Death of a Rancher's Daughter

by Susan P. Baker

  Each of them sheltering under an umbrella, the five women slogged through the standing water in the parking lot, the warm wind-driven rain soaking the lower half of their bodies and clothing. Efrain parked a block away and remained in the truck, safely out of the prosecutor's attention. If he wouldn't be needed, he'd return to the ranch.

  They straggled into the ladies’ room and dried off with paper towels before going to the courtroom. The judge was already on the bench. Holt slouched in his chair, leaning over and whispering to the same young attorney who had been in and out throughout the trial. No more than a moment after Sandra laid her things down, the judge said, “For the record, Mrs. Salinsky, my clerk informed me Mr. Rex Schindler passed away yesterday evening.”

  BJ winced and slumped onto the first bench behind counsel table. When Sandra turned around, Mel had put an arm around BJ.

  Erma and Rufina shed their raincoats and draped them over the corner of the bar with their umbrellas. Sandra's eyes landed on a document lying on their table.

  “Yes, Your Honor, that's correct.”

  The judge held up some papers. “I have a Motion in Limine filed by Mr. Holt this morning. He's requested a hearing before the jury is brought back in for the conclusion of final arguments. Do you want to peruse the motion for a minute?”

  Though chilled from the rain and wind, and standing in still-wet shoes, Sandra pushed down the heat rushing through her body during the judge's speech. She refrained from looking at Holt. What a weird time to file such a motion. She could only imagine what ambush the motion contained. What else would Holt want to limit other than any reference to Rex's death?

  She handed her coat and umbrella to Erma, who handed them off to Rufina. Sandra dropped into her chair to read the motion. Erma started to say something, but Sandra held up a finger, silencing her.

  When she reached the end of the motion, Sandra said, “Get our own motion.” She stood at her chair. “I'm ready, Judge.” She still didn't look at Holt. She wanted to step across the aisle and knock his legs out from under him, so she thought it best to keep her attention on the judge.

  “You may proceed, Mr. Holt.”

  Matthew, the court reporter, who'd been browsing on his cell phone, poised to take notes.

  “Judge, as you're aware, Mr. Schindler passed away yesterday after being in an accident on the Kerrville Highway. After you recessed to enable us to go to the hospital and check on his condition—”

  “What does this have to do with the Motion in Limine?” Sandra held a ballpoint pen in her hand behind her back and clicked the plunger in and out in rapid succession like Holt had done all throughout the trial. Erma tapped her arm and handed up their motion.

  “If she'd let me finish, Judge.”

  The judge cast his eyes at her. “Go ahead, Mr. Holt.”

  “Well, anyway, I went to where he was, and he was in critical condition in the ICU. When I returned downstairs to depart, the defense lawyers were just arriving with the intention of checking on Mr. Schindler themselves. When I last saw them, they were entering the elevator.”

  Sandra shifted her feet. Her toes were wet, and as cold and clammy as her hands. She put her pen and his motion down and rubbed her hands together. Although spring had definitely come outside, the courtroom was still icy cold.

  Holt continued arguing his motion. “Now, of course I have no way of knowing what transpired between the decedent and the defense before he passed on, but on the off chance he regained consciousness, I'd like Your Honor to prohibit them from telling the jury anything Schindler may have said.”

  “You mean like a deathbed confession?” Sandra winked at Erma. That remark would annoy Holt. “When, exactly, would I be able to impart his last words to the jury?”

  Judge Danforth dipped his head and looked at them over his glasses. “Certainly anything the decedent said would be objectionable during final arguments, Mr. Holt. I think it goes without saying Mrs. Salinsky knows that.”

  “Of course I do, Judge.”

  “In an abundance of caution, and no insult intended to you or your m—Mrs. Townley, I will grant Mr. Holt's Motion in Limine.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” Holt said, “but there is a second part to my motion on the next page. I'd like the court to prohibit the defense from mentioning he—meaning Mr. Schindler—died.”

  BJ made a noise similar to a hiccup. Erma rolled back in her chair to the bar separating them and reached over to take BJ's hand. Rufina had been staring down into her lap and continued to do so. Sandra gave Holt her best are-you-kidding-me look.

