BJ shook her head. “I don't know about that.”
“You don't? Well, she's not particularly friendly to her, is she?”
“She's always been on-again, off-again. Way more friendly than not over the years, I'd say.”
“And Katy Jo?”
“Katy Jo loved Rufina.”
“The defendant didn't love Katy Jo, though, and that's why she killed her, isn't that right?”
“Your Honor,” Sandra yelled before she could get to her feet. “I object!”
“What is your objection, Mrs. Salinsky?”
“Uh, uh, calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”
“Overruled.”
Sandra stamped her foot.
The judge gave her one of his darker looks. At least he realized she was there.
“Be careful, my girl.” Erma gave her a warning glance.
Sandra rubbed her hand over her chest. Judges like Danforth gave her heartburn, but it wasn't another esophageal spasm. She knew the difference.
“You may answer,” Holt told BJ.
BJ looked at Sandra again as though at a loss for words. Sandra wanted to help her, but there was nothing she could do.
“Rufina loves all my children, and she most definitely did not—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Schindler. And the reason she didn't like Katy Jo was Katy Jo was the one who set the fire that burned down the defendant's home, killed the defendant's husband, and inflicted severe burns with horrible scars that would last the defendant a lifetime.” Holt drew a deep breath. “Isn't that true?”
“Absolutely not.” BJ's voice echoed off the walls like she had spoken into a megaphone.
“Which part of that is not true?”
“Rufina loves—loved Katy Jo.”
“So the other part is true. Katy Jo set the fire?”
“I've never been one-hundred percent convinced of that.”
“Isn't it true Katy Jo confessed to setting the fire?”
BJ looked about as miserable as anyone could. “Yes, but—”
“Wasn't she sent to the Texas Youth Commission for a year and then on juvenile parole when she got out? I mean, she had to plead guilty in court, didn't she? Had to admit she'd done it?”
“I never thought she did it. I still don't.”
“The fact remains she was adjudicated a delinquent child and sent to TYC for setting the fire, correct?”
“Yes.” BJ wailed and grabbed a handful of tissues from the box next to the microphone, covering her face with them.
Erma began to rise, but Sandra grabbed her arm, preventing Erma from doing anything that might further jeopardize their position. Rufina had her head bowed. Behind them, Mel sniffed. BJ's sobs could be heard over the murmurings of the jurors. Sandra stood and said, “Judge, I think now would be a good time to take the morning break.”
Judge Danforth nodded with a look of relief. “I agree.” He turned to the jurors and instructed them to take fifteen-minutes and not to discuss the case with anyone or each other.
As soon as the room emptied, Erma hurried to BJ. “Come on, honey bunch.” Erma slipped an arm across BJ's shoulders.
BJ, head-hanging, stepped down from the witness stand and let Erma walk her to counsel table, where BJ sat down. Rufina rolled her chair around and sat knee-to-knee with BJ, taking her hands in her own and squeezing them.
“It's bueno, Billie J. Look at me.” Rufina put her head close, almost forcing BJ to open her eyes. “We know Katy Jo was a good girl.” She shook BJ's arm. “Look at me,” she said again. “I'm not crying, and I'm on trial for murder.”
A small smile appeared on BJ's lips. “This is no time to kid around.”
“We knew this would come out, didn't we?” Rufina asked. “Even if we never believed it.”
Sandra stood over them, listening to every word. No one could doubt the two women were the closest of friends. Rufina had never believed the allegations against Katy Jo, and BJ didn't believe the allegations against Rufina. Mel handed BJ a glass of water and dropped a packet of tissues in her lap on top of her purse. Erma gripped the back of BJ's chair, smoke practically streaming from her ears.
“You don't hate—didn't hate Katy Jo,” BJ said. “You never hated anyone.”
Erma took a step back. “Except maybe the fucking prosecutor.”
Mel raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything.
Rufina shook her head. “He's just doing his job.”
BJ mopped her eyes. “I didn't know testifying would be so hard. I thought I could just tell what I knew.” Tears continued to flow down her face.
