Rogers led Kit directly to the courtroom. All of the seats were taken, save for a few reserved for the press. Two consternated sheriff's deputies tried to keep the peace. Rogers marched directly past the swinging gate of the rail, and Kit followed.
Heath Sloate stood near the jury box. He glanced their way, animosity pouring out of his look.
Kit began pulling out folders from her leather briefcase, the one Rogers had given her just that morning. It was a beautiful gift—a calfskin Gladstone, with "K. S." in gold lettering just below the latch. "For the start of a great career," Rogers had said.
Indeed this was the start. Her first trial, even though she was a mere apprentice and, if the judge kept true to form, a spectator. But she would be an interested spectator, and an active one.
Once the folders were out and on the table, Kit heard the familiar voice of Heath Sloate. "Mr. Rogers," he said with a sniff, ignoring Kit. He was wearing a dark three-piece suit, almost the opposite in color to Rogers' lighter, vested apparel.
"What is it, Mr. Sloate?" Rogers said.
"All of Los Angeles, it seems, is here today."
"It looks like it."
"The newspapers are well represented. This is bigger than Barnum and Bailey."
Rogers slapped a pad of paper on the table. "What is it you want?"
Sloate answered calmly. "Reports of this trial will be read as far away as New York, perhaps even Europe. It's sensational. Might make a reputation . . . or ruin one."
Rogers waited.
"Therefore," Sloate said, "it would be to our mutual benefit to fashion a way for both of us to come out, shall we say, smelling like a rose?"
"You want to make some sort of deal, don't you?"
A deal with the devil! Kit thought.
"Let's call it an understanding," Sloate said. "You have a client who is considered one of the most notorious killers of our time. Our city's very own Jack the Ripper. The populace, and I daresay the judge, will not be satisfied with anything but the noose."
"Sounds like you've got him convicted, Sloate."
"That, sir, is only a matter of time. And your reputation as a trial magician would be forever tarnished. On the other hand, if your client were to change his plea to guilty and accept responsibility for his actions, I would recommend to the judge that he be sent to prison for life. Then you can continue to claim you have never lost a man to the gallows, while I can bask in an efficient victory. Both of us will win."
Rogers squinted. "You think my client is guilty."
"Of course he is. We both know that."
"Do we?" Rogers turned to Kit. "How about it, Kit? You ready to throw in the towel?"
"What has she got to do with this?" Sloate said. "This is a matter between gentlemen."
Rogers spun around to face Sloate fully. "If I saw another gentleman here, I would agree. As it is, we will take our chances. No deal, Sloate."
"You're a fool," he said. Then he looked at Kit with an expression that said, You and I are not finished either. He returned to his table.
Kit joined Bill Jory in the gallery. She noticed the chief of police, Orel Hoover, in attendance. Truly, the entire city's attention was concentrated here.
Ted was brought in by a deputy sheriff. For the trial he was allowed to dress in a good suit of clothes. He still had a look of resignation about him, however.
So this was the real thing now. Kit closed her eyes and silently prayed for justice to be done. The strongest evidence against Ted, the testimony of Rita Alonzo, was questionable in her mind. And she knew Rogers would take care of it. She and Rogers had gone over the strategy for days.
Judge Ganges entered, sat, and banged his gavel. "Case of the People of the State of California against Theodore Fox," he said. "Everybody ready?"
"Ready, Your Honor," Sloate said.
"Ready," said Rogers.
"Then let's pick a jury."
For the next four hours Earl Rogers and Heath Sloate took turns questioning potential jurors. They sifted through the men in the box, moving them in and out like chess pieces. There was a lot of posturing, too, as Heath Sloate would state that he was looking only for men "who honored the truth, and want to see justice done." It was so pompous, yet every time he said something like it most of the men in the jury box would nod.
