Kip sat silently. His arms were no longer crossed over his chest. Instead they rested on the arms of the chair. He was feeling better, but Ian knew he still needed reassurance.
“Kip, it’s okay. The governor was very clear that Hannah’s problems won’t derail the nomination if you handle them the right way.”
“I shouldn’t have to handle them at all,” Kip grumbled. His eyes slid toward Ian. “What would you do? I mean if you were me.”
“I guess first thing I’d do is figure out if I thought she was guilty. I’d have a tough time even looking at someone who did that to my father,” Ian answered truthfully. His gaze met Kip’s head on and he revised that thought. He was, after all, talking about Fritz. “But, that’s something you’ll have to deal with personally. Next thing I’d do is act judicial.”
“Meaning?”
“Think about it. How does a judge comport himself?”
“I don’t know, Ian. Why don’t you tell me?” Kip snapped.
“Well he doesn’t act like a spoiled kid, for one thing. And don’t start with me for another,” Ian answered coolly. “I’m not your father and all I care about is the health of this firm. If you want my help and support during your confirmation, I would suggest you listen. Be proactive, or Hannah’s troubles will overshadow your opportunities.”
Kip swung out of the chair and paced. “I don’t want anyone looking into my private life, or Fritz’s. I don’t want them looking into my business.”
“Don’t worry about it. Business is totally irrelevant to what’s going on,” Ian insisted. “If you hide away, though, people will ask questions.”
“And if I show my face people will ask questions.”
Ian threw up his hands, “Kip, come on. Don’t think what could happen; decide what you want to happen. If you answer questions then you control the spin. You’ve got to make a pre-emptive strike because the sooner Hannah is out of the public eye, the sooner she’ll be forgotten, your father will be forgotten, and you can get on with your life. Only you can make that happen.”
Ian Frank smiled as Kip Rayburn’s eyes lit up - finally.
“So you’re saying. . .”
“Have a game plan. Ask yourself what you can do to make this disappear faster. There’s no upside to dragging this out like a civil matter.”
Kip’s fingers drummed on the arms of the chair as he thought.
“If there’s a trial?”
“Assist Hannah’s attorney. Give her what she needs to wrap it up fast.”
“If there’s no trial?”
“Send the kid to boarding school. Once she’s eighteen she’s on her own,” Ian said, opening his hands as if he had the world between them. “Unless Linda would object.”
“Linda?” Kip cocked his head as if he had just heard something disturbing. “Linda has been very protective.”
“Okay, work that out later. For now be supportive, talk about your faith in the law and do what you can to expedite this. The key word is expedite. Do that, and Hannah Sheraton is nothing but a memory.” Ian rested his cheek on an upturned hand and smiled. “Expedite, expedite. Expedite the matter of Hannah Sheraton.”
“Hi. Good morning, Ms. Bates.”
The new receptionist grinned as Josie came through the door. She was a coat tree of a girl: all skin and bones, hard angles and points. Anorexia would have been the logical assumption if Tiffany wasn’t constantly munching, eating, tasting and sipping. Today it was a tall Frappacino and pizza bagel.
“Tiffany, I want you to call me Josie. Got it? Josie.” Tiffany grinned and nodded while Josie collected her message slips. There was only one, and Tiffany gave the audio version while Josie read.
“Mr. Fistonich called and said he’d be in the neighborhood and could sign his living will any time. No problem.” She stopped for a breath and a bite. “I think he likes you.”
“I like him, too,” Josie muttered. “Call him back and tell him it’s ready. Check with Angie so she can be available as a witness. Whatever time this afternoon is good with me.”
“Okay.”
Tiffany made a note and took another huge bite of her bagel. Josie crinkled her nose.
“You don’t do that when anyone is waiting, do you?” She raised her chin indicating the bagel that had just disappeared into the receptionist’s mouth. Tiffany shook her head and put her fingertips over her lips; too polite to speak when it was full.
“Is Faye here?” Tiffany nodded, swallowed hard and said:
“Yes. She wants to see you the min. . .”
