Death of a Rancher's Daughter

by Susan P. Baker

  She'd left the cottage early, so she could be alone to finish her research and clear her head before court convened. She wasn't used to having no time to herself, no time to manage a little exercise, no time to think. That the three of them were crammed into that little cottage would have been bad enough if they'd been on vacation, but on top of that, the stress of knowing someone's freedom was at stake added pressure.

  She'd tried to make Erma understand part of the attraction of the insurance firm was they'd promised she wouldn't have to litigate. If she took that job, Sandra would never be responsible for someone being denied her rights, incarcerated, or executed, again. She'd had it up to her neck with criminal cases. Now, in the minutes before court was called to order, her hands shook, and her foot bounced. She was on the losing side of the motion, but she had to try. Scrolling through case report after case report, she could find nothing.

  The courtroom door squeaked. Erma trudged up the aisle and pushed her way through from the gallery, followed by Rufina and Mel. Grunting, Erma dumped her handbag and briefcase down. Rufina sat down on the other side of Erma. Mel perched on the front row.

  Holt, followed by one of his assistants, came in and nodded at Sandra. The clerk entered from the side door and eased into her chair. When the door opened again, they all stood as the bailiff led the jurors to the jury box. The court reporter, a man named Matthew Grieger, followed and sat behind his machine.

  “All rise for the Honorable David Danforth,” the bailiff called.

  The judge made short shrift of the distance between the door and the chair behind the bench. He wore a blank expression though his eyes darted from one lawyer to the other.

  “Be seated,” the judge said. “Ms. Salinsky, the clerk tells me you have a motion to present.”

  Sandra, who had continued to stand while everyone else sat, held the motion. “Yes, Your Honor. I'd like to present it outside the presence of the jury.”

  Danforth frowned. “I thought I made it clear before this trial started, I wanted to take up all motions before the jury was seated.”

  The burn in Sandra's chest grew worse. The judge knew as well as she did that matters came up unexpectedly. He was deliberately chastising her in front of the jury to make her look bad. She bit the inside of her cheek. “You did, Judge. But this was unexpected. I couldn't have anticipated the need for this motion.” She used words from the statute, so he would be aware she knew the law. “May it be taken up outside the presence of the jury?”

  Frowning, Holt stood at his table, arms dangling by his sides. The ballpoint pen in his hand clicked once, then again. The judge looked at him. Holt didn't say anything. Sandra wished he would, but Holt knew better. The visiting judge might not care if an error was made, but Holt would. Nobody in his right mind wanted to try a case twice.

  “Deputy Cortez, kindly escort the jury back outside.” The judge's eyes bored through Sandra.

  Sandra eyeballed the members of the jury as they filed out. Most of them looked like they were enjoying themselves; no sullen glances yet. The trial had just begun, though. Plenty of time for attitudes to change.

  As soon as the door closed behind the jury, the judge turned back. “Now, what is it, Ms. Salinsky?”

  She gripped the edge of the table. “Motion for Continuance, Judge.”

  Erma touched Sandra's wrist—which Sandra took to be a sign of encouragement—but otherwise remained still.

  “Not at this late date.” Holt glared at her.

  “I'll decide that, Mr. Holt.” The judge crossed his arms.

  Sandra held the Code of Criminal Procedure open to the section pertaining to continuances, her forefinger marking the part she wanted to read. “Judge, if I may quote from Article 29.13 of the Texas Code of Criminal Procedure...”

  The judge rolled his eyes.

  “For the record, Your Honor.” Sandra wet her lips. “'A continuance or postponement may be granted on motion of the State or defendant after the trial has begun, when it is made to appear to the satisfaction of the court by some unexpected occurrence since the trial began, which no reasonable diligence could have anticipated, the applicant is so taken by surprise that a fair trial cannot be had.'“

  “I'm sure curious about this unexpected occurrence, Judge.” Holt crossed his arms as he stood beside his table.

  “In a moment, Mr. Holt.” The judge turned his attention back to Sandra. “Anything else you want to put on the record at this point?”

