“Now you be straight with me this time, Kathryn Fulton. Did you kill your father, Phillip Parker?”
“Sandy, no, I swear—no, I didn’t.”
Sandra looked into her eyes, wishing she could tell if Kitty was being honest. “You expect me to believe that after you lied to me? Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t think you needed to know.” “I’m your lawyer for chrissakes.” Sandra perched upon the edge of her desk. “You let me decide what I need to know from now on, all right?”
“You don’t have to get so mad about it. God.” She crossed her arms in front of her breasts and crossed her legs at the knee.
Sandra wanted to smack Kitty, except Kitty’s body language already told Sandra how defensive and insecure she felt. “Who else knows about this? Does Raymond know? Does anyone else know?”
“Why is it important who knows?”
“Are you going to start questioning everything I’m trying to do here, Kathryn? Do you want to hire someone else to represent you or do you think you can represent yourself? Or do you just want to cooperate with me and hope I can get your ass out of trouble?”
“God, what are you so angry about? I’m the one whose father did stuff to her.”
Sandra expelled a deep breath. “Okay.” She laughed. “You’re right. But don’t you realize what this information could mean to a judge or a jury?”
“Yeah, I guess I do, Sandy. I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t kill him, though.”
“Okay, I believe you.” Sandra hopped down and went back around her desk to sit in her chair. “I’m sorry to blow up at you, kid. I’m sorry Phillip did that to you, too.”
“Yeah, but it was a long time ago.”
“Can you tell me what you remember about it?”
She nodded. Her eyes swept around the room. She nodded again. “I remember he hurt me down there. I don’t remember a lot of details, but I remember thinking he pee- peed on me. And the day my mother walked in, my parents had a big, big fight.”
Sandra’s stomach ached just listening to Kitty recite the details. “Did she call the police?”
Kitty shook her head. “He left after that. We never saw him again.”
“Humph. And he never sent any support?”
“No. He really did write a letter telling my mother he was going to kill himself.”
Sandra made some notes. She was struggling inside herself trying to decide whether she should tell Erma about this. She really didn’t want to. “What else do you remember?”
“Couple of times I tried to talk to her about it over the years, but she always said it was best to put it all behind us and forget about it.”
“So no counseling for you?”
Kitty dropped her arms and got up. She walked over to a painting of a mother and a child and stared at it. “I went to therapy after she died. After I got some money, I mean.” She turned on her heel. “I know I’m not that smart, Sandy, but I knew I had, as my therapist put it, ‘unresolved issues.’ ”
“You still in therapy?”
Shaking her head, she smiled. “Think I should be?”
“You think you should be?”
“Sometimes. The last couple of days I’ve thought about it—and not because I killed my father.”
“Sometimes I think everyone needs to go to therapy.” Kitty smiled again. “When Raymond and I get married, we’re going to premarital counseling.”
Sandra threw her pen down. “Okay. There’s not much time left, Kitty. I have to take you over to the county jail before they come over here and arrest you.”
Kitty made a sound like a little squeal of pain. “Can you explain to me why I have to go to jail again?”
“They’re charging you with capital murder.”
“Oh my God! That’s a whole lot different from what you said before. Did you know this yesterday?”
“I didn’t think it would happen.”
“You didn’t think it would happen? You knew about the watch and ring, but you didn’t think it would happen? What did you think would happen when the police discovered they were missing? You made me turn myself in when you knew that there was a possibility that they would charge me with murder or this—this—capital murder, didn’t you?”
“I guess it’s your turn to be angry. If you didn’t do anything more than you told me, then you have nothing to worry about.”
“Thanks a lot. That, from someone who isn’t going to jail. Thanks a whole lot.”
Sandra waited. So much had gone on between the two of them that she fully expected to be fired. Not that she’d blame Kitty, but in spite of her apparent deceit, Sandra really looked forward to handling Kitty’s case. If she didn’t bungle it, it would certainly enhance her reputation.
“You didn’t have to make me turn myself in, you know.”
“I know.”
“We could have waited until they figured out I was in there with him.”
“Yes, we could have waited.”
“I guess they would have figured it out pretty quickly though.” She shrugged. “I mean since Lizzie saw me on the stairs.”
Sandra stared up at Kitty. “I haven’t figured out why Lizzie didn’t say something to them on Saturday.”
“I couldn’t either.” She let out a long sigh. “I can’t go to jail, Sandy. I saw some of those people. They were nasty looking.”
“You don’t have any choice in the matter. We only have a few minutes before you’ve got to be at the D.A.’s office, so calm down and let me brief you on what I’m going to do. And no matter what else happens, remember one thing. Tell no one about what Phillip Parker did to you.”