Josie was already gone, stopping in Angie’s office to ask her to open a file on Hannah Sheraton, putting her briefcase in her own office, heading down the hall to Faye’s, and dropping into one of the client chairs.
“Boy, am I glad you’re back. I have had one miserable morning.”
“Funny, I heard you had a great morning in Santa Monica.” Faye set aside her work and took off her glasses. She looked tired – or worried. “I got a call from Marge Sterling at the AP. Then a man named Wobley from the Times got on the horn. They wanted a comment regarding your representation of a girl accused of murdering Fritz Rayburn.”
“What did you tell them?” Josie asked.
“I told them the firm had no comment and would issue a statement when it was appropriate. So,” Faye opened her hands, inviting Josie to fill her up with information. “What happened between the time I left Friday night to see my grandchild, and this morning? Leaving me a message that you were helping out an old friend whose daughter was in trouble wasn’t exactly on target.”
“That’s what I was doing.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that this had to do with Justice Rayburn?”
“It was a bail hearing,” Josie insisted, knowing she should have given Faye a head’s up. There was only one reason she didn’t. If she failed, she didn’t want Faye to know.
“A bail hearing doesn’t take all morning,” Faye pointed out.
“I talked to the prosecutor about a deal. I thought I could make it go away.”
“And could you?”
“No.” Josie shook her head. She looked at her short nails. Her fingertips were calloused from tile work. She dropped her hand, and when she looked at Faye her expression was one of frustration and confusion, anger and concern. “I have a history with the prosecutor. I’m not his favorite person.” Josie sat up and forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “He thinks I knew Kristin Davis was guilty when I defended her. He thinks I only cared about winning.”
“What’s that got to do with this girl?” Faye asked.
Josie’s blue eyes rested thoughtfully on a midpoint over Faye’s shoulder.
“He wants a pound of flesh to make up for Kristin.”
“Is that what you want? To make up for Kristin?”
“Maybe.” Josie’s gaze met Faye’s. “Maybe a little of this is making up because Kristin’s kids died because of me. I don’t carry it around the way Rudy does, but I think about it. I dream about it. When he laid into me, I wondered what I was doing with Hannah Sheraton. I mean, is she just a challenge? Is the case a challenge? Is that what I was doing there this morning, or was I trying to make amends?”
Faye leaned her cheek on an upturned palm for a second, and then laced her hands in front of her.
“To tell you the truth, Josie, I don’t care why you were there. I care that you were.” Faye sighed. She looked disappointed. “Three years ago you swore you just wanted to be part of a quiet, neighborhood law practice and now it seems that’s not what you want at all. I’ve always said you had wide discretion when it came to clients, but I also assumed that you would do me the courtesy of consulting me if what you were doing would impact this firm.”
“Everything I do impacts this firm, Faye, and I think all of it has been good. Isn’t that why you left me the partnership papers to sign Friday?”
“Don’t play games, Josie. You argued for bail, and I had two reporters call for statements. I
’m not some yokel. I know this is just the beginning. Thirty years ago I may have enjoyed the attention, but not now.”
Faye took a deep breath. She wasn’t happy.
“We help real people. Some of them are women running away from bad situations. Some of our clients are old. Most are just plain happy being in this small town. Do you think they’ll feel comfortable with the press crawling all over this case? Do you think our clients are going to like it when they see your picture on the five o’clock news, or they can’t get hold of you because you’re in court for weeks, instead of hours?”
Josie’s fingers went to her lips again but she stopped short of biting her nails. She hadn’t done that since she was fourteen.
“You’re right. Everything happened so fast,” Josie mused.
“I understand the lure of old times and old challenges. Look, you’re an athlete, Josie. Sport isn’t only a physical thing. Once you get wrapped around this you won’t quit until you’ve won.”
Josie wriggled her fingers. She made a fist before flexing again. She moved in her chair like a fighter unwilling to admit he was past his prime, but still eager to see if he could survive one more bout in the ring.