  “That request is granted also,” Judge Danforth said. “Anything else?” He made a show of glancing at the clock on the far wall.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Sandra said. “The defense has a motion we'd like to file with the court. May I approach the bench?” After the judge nodded, Sandra handed him a copy and then one to Holt on the way back to her table. “May I proceed?”

  The judge inclined his head, his eyebrows drawn together. There was no doubt he'd been tired of the case almost as soon as it had started. Sandra didn't know why some judges insisted on sitting by assignment after they retired.

  “Your Honor, in the interim between the beginning of Mr. Holt's final argument and last night, Mrs. Schindler located Mrs. Barboza's alibi witness and brought him back to Fredericksburg.”

  Holt had stood also and was snorting as loud as a mad horse.

  “Since final arguments have not concluded and, in fact, I barely began before being interrupted by news of Rex Schindler's accident, the defense humbly moves the court to reopen and allow the defense to put on our case.”

  “Judge—”

  “I'm not through,” Sandra said. “I just paused to get my breath.”

  Holt crossed his arms.

  “Additionally, we have Mrs. BJ Schindler, who was not available when the time came to put on our defense. So we'd have two witnesses, Judge, and only two. Mrs. Schindler, whom I know Mr. Holt had wanted to cross-examine again based on his statement earlier in the trial, and the alibi witness.” Sandra stopped for a moment to get another breath. The courtroom was so quiet, the clock's ticking sounded abnormally loud. “That's all, Judge, only two. We pray, in the interest of justice, you grant our Motion to Reopen.”

  Holt looked like he was going into cardiac arrest. His hand went to his chest. “May I respond, Your Honor?” His voice bounced off the walls.

  The judge cleared his throat. He ducked his head, looking down at the motion on the counter in front of him. He peered over his glasses, from Sandra to Holt, to Erma and Rufina, and finally, at BJ. “Ordinarily I'd allow you to respond, Mr. Holt, but in this case, it's not necessary. Motion denied.”

  Sandra's heart fell to the floor. She didn't need to hear the rest of what he said. In fact, anger overcame her so quickly she was incapable of hearing what else he said, only that the bailiff was to bring in the jury.

  Before she stood to begin her final argument, Sandra drew a deep breath. As she rose, she said to Erma, “I'm going with my theory of the case.”

  “What?” Erma grabbed Sandra's arm. “You can't. I'm not even sure what that is.”

  Sandra pulled her arm away. She whispered over her shoulder as she spun to the side to get up, “Don't worry.” She thought she knew what had really happened the night of the murder and was hopeful by the time arguments were over, the jurors would agree.

  She straightened the cotton jacket she'd found in a shop on Main Street, buttoning the waist button. The print jacket had dark pink and yellow flowers. The skirt and blouse were a solid fuchsia, a color that went well with her dark hair. Her peep-toe pumps matched the skirt and blouse. She'd liked them when she bought them but now wished for warmer, closed-toe shoes.

  “May it please the Court.” Sandra walked to the podium one last time. She gave the judge and Holt cursory nods because it was customary, not because she had any respect for them. She'd swallowed her anger by then, convinced winning the case was her bes
t revenge.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience this week. In all trials, matters arise that cause delays. Sometimes the judge and the attorneys have to put their heads together to resolve an issue. Often the best thing to do is send you to stretch your legs. This was one of those times, and I appreciate your forbearance.”

  The judge had confined the lawyers to a small space behind the podium, out of meanness, Sandra thought, advising them if they moved from that area, he'd dress them down in front of the jury. She felt constrained by the restriction, like the judge had pinned her elbows to her sides. Her way was to speak with her body, her arms and hands, and move around more than a bit.

  She drew a deep breath and made eye contact with each juror on the front row. “This case is styled 'The State of Texas versus Rufina Barboza,' which only means someone in authority has chosen to proceed against Mrs. Barboza. Mr. Holt, in this case, is that someone. He has the sole discretion to prosecute or not regardless of whether there has been an indictment handed down by a Grand Jury. In this case, Mr. Holt chose to prosecute the Widow Barboza solely based on circumstantial evidence.”