  Not ever having tried a case to Judge Danforth, she wasn't sure whether he was setting her up, or trying to be fair. She put the book down, but left it open to the section on trial motions. “No, Your Honor.”

  “So at this point, kindly inform the court, Mrs. Salinsky, what unexpected occurrence has taken you by surprise?”

  Sandra flexed her jaw. She hated to give away any part of her case, even a tiny part—which this wasn't. “I'm not trying to blame it on Mr. Holt, Your Honor. This has nothing to do with him. I wouldn't want you or him to think I'm implying anything by putting forth a motion like this.”

  Holt's face screwed up and turned pink. The clicking of his pen went nonstop.

  The judge leaned forward. “Ms. Salinsky, what are you implying?”

  “Oh, I'm not implying anything, Your Honor. I'm simply saying what has happened was totally unexpected. I'm sure Mr. Holt had nothing to do with it.”

  The judge leaned as far forward as the bench would allow, his eyebrows knitted together. “What is the occurrence you're not blaming Mr. Holt for?” His voice echoed off the back wall.

  Sandra stepped back and bumped into her chair. Erma's eyes had grown round. Teeny smile lines had formed at each side of her mouth. Sandra clasped her hands in front of herself as if she were walking forward for communion. She took as deep a breath as she could, her chest tight. “My alibi witness has gone missing.”

  “Judge!” Holt's legs bumped his chair causing it to crash into the separating wall behind him. “I didn't have a God—a dad gum thing to do with anybody going missing, especially her alleged alibi witness.”

  Sandra wrinkled her forehead at Holt as she held up her hands. “Judge, I said I was sure Mr. Holt didn't have anything to do with my witness missing, didn't I? I don't know why he's all worked up.”

  Holt pointed his finger at her. “You—you—”

  Judge Danforth banged his fist on the bench. “Mr. Holt, restrain yourself.”

  Holt snorted like a bull and glared at Sandra who maintained a placid face. She didn't dare glance his way. She stood with the tips of her fingers resting on the written motions she didn't want to file. Anxiety bounced around in her chest.

  “When did you ascertain this witness became unavailable, Ms. Salinsky?” The judge eased back in his chair, the expression on his face somewhere between consternation and enjoyment. Not knowing him, his look was hard to interpret.

  “Yesterday, Your Honor.”

  “Yesterday, when, ma'am?”

  “Yesterday after you recessed for the day.”

  “And how did you ascertain this information?”

  “I was informed by another person, Judge.”

  “Would you like to share with me who the other person was?”

  “No, sir. At least not without the person's consent.”

  The judge nodded. “Is that person present in the courtroom?”

  “If I may be so bold as to ask,” Holt said, “why are we playing twenty questions?”

  Judge Danforth shot him a dark look. Holt returned the judge's stare, not backing down. Sandra had to respect him for that.

  “Do you have a written motion for continuance, Ms. Salinsky?” The judge sat with his arms crossed.

  “You're not going to grant her motion without even giving me a chance to argue against it, Judge.” Holt's tone was a statement more than a question.

  The ancient furnace hanging off the wall clanged but did little to warm the courtroom. Sandra crossed her arms in an effort to increase her body hea
t. The calendar might reflect spring, but the weather in the Texas hills didn't. The nights were cold, and the insides of the old courthouse never reached what she thought of as a habitable temperature.

  “Mr. Holt,” the judge said, “the last time I checked, I was the judge and you, the lawyer. Don't tell me what I am or am not going to do.”

  “I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant. I'm asking to be presented with the motion. I haven't said whether I'll grant it. You have a problem with that?”

  Holt stared at the tops of his shoes. “No, Your Honor. So long as she has a copy for me as well.”

  “I sure do, Mr. Holt,” Sandra said. “Let me hand the original to the judge first.” She carried the original to the judge. Back at her table, she pulled out a copy and held it across the aisle to Holt.

  “Judge,” Holt said after perusing it for a moment. “What kind of game is she playing? She doesn't identify her witness or where he lives.”

