't want the case to go to the jury.” Erma hiked one leg over the other.

  “Just for insurance. I have to ask.” Sandra's cell phone rang. The screen read Gillespie County. “Sandra Salinsky.”

  “District Attorney Holt, here. How are you this fine spring morning, Mrs. Salinsky?”

  Sandra ignored the Mrs., which she knew he used to gall her. “Packing up my desk, Mr. Hold.”

  “Holt.”

  “Oh, yes, sorry. Yeah, packing up, getting ready to leave this afternoon. And how are you doing? Ready for combat?”

  Holt's chuckle didn't sound sincere.

  “The reason I'm calling is to ask whether you've considered my offer of life imprisonment.”

  Sandra mouthed what he said to Erma. “Yes, certainly we considered it.
My client is innocent and doesn't want to plead.”

  “I'm afraid I'm taking it off the table then. We're going for the death penalty.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha. Mr. Holt, very funny.” She mouthed the words death penalty to Erma whose face started turning red again. Or was it closer to burgundy?

  “The death penalty is no laughing matter, Mrs. Salinsky. Do you hear me laughing?”

  A slow burn began in her stomach. She studied the ceiling. No way of knowing what was going on or who he might be entertaining in his office. “Mr. Holt, you and I both know twenty-four hours' notice is not adequate under Texas law of the intent to seek the death penalty, even if you were able to get an indictment for capital murder. Do you think I'm stupid?” Silence greeted her question, followed by some heavy breathing. Sandra began to wonder whether Rex had talked with Holt, and that's where Rex got the idea Holt was going for lethal injection.

  “Okay, so I was joking. Bad joke.”

  “What the fuck, Holt?” She'd like to reach through the phone and punch him square in the nose.

  Erma pumped a fist in the air.

  “But I'm not joking about taking life off the table. If you don't accept life right this minute, we're going for the full ninety-nine years and $10,000 fine.”

  “Well, hey pal, if you think you can get it, go for it.” Sandra clicked off, sorry her fist couldn’t be transported to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sandra nodded at the judge, a pale, middle-aged, almost-bald man named David Danforth, whom she had not met before pretrial. She approached the space in front of the jury venire, who filled wooden benches from the first row behind the bar all the way to the back of the courtroom. She wore her lucky suit—the one she'd received the most guilty verdicts in as a prosecutor and the most not guilty verdicts in as a defense attorney—a navy-blue, lined jacket and skirt with a cream blouse. Knowing she looked good helped bolster her confidence at being an out-of-town attorney facing a group of people about whom she knew little.