  Sandra switched her focus to the people on the back row. “In the charge, which you will take back to the jury room to read over before you begin deliberating, circumstantial evidence and direct evidence are defined.” Her greatest desire was to stand up there and tell them the case was bullshit brought because the now-deceased Rex Schindler had convinced his buddy, the prosecutor, to bring it, for what real reason, she didn't know. “I implore you to study those legal definitions. Now, on the night in question, after heavy drinking by several guests—”

  “Objection,” Holt said from behind her. “Mischaracterization of the evidence.”

  Sandra faced the judge. “What do you call it, Your Honor, when people gulp at least four shots of mezcal and top it off with wine? I call it heavy drinking.”

  The judge raised an eyebrow. “Overruled, Mr. Holt. You may continue, Mrs. Salinsky.”

  “On the night in question, after dinner and numerous drinks, supposedly everyone either went home or to their rooms or cottages. The two women who worked under Mrs. Barboza left shortly after serving dinner. Doug Christian testified Katy Jo went to Rufina's cottage where the couple was staying overnight. Kathy Lynn and BJ went to their rooms. Well, BJ did.

  “We don't know where Kathy Lynn went.” Though she didn't suspect Kathy Lynn of killing her twin, Sandra's job was to instill reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. She'd wait a moment more and let the unknown whereabouts of Kathy Lynn sink in.

  She swallowed from a small bottle of water she'd taken up to the podium. As she did so, she glanced at the gallery to her right. Along with some courthouse regulars she'd seen during the trial, Jared sat on the back row. She appreciated his coming. She hadn't decided what to do about him but was glad to see him.

  “Kathy Lynn aside, supposedly Rex Schindler walked Elgin Burgess to his car and went to his own room.” She made eye contact with the one juror they hoped was on their side. The woman didn't drop her eyes. Eye contact was usually a good sign. “That accounts for everyone at the dinner. Except, did Rex Schindler truly go to his room? We've heard no evidence about that.”

  Sandra glanced down at her notes while her words sank in. She was sure the jury could see the holes in the State's case. “We don't know if Rex really did walk Elgin Burgess to his car, as Mr. Burgess testified, or if Elgin Burgess really did leave. He could have started his engine, waited for Rex to go into the house, and turned off the ignition. He could have gone back inside himself. The home has several entrances. There's been no testimony about the security system.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Holt said. “She's testifying.”

  “Sustained.”

  Without missing a beat, Sandra said, “Nobody said if Mr. Burgess had a key to the Schindler home. No one asked him, and no one said. No one testified about the security system and whether Burgess knew the code.

  “Not long after everyone supposedly went to their rooms or left the premises, BJ Schindler was in the master bedroom bathroom, which is on the other side of the wall from the king-sized bed. Katy Jo had doubled back and climbed into bed with her mother, like she had when she was a little girl and wanted to discuss something. The lights were off, the bedroom dark. From the doorway the killer couldn't tell who was in the bed.”

  The jurors, several of whom were on the edge of their seats, wore doom-and-gloom expressions, all eyes on Sandra, just the way she liked them.

  “Someone—someone no one saw—opened the door and fired.” Sandra thrust her forefinger up. “Bang!”

  Several jurors jerked.

  “He didn't drop the gun, no, he made a quick exit before Mrs. Schindler came out of the bathroom and before anyone else could run to the master bedroom and catch him.” She stepped back from the podium, released a deep breath, and stepped forward again. All eyes were still on her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, there were no eyewitnesses to this shooting. Doug Christian allegedly discovered the weapon on the path to Mrs. Barboza's cottage. No eyewitnesses told us who put it on the path, who may have thrown it or dropped it accidentally and not stopped to pick it up. Any one of the unaccounted-for people could have been responsible for positioning the gun outside the cottage, if, in fact, that's where Doug Christian came across it.”

  Acid was making inroads in Sandra's stomach. She took another sip of water.

  “When law enforcement arrived at Mrs. Schindler's home, the family had gathered in the kitchen, and, when I say family, I'm including Rufina Barboza. Elgin Burgess was nowhere to be seen. Doug Christian had taken the gun inside but kept it in his pocket at first.