Erma put her hand on BJ's shoulder. “I sure was surprised to see you this morning. Thought you were running down to Mexico.”
“I was on my way out the door when a deputy showed up with a subpoena. I literally had one foot outside the door, getting ready to lock it.” BJ blotted her nose. “He followed me all the way here like he thought I might not come.”
Sandra crouched down. “You're going to be all right but be prepared for Holt to be just as hard on you the rest of the morning when court reconvenes.”
BJ smeared her mascara with the damp tissues. “I—I just need to go downstairs to the restroom and fix my face. I feel better now.” She touched Rufina's arm. “I'm sorry, Rufina. I hope I’m not making a mess of things.”
Erma said, “Rufina, you understand we were going to open our defense with BJ's testimony—let her talk about you and her and how close you've always been since high school before we got into the case?”
Rufina nodded and took BJ's hand. “Do the best you can when you get back up there, Billie J.” She stepped in front of BJ and dipped her head down until she could catch her eye. “We'll get through this.”
Sandra felt the urge to give in to tears herself but swallowed the lump in her throat. “Let's go downstairs and take advantage of this break before our fifteen-minutes expire.” She ushered them toward the courtroom exit. She wanted a few minutes to give BJ a pep talk before Holt resumed his questioning.
A bit past the fifteen-minute deadline, the five women entered the courtroom. The judge, the prosecutor, the bailiff, and the court reporter, all men, were in place and watched them walk up the aisle. The court reporter and the bailiff turned away, taking their respective places, but the judge and prosecutor, who were already in place, frowned and stared.
Sandra waited for the judge to remark on their being a minute or two late, but he hovered over the counter, his eyes scrutinizing them, his arms crossed, and said nothing.
They took their seats, Erma turning to BJ first and saying, “Show them some spunk, amiga.”
BJ walked to the witness stand and stood next to it.
“You may retake the stand, Mrs. Schindler.” The judge's tone and demeanor had softened. “Have you pulled yourself together?”
A muscle in BJ's jaw flexed. She set her purse on the floor and squared her shoulders. “Yes, I have.”
The bailiff brought the jurors back into court and the trial continued.
“Now, where were we, Mrs. Schindler?” Holt made like he was studying his notes. “Oh, yes. We were talking about the decedent, Katy Jo, having burned down the defendant's house and being adjudicated for it. Correct?”
BJ squared her shoulders. “Yep, Mr. Holt. That's what you were asking about, all right. I'm sure you have my daughter's records right in front of you in case you need any more information, even though the file is supposed to be sealed.”
Erma muttered. “That's my girl.”
Holt's assistant pushed a file folder next to his legal pad. Holt cleared his throat again. “Let's go back to the dinner the night of your daughter's murder, all right?”
BJ didn't say anything.
“Besides your twin daughters, the other attendees were your son, Katy Jo's boyfriend, and Elgin Burgess. Correct?”
“Yes. Six of us.”
“Did you cook the dinner, ma'am?”
“No, I did not.”
“Who cooked the dinner?”
“Two of the women who work for me prepared the meal under Rufina's supervision, if that's what you're getting at.”
“So the defendant was at your house when dinner was being prepared and served, and yet she wasn't invited to sit down and break bread with the family.”
“That's right.”
He shook his head like he was confused. “Wait, wait, wait. Let's back up. The defendant works for you?”
“Yes. Rufina works for me.”
Sandra couldn't tell from Holt's face what he knew. Surely their investigation had revealed everything there was to know about Rufina.
“What is the nature of her employment?”
“She's the ranch housekeeper, which includes supervision of the household staff.”
Holt rubbed his hands together like he was warming up for the kill. Sandra was familiar with that action, having seen it in court many times. Now, she hadn't a clue about where he was going with the current line of questioning.
“How many people do you have in your household staff?” Holt asked.
Sandra got to her feet. “Objection, relevance.”
Holt stood, but the judge was faster. “Overruled.”