  The judge's eyes flitted from the paper in his hands to Sandra and back again. Sandra and Erma exchanged glances. They both knew the motion wouldn't fly, but at least the judge and Holt didn't appear to be such good buddies anymore.

  “Ms. Salinsky, I'm quite sure you're acquainted with the rules.”

  “For the record, Your Honor,” Mr. Holt said, “I object to the motion for the following reasons in addition to the fact she hasn't identified her witness: no due diligence is shown in procuring his presence at trial—not even a subpoena issued—no facts she expects to prove through the witness.” He tapped his finger on the paper. “All we have is her statement that the unknown person is an alibi witness. And she doesn't even allege the motion is not made for delay.” Holt held his copy in the air by two fingers.

  “Ms. Salinsky, I'm sure you know better than to file such a motion.” A muscle twitched next to the judge's left eye.

  Sandra stared down at counsel table. She and Erma had agreed if they got any indication the judge would grant a motion if one that fulfilled all the legal requirements were to be presented, they would file the second motion. Unless and until they got that indication, they didn't want to let Holt learn Efrain's name or what he would testify to.

  Holt would take Efrain's identification and run it through every database in existence. If he couldn't find anything, he'd guess Efrain was in the country illegally. If Efrain turned up later and came to the courthouse, as soon as Holt was aware of his whereabouts, Holt would have him picked up. They were in a lose-lose situation.

  On the other hand, if the judge granted the motion for continuance—the second one—they would have more time to build a better defense for Rufina and possibly would never need Efrain. And there was always the chance his immigration papers would come through.

  “Your Honor,” Sandra said and laid her copy on her counsel table, “I'm at a loss for words. The way Article 29.06 is written, it places the defense in a delicate position.”

  “Judge,” Holt said, “with discovery, they know our case so it's only fair we know theirs. Since Texas law doesn't require the defense to provide us with the names and addresses of witnesses upon whom they will rely, this rule is only fair. Not to require her to give us that information is giving her a free ride.”

  “Judge, we haven't asked for a continuance before. We've been put to trial real fast. This is our first such motion.”

  “True, Judge, but Ms. Salinsky wanted a quick trial date. She asked for a speedy trial date. Now that she's been given what she asked for, she's complaining.”

  “When I asked the coordinator to move the date up, I didn't know my witness would disappear.” Hell, she had no knowledge at the time that such a witness existed.

  “Ms. Salinsky, you must have had some indication your alleged witness wouldn't appear before this trial started.” The judge's eyes were pinpoints, his voice approaching snide.

  There it was. Sandra looked at Erma who nodded. The judge's words and tone had given them a clear indication he'd deny any motion they filed. Sandra put her shoulders back. A pain in her chest had begun creeping up the left side of her neck and into her jaw. “Judge, I withdraw my motion. We're ready to proceed to trial.”

  Holt threw his copy down and dropped into his chair. The judge offered the original back to Sandra who approached the bench to retrieve it. He had not asked the clerk to file-mark the motion, so it wasn't part of the record.

  “What was that all about?” Rufina whispered to Erma so loud Sandra heard her.

  Erma shielded her face with her hand. “I'll explain during the recess.”

  Moments later, the bailiff opened the door and said, “All rise for the jury.”

  They stood again. The members of the jury returned to the courtroom and entered the jury box.

  The pain moved into Sandra's teeth. She flexed the muscles in her jaw, but the pain didn't subside. She breathed deeply. When she tried to take a second deep breath, she could only draw in a shallow one. She rubbed her sternum. “Erma, pour me a glass of water.”

  Erma did so from the pitcher standing in the center of the counsel table and handed it to Sandra, who took a swallow. “What's wrong?”

  Sandra shook her head and took a short breath. She leaned on one hand. “I'll be all right in a minute.”

  “You don't look so good, girl.” Erma moved her chair closer to Sandra. “Are you in some kind of pain?”

  Sandra nodded and sat down. The jury wasn't quite seated, but she couldn't stand any longer. The pain felt like a dark mass inside of her, growing larger and darker.

  Erma jumped to her feet. “Your Honor. Someone needs to call 911. I think Ms. Salinsky is having a heart attack!”