After she accompanied Kitty first to Edgar’s office and then to be booked into the county jail, she paid a call on the superintendent and got him to agree to provide a separate cell and close supervision of her client. After all, if—or rather, when—Kitty was found not guilty of the charges against her, she would become a celebrity, given that she was Phillip’s daughter and all. You never know but that a person like that might someday be able to do something for the sheriff who was the superintendent’s boss. Elections did come every four years in Texas, she reminded him. And the sheriff would be standing for re-election. And elections did cost a tidy sum these days. And campaign contributions were always necessary. Treat a person right and they were likely to remember it later.
Her next onerous task was to accompany Erma on a coffin-shopping trip. Sandra hadn’t had time for lunch but didn’t think that she’d be able to choke anything down anyway after being at the jail. How the employees and inmates of the Galveston County Jail could eat while the stench of ammonia filled their nostrils 24/7 was beyond her. She supposed they got used to it, but she found that it was difficult to even smell food, much less eat it, after passing by the mop bucket.
Erma sat at the dinette table in her kitchen. She munched on a salad and thumbed through a magazine. She wore a black caftan and leggings and ballet slippers. Her hair was disheveled, but at least she wore a little foundation, powder, and blush so her face wasn’t so ghostlike.
She raised her eyes when Sandra came into the room. “You know, spending a few days at home might just be enough to convince me to retire. It’s rather nice sitting here, relaxed, studying recipes.” She pointed to photographs of artfully designed food.
“Jesus Christ, Mother, you’re not old enough to retire.” It frightened her to see that her mother wasn’t herself. No eagerness to argue. No vibrant energy. No cussing every other word.
“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m rather enjoying myself, too. Haven’t done this in a while.”
“You can do it every weekend. Now get up and let’s go to the funeral home.” She tugged at Erma’s arm.
Erma stared into her face. “I could tell you what to get and you could go for me, dear.”
“Dear? That’s the second time in recent history that you’ve used that term of endearment. Pun intended. Come on. I need to discuss this case with you.
Will you get up? We’ve got a lot to do.” The lines in her mother’s face told a story that she was not ready to hear. She had aged significantly in just a couple of days. It was grief, Sandra knew. Erma tried to hide it, but she was sure it ate her up inside. Sandra hoped it would not take over her mother’s life. She wanted to make her mother’s grief as short-lived as possible.
Erma was the type of person who withered without a cause. As a younger woman, the period of time between major trials had been filled with Sandra’s needing her. As they had grown older and Sandra was busy with school activities, Erma had filled the void with her friends. She did things for them. She had been the one who was always there for them. And Phillip had been one of the neediest of her friends, having the largest ego on the Gulf Coast. Sandra could see that Erma was already feeling his loss, the emptiness caused by his death, even though their monthly dinner date was not past due, even though he’d just been gone two days—two days that she ordinarily would not have seen him.
“Come on, Erma,” Sandra said. “The least you can do for Phillip is pick out exactly the type of coffin he would have selected for himself.”
Using Sandra’s arm as a crutch, Erma lifted her body from the kitchen chair. “You’re right, Sandra. That’s the least I can do. It’ll be my one last act of friendship toward Phillip.”
She was so pitiful, Sandra felt like crying. But that never had been, and never would be, her style. “So Mom,” she addressed her in a way quite atypical of her, “after we get through picking out the coffin, do you think you could help me with Kitty’s case? They’ve now charged her with capital murder.”
“What?” Erma glared up at Sandra, her teeth bared like a mad dog’s. “They can’t charge her with that. Why, she’s Phillip’s child and she never would have done such a thing, no matter what went on between them twenty years ago.”
Sandra wondered whether Erma knew something that she wasn’t telling. “Yes, Mother, dear,” she said, and held the door open. Smiling at the back of her head, she launched into a description of her conversation with Edgar and the trip to the jail earlier that afternoon. She noticed as they walked to the car that there was a bit more bounce in the little woman’s step.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Later that night, Sandra lounged on a kitchen stool at Stuart’s house and watched him grill shrimp. She’d changed into tennis shoes, shorts, and a T-shirt after dropping Erma back at home and had run for thirty minutes along the seawall. She hated every minute of jogging and did it only because she didn’t want to wake up one morning and see the Pillsbury Dough girl looking back at her in the mirror.
Stuart had insisted she bring the shrimp to his house as soon as she got through running, without stopping to shower and change. She had the distinct feeling, every time he cooked for her, that he was trying to entice her into a more serious relationship. She enjoyed being with Stuart. Since he was so brilliant, their conversations were stimulating. A scholar and a gentleman, he resembled someone out of the old South. Bowing, scraping, posturing—if you will—in and out of the courtroom. And the sex. The sex was very good, though not frequent enough for her. In fact, Stuart was probably better than both of her ex-husbands put together. Stuart put her first and his own pleasure second. The names of the men in the world who did that could probably be written on a pencil eraser. Lastly, he had more staying power than anyone she had ever known. But she didn’t want to get married again and had to push her own legal arguments for marriage out of her head.