“So how many people work in your household, Mrs. Schindler?”
“In the household? Four women including Rufina.”
“What do the four women do each day?”
Sandra stood again. “Isn't this getting a little off topic, Judge? Really, what relevance could the duties of the household staff have to whether or not my client, Mrs. Rufina Barboza, committed the act in question?”
The judge's gaze went to Holt.
“I'll move along, Judge.”
The judge failed to rule or say anything. That kind of thing always annoyed Sandra. “Are you going to rule on my objection, Judge?” She wanted to make sure the record reflected every single thing that transpired in the courtroom, to preserve it for appeal.
The judge's eyes flitted to Sandra's face and back to whatever was on the counter in front of him. For all she knew, it was a crossword puzzle. “Sustained.”
“Mrs. Schindler, let me ask you this. Those four household staff, do they all live on the ranch?”
“Yes, they do.”
“Where do they live on the ranch?”
“Well, you already know Rufina has a cottage near my house. Her cottage has always been the housekeeper's cottage. The other women live in smaller cottages in various locations around the ranch.”
“So no one lives in the house with you?”
“None of the staff, no.”
Holt nodded and checked something off on his legal pad. He muttered something to the assistant sitting second chair. “So each evening, the staff goes home to their cottages?”
“If they're through with their duties. If I entertain, they stay until I don't need them anymore.”
“So on the night of Katy Jo's murder, when did the staff leave?”
“After serving dinner.”
“They didn't stay to clean up?”
“They clean up in the morning.”
“The defendant left as well?”
“After dinner was prepared, I believe.”
“Don't you think it was offensive to the defendant to have to go home when everyone else was sitting down to dinner? I mean, couldn't you have asked her to sit down with the rest of y'all?”
“I could have, but I didn't.” BJ's eyes went to Rufina who was biting her lower lip.
“Why not?” Before BJ could answer, Holt modified his question. “Why didn't you ask the defendant to have dinner with the family?”
“She has a life, Mr. Holt. Every one of them has a life outside of working for me.”
The jurors were like spectators at a tennis match, their eyes, if not their heads, bouncing from lawyer to witness and witness to lawyer.
“What do you mean, ma'am?”
BJ's face screwed up, and she shrugged like she thought he was a dimwit. “They have husbands. They have children. They have other things to do besides work in my house.”
Erma whispered into Sandra's ear. “That's telling the dumb ass.” Sandra reined in a snort.
Holt scribbled some more. “The others may have all that, but what does the defendant have?”
“Well, for one thing, Mr. Holt, that night Rufina had a date who was waiting for her in her cottage.”
There was a small pull at the side of Holt's mouth and his eyes flared. He scooted toward his assistant and said something, clicking his pen many times in quick succession. The assistant thumbed through pieces of paper.
Rufina covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide, apparently surprised at BJ’s testimony.
“Stop that,” Erma said in a fierce whisper to Rufina. “Hands down. Sit up straight.”
Holt wrote something and leaned far back in his chair. He crossed his right leg over his left, his elbows propping him up on the arm rests. “You expect this court—this jury—to believe the defendant had a—a boyfriend waiting for her on the night of the murder?” His tone spoke volumes.
“Is that so hard to believe, Mr. Holt? Rufina is a lovely person.” BJ winked at Rufina where the jury couldn't see it.
Holt tapped his pen on his lips. “Was he waiting for her to get off work? Waiting in the cottage?”
“I'm not one hundred percent sure he was there when she left my house, but he was supposed to be meeting her.”
“Did anyone see him?”
“I have no idea.”
Sandra and Erma exchanged glances. Doug would have seen him, but Doug wasn't supposed to be in Rufina's cottage. Had Doug told anyone Efrain was in Rufina's cottage? Rex couldn't have known, or he would have told Holt, but Holt appeared surprised by that bit of information.
Holt made a few more marks on his legal pad. “What, pray tell, is this alleged boyfriend's name?”