“It’s the girl who’s important.” Josie said. “I had a connection with her that I just couldn’t ignore.”
“That’s valid but will you be able to live with whatever you do for her?”
“Rudy is taking this to the grand jury. I’ve got at least three days to figure that out, I guess.”
“Well, then I suppose we’ll see what happens in three days, won’t we?” Faye picked up her glasses, but when she put them on she didn’t seem ready to work. She was looking at Josie as if she wore magnifying glasses.
“I don’t want to see you hurt, Josie, and I don’t want to see my practice compromised.”
Josie tilted back in the chair. She tapped her feet softly. Faye’s perspective had put her off her timing and her tenuous commitment. She stood up.
“I’d never do anything to compromise this practice, or you. I’ll pass on this if you say so, but Hannah’s a step kid stuck in between her mother and Fritz Rayburn’s son. Who else is going to defend someone like that?”
“There are plenty who will, Josie,” Faye answered truthfully.
“Not the way I will, Faye. I’ve been on top; I don’t care whether I get there again so I don’t have an outside agenda. Linda is worried about her marriage; her stepfather wouldn’t mind if she disappeared. I’ll be there just for Hannah.”
Faye knew Josie was walking into a brick wall but she also knew she couldn’t do anything about that so she gave neither blessing, nor veto.
“Keep it to a dull roar, Josie, that’s all I ask.”
Josie stepped away from the desk, a half-smile on her face. This was no resounding cry of support, but it was something. She was almost out the door when Faye called to her.
“Josie, nothing you do for this girl will make up for the past. Not your lawyer past, or your daughter past. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she answered.
It was the first time she had lied to Faye.
10
“Today, the grand jury indicted Hannah Sheraton on charges of arson and murder. She remains free on bail. No trial date has been set.” - Superior Court Press Office
“I am pleased to announce that I will ask the Commission on Judicial Appointments to confirm the nomination of Kip Rayburn to the California Supreme Court. Mr. Rayburn brings a wealth of experience to the bench. On a personal note, Mr. Rayburn’s father, Fritz Rayburn, was the victim of a horrible crime. While the Rayburn family has suffered greatly, this experience will set Mr. Rayburn apart in terms of empathy and fortitude. I look forward to Kip Rayburn’s confirmation so that he may carry on the excellent work his father began.” - Joe Davidson, Governor of California
“I’m honored by the governor’s nomination and look forward to the confirmation process. Until then, I will do everything possible to support my wife, and her daughter, during the coming days of Hannah’s trial and hope that a judicious solution to this sad problem can be expeditiously found. No, I’m sorry, no more questions.” - Kip Rayburn, California Supreme Court Nominee
Archer was in Mexico checking up on a young pup CFO whose board of directors believed he was smuggling drugs in the widgets they manufactured down there in Baja. He had proved them right in record time, sent a bill from Cabo and was now on a picture safari, incommunicado, camping on some beach, taking his time coming back. He didn’t know that Hannah had been indicted, but everyone else in the world did. Nobody could have kept a lid on what was going on. California loved a triangle and, as triangles went, this one was a dozy. Talk radio aficionados were already split with those who figured the stepdaughter was a bitch of the first degree and should fry, those who sympathized with the plight of a stepchild probably pushed to take drastic steps to be noticed, and those who refused to believe a child could possibly have had anything to do with Judge Rayburn’s death.
Baxter & Associates was reeling from the impact. Faye wasn’t happy. Josie was subdued. Angie, who was used to drawing up standard paperwork, was now organizing the discovery documents: arson reports, timelines, police reports, forensics, autopsy report and interviews with anyone who ever had any contact with Hannah Sheraton. Tiffany barely had time for a snack as reporters called for comments, and new clients with big problems called for consults.
Linda was devastated. She had convinced herself this was all a mistake. When Josie told them about the indictment and what would follow, Hannah touched her mother over and over again trying, perhaps, to comfort them both. Hannah’s green eyes never left Josie’s face, and Josie did not suggest they think about finding another attorney for the trial. She couldn’t in the face of Hannah’s silent fear.
