City of Angels (The Trials of Kit Shannon #1)

by James Scott Bell

  "I do," Kit said. "So help me God."

  "Congratulations, counselor," Ganges said, extending his hand.

  "Thank you," Kit said.

  She turned to Earl Rogers and embraced him. "And thank you," she said.

  "Come on," Rogers said. "There's something I want to show you."

  It was a clear, brilliant day in Los Angeles. Rogers took them by carriage down Spring Street, turning right on First and coming to a stop in front of his office. "I'll be sad to see you go," he said.

  "What?"

  "I'm afraid you'll be leaving my office."

  Kit's heart jumped. "But why?" She turned then and saw Aunt Freddy and Corazón coming down the steps of the building.

  "Well, it's about time!" Aunt Freddy huffed.

  Kit stepped out of the carriage. "What are you doing here?"

  "Why, to see the product of my patronage, of course."

  Corazón smiled broadly, as if hiding a precious secret.

  "Will someone please tell me what is going on?" Kit said.

  "Look," Corazón said, pointing upward.

  Kit raised her eyes to the second-story window at the corner of the building. There, in gold lettering, it said:

  Kathleen Shannon

  Attorney-at-Law

  "But . . ." Kit said, a hundred questions flooding her mind.

  "But nothing," Aunt Freddy said. "I will pay for this office until you can. In return, I want your personal legal services. For free." She paused and fanned her face with her hand. "I cannot believe I am saying this."

  Kit threw her arms around her aunt and pulled her close. "Thank you."

  "Now, now," said Aunt Freddy. "Don't thank me yet. I still cling to the hope that you may change your mind and decide to abandon this flight of fancy."

  "Don't you worry, Aunt Freddy. I know there's much I need to learn in order to be socially acceptable, and you will teach me. But I can also practice law, which means everything to me—with exception to my love for you."

  "Mercy," Freddy said, looking momentarily flustered. "A good reputation is hard earned and easily lost, Jasper used to say. But in spite of everything, I must say you did a good job in that courtroom. Oh, dear!"

  "I don't mean to break into this wonderful reunion," Earl Rogers said. "But what do you say we go take a look upstairs?"

  It was a small office but clean and bright. The sun shining through the window cast the letters of her name—now backward shadows—on the floor. A walnut desk and chair sat near the window. Bookshelves, waiting to be filled, lined the walls.

  "It's beautiful," Kit said.

  "It needs curtains," Aunt Freddy said. "Perhaps a heavy damask, something with a print, I think." She sized the window up as if planning it all in her mind.

  Kit sat down behind the desk, totally amazed at all that surrounded her. Her gaze then settled on the top of her desk and a framed photograph.

  She gasped and carefully took up the picture. Touching the dark wooden frame, she forced back the tears that threatened to spill. "Where did you get this?"

  "I contacted your cousin Victoria. Through no small feat we were able to lay our hands on this, and I felt it should be a part of your new life—just as they were a part of your old life."

  Kit stared at the photograph of her mother and father. The photograph, taken on her parents' wedding day, was probably the only picture in existence of the couple.

  Money and time had never been spared for such frivilous things.

  She looked at the radiant face of her mother. So young, and so much like herself. Kit was nearly stunned by the easily recognizable expression. Her father, strikingly handsome and self-assured, stood by her mother's side—just as he had in life.

  "There are no words . . ." Kit said.

  Corazón, who had managed to blend quietly into the background, moved forward to place a small piece of framed embroidery work atop Kit's desk. "When I work on my English letters and writing, Sally help me to make this for you. This is my thank-you."

  Kit picked up the piece and smiled. " 'The truth shall set you free,' " she read aloud, then turned it to display it for everyone to see. Her gaze met Corazon's, and tears shone brightly in the younger woman's eyes. "Thank you," Kit whispered, knowing she was desperately close to crying again. "Thank you all."

  Freddy tapped her parasol on the floor. "It's time we gave Kit a moment to herself. Come, Corazón. Kit, we shall have dinner at the house promptly at six! And you . . ." Aunt Freddy turned imperiously to Earl Rogers. Her next words seemed to be uttered with some effort. "I shall expect you and your family as well."

  Rogers smiled widely and bowed. "It shall be my great pleasure to dine with one of the most beautiful flowers in the garden of Los Angeles."

  Freddy's face flushed and fought against the smile that appeared. "Why, you are a devil, aren't you? Until six, then!" And with a mighty swoosh of her dress and train, and with Corazón following, Aunt Freddy left the office.