BJ's face blanched. Her eyes met Sandra's in a plea for help. Sandra made a barely perceptible shake of her head. If BJ didn't tell Holt or said she didn't know, no one would believe a boyfriend existed, which would blow at least part of their defense. If she did tell Holt, he would immediately have his office check out Efrain. They wouldn't be able to find anything since Efrain had no U.S. or Texas criminal history and wasn't in the country legally. That would open up further examination as to his existence.
BJ clasped her hands in front of her mouth. “Efrain Montes.”
“I didn't hear you, Mrs. Schindler,” Holt said. “Take your hands from in front of your face.”
BJ pulled her hands down and cast her eyes at Rufina again. “Efrain Montes.”
The expression on Holt's face was nothing if not startled, like he thought BJ wouldn't know the boyfriend's name. “Tell the members of the jury where Mr. Montes lives.”
“I have no idea.”
“You have no idea?”
Sandra hoped the jury disliked Holt's demeanor as much as she did. She hoped they didn't appreciate his sarcastic questions and comments and immature behavior. Furthermore, she hoped his behavior would adversely affect at least one of the jurors, make him or her focus even more on reasonable doubt than he or she otherwise would have. Her eyes roved over their faces and came to rest on the black woman who was juror number twelve. The woman made brief eye contact, sending a tiny jolt of hope through Sandra. Could the juror feel a connection with the defense side of the case?
BJ said, her mouth way too close to the microphone, “That's what I said, Mr. Holt. Efrain is Rufina's boyfriend, not mine. Why should I know where he lives?”
“Has she introduced you to this alleged boyfriend?” Holt asked in a skeptical tone.
“No.”
“Well, if the defendant is your best friend like you say she is, why wouldn't she have introduced you to her boyfriend?”
“You'll have to ask her.” BJ let her shoulders drop and crossed her arms.
Erma said, “Huh,” slightly louder than a whisper. The judge's eyes fl
ickered at her, and she shrugged one shoulder. Sidling over to Sandra, she whispered, “He asked the wrong question.”
Holt stood. “At this time, Your Honor, I'd like to reserve the rest of my questioning for cross-examination.”
From her experience in the Galveston DA's office, Sandra knew Holt was buying time, so he could conduct a criminal background check on Efrain. In fact, she was sure he'd run as thorough a check on Efrain as possible to see if the man truly existed.
“Any questions at this time, Mrs. Salinsky?”
“No, Your Honor. I reserve my questions for direct examination, should I choose to call Mrs. Schindler as a witness.”
“Court will be in recess for lunch until one-thirty this afternoon.” The judge left the bench and went into chambers.
Sandra put her knuckles to her mouth to hide the smile she couldn't quite conceal. Holt couldn't ask Rufina a damn thing unless she testified. And he wouldn’t be able to cross-examine BJ later, if they never put her back on the witness stand.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
After lunch, when court reconvened, Holt said, “The state calls Adrian Wegner.”
Following the ER doctor's advice, Sandra had eaten only a small salad and had agreed to let Erma cross-examine the fingerprint expert. This time, Erma sat in the aisle chair across from Holt. Sandra flipped to the trial notebook pages containing documents the State had produced in response to the Motion for Discovery.
Holt took the witness though preliminary questions, establishing him as an expert, then dove right in. “You're the resident fingerprint guru in this area, are you not, Mr. Wegner?”
Wegner, a short, wiry man of about fifty with bulging eyes like a cow, tented his fingers, his elbows on the counter in front of him. “You could say that, Mr. Holt.”
“You've testified in court before?”
Erma hopped up. “Judge, I think Mr. Holt covered this when he established Mr. Wegner as an expert.”
“Sustained. Move along, Mr. Holt.”
Erma sat back down. Sandra met Holt's eyes behind Erma's back. She could swear laser beams were flying across the aisle.
“Sir, you said you're a forensic fingerprint expert?”
“Correct. Also known as a latent print examiner.”
Death of a Rancher's Daughter Page 28