Watching him prepare their meal, Sandra couldn’t quite articulate why she didn’t want to marry him. She just knew that she didn’t. The fault must lie within herself. She’d been twice burned.
She had Melinda, so she didn’t have a ticking biological clock. Her career had brought her more money than she needed. With her mother, daughter, and law practice, she wasn’t especially lonely. She also had a good friend in Patricia and often hung out with other lawyers, both female and male.
The problem, she thought, must be that she didn’t especially need Stuart. The status quo satisfied her, at least most of the time. Why did he push for more—for permanency? Did he really want to get into that whole marriage scene when they currently had the best of both worlds?
Stuart snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Where are you?”
She grabbed his hand and let him pull her to her feet.
“You were off in another world again. What’s on your mind?”
Slipping an arm around his waist, she laughed. “I don’t know. Sorry. Dinner ready?”
He stared into her eyes for a few moments. “Come on. I’ve already set the table.” He’d told her once that he observed all the decorum of a formal dinner even when he dined alone. He thought it made a meal more pleasurable.
Her stomach rumbled when she saw the shrimp, broccoli in a lemon sauce, rice pilaf, and tossed green salad. It was a lot better than the meals she threw together for herself or grabbed at fast-food joints. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if they married. Would he cook or expect her to become Little Susie Homemaker? “It looks scrumptious, Stu. You went all out tonight.”
“Payback for your cooking breakfast last Saturday. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
She kissed his temple where there were a few gray hairs. Slipping around to her side of the table, when he pulled out her chair, she sat down and spread the cloth napkin over her bare legs.
Stuart poured white wine into her glass and stood by like a liveried waiter while she sampled it. When she smiled at him and nodded her head, he laughingly filled her glass, then his own, and took his seat across from her. Tall lavender candles burned on the center of the table. They ate silently for a few moments.
“Speaking of last Saturday, Erma and I picked out a coffin for Phillip today.”
“Did she insist on buying the most elaborate one?”
Nodding, she said, “I tried to talk her out of it, but Erma said Phillip would like to have a nice send-off even if he was to be cremated. She bought the most expensive urn as well.”
“A pine box would have worked fine for a cremation.”
“His estate can afford it, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure, too.” He picked up his wineglass and stared into it. “Is she pretty heartbroken?”
“Erma?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. They’d been friends so long. I think it makes her feel defenseless, like she’s next.”
“I never could understand their relationship. He could be such a bastard.” Stuart smiled at her and sipped his wine.
“I know. The town abounded with stories. You thinking of anything in particular?”
Stuart shrugged and asked, “How’s Kitty?”
Sandra swallowed quickly. “Oh, God. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. I guess the coffin bit made me forget. They’ve arrested her for capital murder.”
“Capital murder? How do they figure that?”
“His diamond Rolex and pinkie ring were missing.” While they ate, she gave him a brief rundown on what had happened.
“Have they searched his suite?”
“Yes. You know he wore that watch everywhere except into the Gulf. And the ring he never took off.”
“What does Kitty say?”
“About the blackmail? Not on your life. And the watch and ring? No way.”
“What about the charges?”
“She’s pissed, to put it mildly. She told me off in no uncertain terms, but I’m still representing her.”
“What was she angry at you for?” Stuart sliced a shrimp in half and bit into it.
“I think partly because she needed to let off some steam and partly because she wasn’t thinking. It wasn’t any real big deal, except that I thought she was going to fire me and that got the old adrenaline flowing.”
“Why do you care?”
“ ’Cause I don’t want to lose this case. It could be the biggest thing of my career.”
“It could also
be very dangerous. Have you thought of that?”
“Now you’re sounding like Erma and I think she’s just jealous.”
Stuart reached across the table and took her hand. “Don’t be flippant, Sandra. I’m worried about you. You say that Kitty didn’t do it. Don’t you know what that means?”
She squeezed his hand, pulled hers back, and made a pretense of cutting her food. “Sure. That means that I’ve got to defend her from Edgar Saul, the prosecutor from hell.”
“No. Not that, Sandra. It means the killer is still out there somewhere.”
“So? I’m not a threat to the real killer.” She stuffed half a branch of broccoli into her mouth and chewed while she avoided his gaze. The trouble with Stuart was that he knew how she worked. He knew that she’d be looking at everyone else that had means, motive, and opportunity in order to cast doubt on Kitty’s guilt. She was fighting a losing battle if she thought she could convince him that she was not a threat to anyone else. She was a threat. She knew it. Stuart knew it. Her mother knew it, too. In criminal cases, they practiced law much the same way.
“Who are you trying to kid?”
“Well, there’s no reason for them to think that I’m a threat, anyway. I’ll just ask a few questions of each of them and maybe I can come up with enough to convince the judge that Kitty couldn’t have done it.”
“The judge?”
“At the examining trial. I’m going to try to convince the judge not to refer this case to the grand jury. To find that there is no probable cause.”
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