  Earl Rogers said, "I will refer cases to you, of course, but I would still like to have your association on occasion."

  Kit smiled. "Yes, Earl. So long as I believe the client is innocent."

  "But together we can win any case."

  "I believe that justice is what should win."

  "Ah, Kit. You're still a little wet behind the ears, you know."

  "I know."

  "Even though, for the moment, you may be the most famous person in the city."

  "That will pass."

  "Don't be so sure. And I can still teach you a thing or two."

  "I know I have much to learn from you, Earl."

  "Then what is the most important thing I've taught you?"

  Kit pondered a moment.

  Rogers said, "Get the money first!"

  Shaking her head, Kit said, "I hope that will not be my downfall."

  Rogers laughed. "I'll try to be there to catch you." He bowed and exited.

  For a long time Kit sat gazing out the window at First Street, at the bustling parade of pedestrians below. She remembered what Tom Phelps had said as they were about to arrive in Los Angeles. " . . . the City of Angels isn't as refined as your eastern hubbubs. We still have one boot in the Wild West."

  Kit nodded as she noted the mixture of carriages and people and even one sputtering automobile on the street. Spit-and-polish businessmen shared the street with rough-and-tumble cowboys. The new met the old in Los Angeles.

  She touched her forehead to the glass and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving, asking God once again to help her bring glory and honor to His name through the practice of law.

  She heard a quick knock as her door opened. In walked Ted Fox.

  He was a completely different man from the one who had so recently been sitting, resigned to fate, in a dank jail cell. His suit was crisp, his face clean-shaven under a white skimmer, and the sparkle was back in his sapphire-blue eyes.

  "I'm seeking a good lawyer," he said.

  "And if you found one," said Kit, "what would you need?"

  "I would need a Yes."

  "To what?"

  "To an invitation to lunch. With me."

  "Is this a purely professional offer?"

  "Not quite. Something of the personal, too."

  "How personal?"

  His face grew serious for a moment. "I would like to thank the most amazing woman I know."

  A warmth enveloped Kit, like the embrace of a gentle summer's day. It was a warmth of belonging. All of this was so right. Los Angeles was her city now, her home. The people here were her people.

  And Ted Fox?

  Kit looked down at her bare desktop and said, "It appears my calendar is open."

  Authors' Note

  COURTROOMS AT THE TURN of the last century were a wide open affair. The strict rules of evidence we have today were still in the process of being developed. The lawyer who knew the rules that did exist, and who could argue from their rationales, was an advocate many steps ahead of an opponent who was les
s diligent.

  Trials were studies in resourceful combat. One of the most potent weapons of warfare, of course, is surprise. The same held true for courtroom battles. Today's rules of discovery—wherein the parties to a lawsuit must exchange their evidence and information before trial—were virtually unknown in 1903. Either side could wait to present its full evidence until the actual trial. Thus, the surprise witness was not an uncommon occurrence. That's why the best trial lawyers were those who could think quickly on their feet in court, anticipate what the other side might try to present to the jury, and who were ready with their own "bombshells."

  Many things that are common in today's courtrooms, such as demonstrative evidence (models and exhibits created to visually show the jury aspects of a case), were in their infancy at the turn of the century. During the 1800s, trials were often viewed as contests in oratory. The lawyer who could turn a phrase, who could mesmerize a jury with a speech—this was the lawyer who often won.

  But as the modern era began, innovations started to appear in courtrooms, just as they were flowering in industry and the arts. The idea of showing a jury a deceased's actual intestines would have been inconceivable in 1850. When Earl Rogers, an actual Los Angeles trial lawyer, did so, it was hailed as a great step forward in the art of trying cases.

  Rogers also understood that a trial—especially a criminal trial where a man's fate was hanging in the balance—is a drama. To the jury it is not a study in law. It is a story, with good and evil in ceaseless conflict. The best trial lawyers learned to view the facts from the perspective of the common man. Today many trial lawyers enroll in drama and storytelling courses to hone their abilities in this area.

  Another major leap Earl Rogers took was the study of human nature. Today we are familiar with so-called "jury consultants" who compile mountains of data about individuals in an attempt to predict their biases. Rogers undertook the study of people using simple observation and common sense. He systematized his observations and was extraordinarily successful at it.

  Needless to say, in the early 1900s women were a rarity in the legal profession. And women trial lawyers were virtually non-existent. Only a few women were admitted to the California bar in the early 1900s. Not one was a full-time trial lawyer. This is where the saga of Kit Shannon begins.