Rogers, for his part, asked whether the prospective jurors believed that all men are innocent until proven guilty. He asked if they understood the meaning of "beyond a reasonable doubt." On a couple of occasions, Judge Ganges gaveled Rogers into silence and said that he would be the one to explain the law to the jurors, and not the lawyers.
Not once did the judge interrupt Heath Sloate.
Finally, around one o'clock, the two lawyers agreed on their jury. The judge called for a lunch recess, with opening statements to begin in an hour.
As Kit helped Rogers gather his papers she asked, "How did it go?"
"You saw it, didn't you?" He did not seem pleased.
"It seemed as well as could be expected."
"It wasn't. Ganges is clearly favoring Sloate."
Kit nodded. "That was clear."
"The word on Ganges is that he leans toward the prosecution. I just never expected him to bend over backward. Kit?"
"Yes?"
"We need to watch out. Something here stinks."
———
Frederica Stamper Fairbank could not stop pacing. Agitation coursed through every sinew of her being. This house! I cannot stay in this house one more moment! I must go to the trial!
But then she pulled out the note from the pocket of her dress and read its contents for the twentieth time since she'd received it the day before:
My dear Freddy:
The trial begins tomorrow, and my strong advice and desire is that you spare yourself the perturbation that would attend your presence there. Suffice to say that I shall keep you abreast of activities concerning your niece and the trial itself. I feel, however, that your attendance would only make things worse for all concerned. In advance I thank you for your understanding, and beg to remain,
Your loving,
H. S.
Understanding! She had less of it now than ever. Not only was he asking her to stay out of her own niece's affairs, he was suggesting that she miss the social scandal of the year, if not the young century!
Deep down, though, she knew it was because of Kit. Oh, her Kit! Too long they had been separated! She wanted to be near her—not showing she approved of her station, of course—no, that would never do—but to look to see how she might be saved. Saved from this awful profession with which she was involved.
Oh, but Heath! He was firm in his resolve that she should not communicate with Kit. He knew what was best, after all. Didn't he?
With a deep sigh she looked out the window of the morning room, seeing in the distance the red and copper roof of the courthouse. What must be happening in there? She was aflame with curiosity.
She turned as Corazón entered with a tray of coffee. Freddy smoothed her dress and inhaled deeply, so as not to appear anxious in front of the servant.
"Thank you, Corazón," Freddy said. "You may just place it there." She nodded her head toward the coffee table.
Corazón dutifully placed the tray down, then poured coffee into the fine china cup. She added a spoonful of sugar and a touch of cream, stirring the contents.
She continued stirring. "That's just fine," Freddy said.
Corazón stirred more.
"I said that's fine." What was the matter with the girl?
Placing the spoon carefully on the saucer, Corazón stood straight and faced Freddy.
"Yes, thank you," Freddy said. "That will be all."
Corazón did not move. She looked at her hands.
"Well, what is it?" said Freddy.
"I was thought . . ." The maid's voice trailed off as she continued looking down.
"You were thought? Come, come, girl—speak plainly!"
Corazón raised h
er head. "I was thinking," she said, "that madam might be going to town today?"
"Is that a question?"
"Yes, I think."
"What business is it of yours? Really!"
Corazón seemed rebuked but did not move to leave.
"Now, now, there is something on your mind," Freddy said. "Tell me what it is."
"I was thinking you would go to the court."
"Were you? Why?"
"Because of Miss Kathleen."
"Here, now! Have you become a social secretary? What have Kit's affairs to do with you?"
"It was for you I am thinking."
Freddy paused, astonished. Never had Corazón spoken to her in this fashion. "Exactly what were you thinking about me?"
"That it would be good for you to see her, I think. That she want to see you."
Freddy sat in a large chair, a bit winded. "How do you know this?"
"I have spoken to her."
"When?"
"Sometimes I do." Corazón looked as if she had just been caught stealing silverware. "We talk sometimes. She teaches me better English and I teach her Spanish."
"You mean all the time she has been gone from this house, you have maintained contact? What has she told you?"