  “Mrs. Barboza was in her nightgown and a bathrobe. The state is asking you to believe she took the gun with her to her cottage sometime before the shooting, returned to the house to do the shooting, ran back to her cottage, changed into her nightclothes and returned to the house again. If she had dropped the gun on the path to her cottage, wouldn't she have stopped to pick it up and gotten rid of it?

  “Further, the State is asking you to conclude that Rufina Barboza, this little lady at the table behind me,” Sandra pointed at Rufina, “somehow, sometime received handgun training enabling her, in spite of her disability—her scarred hand and arm—to shoot into a dark room and hit her target. The state's position stretches the limits of credulity.”

  One good thing about standing behind a barrier, at least she could wipe off her hands. They had grown sweaty, in spite of the cold. She flexed her fingers, stiff from gripping the podium.

  “Though it's difficult to discuss someone's disability or injuries, today is one of those times when it must be mentioned. You could not have failed to see the massive scarring covering one side of this lady's body. The scarring extends to her limbs, her hand. You've heard testimony that not only would it be difficult for such a small woman to handle the weapon in question, but she would need to have strength and flexibility in her hands to do so. No logical person would have chosen a huge, heavy handgun...”

  She chanced walking to the small table where the exhibits sat and picked up the gun, holding it with both hands like it was a heavy burden. The judge didn't say anything. His admonition must not apply to the space between the lectern and the exhibit table.

  “ ...when a smaller one, easier for her to use, was available.”

  She put the gun back and pointed to Rufina. “Mr. Holt argued this lady could have gotten keys to the gun cabinet. He said having keys to the gun cabinet gave her one of the three factors authorities look at in a criminal case. Like he told you, those three are means, motive, and opportunity. He claims she had means. She did. She had access to the keys, but so did everyone else in the family, or at least everyone knew where Mrs. Schindler kept the keys.

  “Think about this for a moment. If Mrs. Barboza had the means on the night in question, she'd had the means ever since she found out where the keys were—ever since
her best friend, Mrs. Schindler, asked her to take over the role as señora. Why, of all the nights in all the years she's had access to the keys, would she have chosen that particular night to take what Mr. Holt has said was her revenge? She wouldn't, and she didn't. She's had plenty of chances over the years to plan the demise of Katy Jo Schindler. Would any idiot have chosen that night when so many people were in and around the Schindler home? The answer to that question is yes. But Rufina Barboza was not that idiot. The idiot was someone else, possibly someone who'd had too much to drink.”

  Holt's chair clattered against the bar behind Sandra. “Your Honor, I object.”

  “What is it now, Mr. Holt?”

  “She's...” he stopped as if realizing he didn't have an objection.

  Sandra shook her head like you-poor-man. “All right.” She shrugged one shoulder. “It could have been anyone, not just one of the—the people who had drunk too much mezcal and wine.

  “Back to the issue of the gun, let's scrutinize this occasion a little closer. How logical is it to think a disabled woman would choose a heavy weapon, which was difficult for her to handle, when there was a relatively light one—one of those pink guns you heard about—just a cabinet away.

  “But, what man with access to the cabinet keys—or who knew where Mrs. Schindler kept the keys—wouldn't want to feel that historic weapon, the Smith and Wesson m1917 .45 caliber revolver in the palm of his hand?

  “Since we're talking about means, what about the second part of the trinity? Motive. One might say Mrs. Barboza had a motive to kill Katy Jo at the time of the fire—say after her husband's funeral or after her hospitalization, that is, if she were a vengeful person. But she was not and is not. She was and still is full of love for the Schindler family. She was a second mother to Katy Jo. Mrs. Barboza would never kill a young woman who was like a daughter to her.

  “Mr. Holt said Mrs. Barboza had carried hatred in her heart for years. I'm asking you to think about all the possible times over the years she could have carried out an ill intent. Mr. Holt's argument makes no sense, particularly in light of the fact Katy Jo and her boyfriend spent many nights in Mrs. Barboza's cottage.” Sandra caught BJ in the corner of her eye. Now, BJ had her arm around Mel, squeezing her tight against her. Mel pressed her trembling lips together.