  “What can I do?” Erma stood over her daughter, her hands flapping.

  Sandra's face contorted in pain. Her jaw clenched, the muscles visibly throbbing. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand. Her attempts to breathe were loud and labored. She sat with her head hanging forward.

  “Does she need some more water?” Matthew, the court reporter, stood on the other side of the table. “I can fetch some more water.”

  If they were focused at all, Sandra's half-closed eyes were on Erma's, but Erma suspected Sandra wasn't seeing much, rather just feeling the pain.

  “Yes, water. Anything.” Erma yelled, “Has anyone called 911? You do use 911 in this county, don't you?”

  “I did, ma'am,” Deputy Cortez called from across the room. He stood back from the jury box where the jurors were filing out again.

  Erma hadn't heard the judge give an instruction for the jury to exit the courtroom. Her attention had been focused solely on Sandra. Holt stood at counsel table, hands on hips, his lips in a derisive curl.

  Sandra had shifted forward and now hung over her knees. Her breathing continued to be labored. Erma squatted. “Child, what can I do? Where does it hurt?”

  Sandra shook her head. Her hair came loose from the clip that had been holding it off her neck. The clip fell to the floor with a clatter and skittered under the table.

  Mel leaned over the bar, so far forward she could have fallen face first on the floor. “Mom! What's wrong?”

  In a hushed tone, Erma said, “Let's wait for the EMTs.”

  Sandra shook her head again. “Give me a moment. I'll be all right.”

  “I don't think so.” Erma held Sandra's hand, mentally imploring the EMTs to hurry. The minutes crawled past. Everyone left in the courtroom appeared frozen in place.

  “Make way!” The hall door burst open and two men rushed inside with a gurney between them, running up the aisle with it. “Excuse me, ma'am.” The first one made a sweeping gesture at Erma. She backed away, giving them plenty of room.

  “I'll be okay.” Sandra's voice was raspy. She raised her head and looked at the first young man.

  “We'll be the judge of that.” The second one wrapped a cuff around her arm and pulled out a stethoscope. “Don't move.”

  “Don't worry.” Sandra spoke in a whispery voice.
/>   “Don't talk, either.” The first EMT's hand encircled her wrist, his fingers on her pulse.

  Erma hurried around to Mel who stood with tears streaming down her face. She put her arm around the girl and sat down on the first bench. “It's going to be all right.” She stroked Mel's hair.

  Holt still stood next to his chair, rooted to the floor. The judge had left the bench. The court reporter stood next to his machine. He held a cup of water in one hand. The bailiff had returned, his body in front of the door leading the jury room. Everyone watched the EMTs.

  A few moments later, the second EMT whispered to the first one. The first one whispered back. Both nodded. The first one said, “Can you stand, ma'am?”

  “Sandra Salinsky,” she uttered. “I'll be fine if you can give me a few minutes.”

  “No, ma'am, Miz Salinsky,” the first one said. The second one lowered the gurney. “You're to lie down on this gurney. We have to take you to the hospital.”

  Sandra groaned. “I don't need to go to the hospital.”

  “Just lie down. We'll let the hospital decide what to do with you.”

  Sandra continued to rub a place on her chest as they wheeled her away. Mel and Erma followed them into the hall to the elevator. Erma had never seen Sandra like that. The worst Erma'd seen Sandra in adulthood was the depression, the funk she'd been in ever since the Parker murder case and Stuart, and that wasn't any physical ailment, just in her head.

  “As soon as the judge declares a mistrial, I'll be over there,” Erma told Sandra. “Son, where is the hospital around here?”

  The elevator dinged and opened. The two men wheeled Sandra inside. Mel held on to her mother's foot for a moment.

  “Hard to miss,” the second one said. “On the Kerrville Highway, kind of opposite the high school.”

  Erma took Mel by the arm and moved back. That would be easy enough to find. She stood there until the door closed, then turned on her heel to find Mr. Holt leaning against the courtroom doorjamb. He wore a sneer a foot wide. “You're not going to get away with it.”