"That her wish is that she would see you again, I think. She always ask about you. She thinks about you always. She loves you very much."
Freddy put a hand to her heart. "Did she really say that?"
"Sí, madam."
Tears came to Freddy's eyes. She reached for her coffee, but her hand trembled as she lifted the cup. She put it back down for fear of spilling. She did not order Corazón from the room. Instead, she took up Heath Sloate's note and glanced at it again.
Should she go? Really?
But what about Heath? What about his directions? What would he think?
Heath. Kit. Go. Stay. Her mind was in a frenzy! She paced back and forth in the room, Corazón watching silently.
She stopped at the fireplace and looked at the portrait above it. Jasper Fairbank, his right hand grasping the lapel of his suit, looked confidently outward. What would Jasper have said?
"The oil won't come to you. You've got to go to the oil!"
"Order my carriage!" Freddy said.
"Truly?" said a startled Corzón.
"Yes, yes. Be quick about it. I'm going to the oil!"
Chapter Thirty
ROGERS AND KIT took their lunch back at the office, with Jory and Luther Brown. As they wolfed down sandwiches and coffee, Rogers told her about opening statements.
"It is essential," Rogers said, "to tell them a story. Jurors are not like us. We lawyers can think about a thing inextricably attached to something else, without thinking of the thing it is attached to."
Jory and Brown laughed, nodding their heads.
"But jurors," Rogers said, "are real people. They want to know what happened. Who did what to whom and why. The prosecutor gets the first word. Many defense lawyers will waive their opening until the start of their case-in-chief. That's disaster! Then the story will be the prosecutor's alone. The images in the jurors' minds will be what he wants them to hear. No! We must tell our story as soon as possible."
Rogers paused for a bite of sandwich. Kit took in every word, hoping that someday she would be telling the story of some unfortunate accused, moving the jurors in their hearts and minds the way Rogers did.
"Now," Rogers said to Kit, "when I'm telling Ted's story, I want you to watch the jury. Watch their eyes, their movements. Try to get a sense of what they are thinking. It's no exact science, this jury business. But I'll want your opinion. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Kit said.
"Good. Now, whom do you think Sloate will call first?"
Kit thought about it, running through possibilities in her mind.
"Remember," Rogers said, "it's a story. Who would be the logical person?"
"The police officer," Kit said. "O'Toole."
"Right. He can give an account that is dramatic. Now, how shall I handle his cross-examination?"
Kit said, "Use the letter."
"Of course," said Rogers. Two days ago Kit had received a letter from Melle Stanleyetta Titus, her former law professor. Kit had written her at Rogers' instruction after the preliminary hearing. It concerned the New York career of Officer O'Toole.
"Then we're ready," Rogers said. "Except for one thing."
Kit looked at him.
"You're in good with God, it seems," he said. "Ask Him for some help. I think our client is innocent, but we're going to need all the help we can to show it to this jury."
———
"Gentlemen of the jury," Heath Sloate said to the men in the box, "this is a case of brutal murder. An unfortunate young woman, forced into a life of utter despair, was violently attacked and killed in the most unforgiving way before she had a chance to repent of her ways! And that man—" Sloate turned and pointed a bony finger at Ted Fox—"is the killer. Gentlemen, it will be your duty to see that justice is done."
Kit watched the faces of the jurors, as she had been instructed. They seemed to hang on to every word from Sloate's lips. Most of them appeared to scowl at Ted when Sloate pointed.
The gallery was packed. Kit saw Tom Phelps seated on the opposite side, along with a few other scribblers. Behind him was John Barrymore, who had winked and nodded at Kit.
"Now," Sloate continued to the jury, "you are going to hear compelling evidence that will show that the defendant viciously cut the throat of this young woman, an animal tearing the life out of an innocent. There, behind the facade of a gentleman, sits a black-hearted villain!"
At this, Earl Rogers stood up. "Your Honor, this is not an opening statement, it is a melodrama. I would ask that the court admonish Mr. Sloate to stick to facts, not theatrics."