On the beach, people who hadn’t realized Josie was an attorney suddenly looked at her differently; they had an opinion about Hannah Sheraton. Billy Zuni told Josie to friggin’ kick ass. Josie couldn’t sleep, so half the patio tiles were laid in the dead of night. When she got the jitters thinking about cross-examination, exhibits, and evidence, she felt suddenly overwhelmed by a task that long ago had been second nature. She wanted Archer back every minute that Hermosa lay under the blanket of dark. But daylight came and there was work to be done and Josie put aside her disquiet.
Four days after the indictment, Linda summoned Josie to Malibu. It was still hot, even though fat, grey clouds hung off the coast adding humidity to the heat equation, as Josie drove Pacific Coast Highway. The Rayburn’s beach house was set back two hundred yards off the highway. The closest neighbor was a mile away. The place was lit up like a movie set and might as well have been on its own planet. A giant fingerprint whorl of sand stone served as a driveway; the landscaping was exquisitely sparse: cactus, sea grasses, smooth stones, and jagged boulders. Beyond that there was beach. Prime property. Rayburn had done well for himself before taking the bench.
Twirling the Jeep into the drive, Josie stopped next to a Mercedes. A Lexus and a yellow VW bug shared the space in front of a four-car garage. Josie yanked on the emergency brake, and checked out the VW while she collected her things. The bug needed a wash and there was a boot on the back wheel. Hannah wasn’t going anywhere in that thing. Josie got out of the car, tossed her baseball cap in the back, and checked out the amazing piece of architecture the Rayburns now called home.
A seemingly simple construct, closer inspection revealed a marvelous origami box of a home: glass butted stucco, stucco melted into copper, copper ran into tile, and that tile surrounded a pool of water that welcomed visitors with a serenity that masked the problems of the people inside.
A flight of low-rise steps brought Josie to a door as tall as the ten-foot wall that surrounded the house. It had oxidized to the strangely pleasing blue-green of exposed copper. A relief of angles as sharp as a maze of thorns was etched onto its surface.
“Come in, Josie.”
Lind
a’s voice, made deeper by the intercom, came through a hidden speaker. Josie scanned for the camera. She should have tagged the security before she was seen.
“What’s the trick?” There was no knob or handle on the door.
“Push it.”
Josie did as she was told and both sides swung open. Another touch and it revolved. Yet another and it closed again. It was a brilliant collaboration of art and engineering. She pushed again and passed into a courtyard paved in buff colored tile surrounded by walls of smooth stucco. Cut through the middle of this outdoor room was an endless pool. The water seeped under a glass wall that bared the heart of the house.
In front of the glass, in the middle of the pool, stood a bronze statue of a nude woman. She was contorted into a position of perpetual pain, or ecstasy, depending on one’s point of view. Josie saw pain of the most humiliating and personal sort. Given what she knew about Hannah, Josie saw . . .
“Are you coming in?”
Josie tore her eyes from one tortured woman to another. Hannah stood in an opening in the glass wall. Her jeans were cut so low on the hip she could have belted them at her knees. Her white and blue checked long sleeved top was tied under her breasts. Her bellybutton had two piercings. There was a tattoo on her right hip and a streak of dried blood that stuck her shirtsleeve to her arm. Josie’s eyes flickered toward that wound only to look away and see the statue.
“Nice place,” Josie commented dryly.
“Un-huh.” Hannah walked to the pool, hands pumping, counting as she considered the statue.
“What do you think about that?”
“I can’t even begin to imagine what’s happening to her,” Josie said.
“I can.” Hannah’s voice was flat.
Silently Josie moved away. It would be easy to be drawn into the whirlpool of Hannah’s problems, real or imagined. But Josie wasn’t her shrink. Josie wasn’t her mother. Josie was her attorney and she had to resist Hannah’s attempt to make her anything else.
“Your mom’s expecting me.”
Hostile Witness Page 8