"I protest!" Sloate cried to the judge.
"Your Honor knows the law," Rogers said. "The opening statement is not the closing argument. Mr. Sloate's bad playwriting has no place in a courtroom."
As Sloate's face reddened, the judge banged his gavel. "That's enough, Mr. Rogers. I do know the law, thank you. And I'll be the one to run this courtroom. Sit down and let Mr. Sloate continue."
Rogers bowed slightly to the judge, in a way that indicated submission to a bad ruling, and sat. Kit knew the law on this, and knew Rogers was right. Why had Judge Ganges so cavalierly dismissed the objection?
Sloate's opening statement was more of the same, long on inflammatory language and short on specifics. Kit continued to study the jury. The performance was having an impact. Rogers did not object again.
In the middle of his oration, Sloate stopped when a commotion arose in the back of the courtroom.
"Unhand me!" a familiar voice shouted. All heads turned. Kit almost fell off her chair at the sight of Aunt Freddy bustling in just ahead of a befuddled deputy sheriff.
"This is a court of law!" Ganges shouted.
Aunt Freddy seemed oblivious. She looked around for a chair, but every one was occupied. A man stood up and gave Freddy his chair. She harumphed at the deputy and sat down.
"I will have no outbursts from the gallery," said Ganges. Kit suppressed a smile. She wondered how long it would be before Aunt Freddy said something else. But she was here. She had come. Maybe there was hope.
Sloate seemed the most upset—a mixture of anger and embarrassment—but he managed to finish his address to the jury without further interruptions.
When Sloate sat down it was Earl Rogers' turn.
"Gentlemen," he said. "What you have just heard is fiction. And bad fiction, dime-novel fiction, the sort of story your mothers would have tanned your hide over."
Wasting no time, Sloate shouted, "Objection!"
Rogers stopped and shot an angry look at his adversary. That same look was directed at the judge when Ganges said, "Sustained!"
"What!" Rogers bellowed.
"Your statement is inappropriate," the judge said. "It will be for the jury to decide wha
t is fiction and what is fact. Confine yourself to the latter."
Watching the jurors, Kit wondered if they realized what a bias had just been shown. Judge Ganges had rebuked Earl Rogers for the very thing Heath Sloate had done!
Now what would Rogers do? It almost seemed like Sloate and Ganges had orchestrated all this to throw Rogers off his stride in the opening statement.
Pausing, Rogers scanned the faces of the jurors, and then the gallery. Without a word he took two steps toward Heath Sloate and just stood there, hovering, his face doing the talking. It said, So the fix is in, eh?
"Mr. Rogers?" Judge Ganges said.
"Yes, Your Honor?" said Rogers with a labored politeness.
"Are you going to continue with your opening statement?"
"Ah." He turned back toward the jury. "Gentlemen, you have just heard the judge tell you that you will be the ones to separate fact from fiction. You have just sworn that you will keep an open mind until all the evidence is in, and then you will make your decision based on facts and law. Well, I trust you will do your sworn duty. If you promise me you'll do that, I'll go sit down and we can begin this trial. Deal?"
Even as Sloate stood up to object, the jurors, as one, were nodding their heads. "Your Honor!" Sloate moaned.
"You can relax, Heath," Rogers said, striding toward his chair. "The curtain is up. You can start your act now."
Some in the audience laughed, the loudest coming from John Barrymore. Kit would have recognized it anywhere.
"Call your first witness," said the judge.
It was, indeed, Officer Terrence O'Toole, the policeman who had found the body. After taking the oath, Sloate established his credentials, then had him address the night of the murder.
"Tell the jury where you were at approximately eleven o'clock the night of August ten," Sloate asked.
"I was walking my beat," O'Toole answered. "Alameda Street."
"You know the street well?"
"Sure I do."
"What is the character of the street?" Sloate questioned.
"It's not one of the better parts of town."
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