“Well, she did really love the man. We know that.” Erma pulled out a long brown cigarette that looked like a skinny cigar.
“What are you doing? You’re not going back to smoking those again, are you? You are so in denial.”
“I’m not lighting it, goddamnit.” She stuck it in her mouth and proceeded to suck on it.
“You tell Lizzie what was in the will?”
“Sandra, look, no one is going to know what is in the will until I read it. Okay?” Erma shook her head. “I hate to say this, but I like Lizzie as a backup to the Bubba scenario.”
“She’s turned into an awful drunk.”
Erma said, “She could be a mean drunk on occasion.”
“You think she was so mad that she killed him? I thought y’all were friends.”
“Has nothing to do with being friends.”
Sandra mulled that over a minute. “So, what, she didn’t go to her room? Or she went to her room and left again. Maybe went outside for a walk. There was a bottle beside the bed. She could have gone to the bar, gotten the bottle, wandered around the premises drinking from the bottle.”
“Saw and heard him fall.”
“Lizzie could have killed him then.”
“She could have heard him hollering and gone down there and finished him off,” Erma said.
“I think it was Raymond or Stuart who said something about all their bedrooms being on the other side of the house. They could only hear the commotion if they were not in their rooms, so she would have had to been out of her room.”
“Convenient,” Erma said. She sniffed at her cigarette. “We’d have to place her out of her room.”
“Sounds like no one was in their room when all this took place, except Stuart.”
Erma looked at Sandra over her glasses. “Any of them could have come out of his or her room, heard Phillip screaming to high heaven, seen their chance, and gone down and beat the holy shit out of him.” Erma’s shoulders hunched up around her ears, her eyes seeming to glow as she stared at Sandra like a hawk studying his prey on the ground below.
Sandra knew what her mother was thinking and verbalized it. “I know I have to check out Stuart. You don’t have to tell me.” She sighed. She didn’t want it to be him, but there was always the slightest possibility. “But Kitty had the most motive. He was going to call the police and try to get her arrested for blackmail.”
“Where was Stuart?” Erma asked.
“In his room asleep. He was the one who Bubba told when he supposedly found the body. Stuart was the one who covered Phillip with the blanket.”
Erma nodded. “What a mess. Well, one good thing about defense work,” Erma said, “is that you don’t have to prove who did it. You just have to prove reasonable doubt.”
“Right,” Sandra said. “This has been fun, but I have a more immediate problem. What do you think the chances are that I can get McWheeter to set a nominal bail?”
“Aw, fairly good. Edgar might bust a gut, but McWheeter can be reasonable.”
“I think so, too.”
“And he likes pretty women.”
“I know you’re talking about me, not Kitty.” Sandra smiled, glad to be on a different subject. “My next step is the examining trial. I’m hoping I can get the J.P. to make a finding of no probable cause. I can’t figure out what they have just yet except Kitty’s statement, and all she says—all I let her say—is that he was still alive after he went over.”
“If that’s all they have, they ain’t getting the case referred to the grand jury,” Erma said.
“That’s why I think they’ll have to go through with the examining trial. If Edgar thought he could get away with it, he’d have her indicted the day before the examining trial, but he just can’t have enough evidence by then.”
“You’re hoping.”
“Yes, I’m definitely hoping. If she didn’t do it, he can’t have the evidence.”
“Has he got the murder weapon?”
“Not that I know of.”
“No witnesses?”
Sandra shook her head.
“Where were the cops working extra duty for Phil?”
“Good question.” Sandra wrote that down on the page she had started for questions that needed answering. “I remember Dennis, or it was Jorge Gonzales, saying that one man was down at the station on Saturday morning. I’ll have to check that out.”
“You know what, Sandra?”
“What?”
“Edgar Saul ain’t got nuthin’.”
Laughing, Sandra said, “You know what? You’re right. Besides her statement, all he’s got is a theory. He must be losing it. He must have thought he could get her to confess by charging her with capital murder.” She clapped her hands together. “Hot damn. Erma, I look forward to kicking Edgar Saul’s ass.”
Erma smiled a wistful, small smile. “This case is going to be like taking candy from a baby.” She checked out the wall clock. “You going to be free to come with me this evening?”
Sandra straightened up. “Six, is it?”
“Yes.” Erma cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t mind having a little drink first.”
Sandra frowned, but didn’t say anything. It just wasn’t the right time. “It’s almost five. Let’s take off.” Sandra pushed open the doors that separated her office from the secretary’s. “Patricia, you coming?”
“Sure. Where’re we going?” Patricia switched off her machines and stood up, making an unsuccessful attempt at smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt. She pushed the edges of her blouse down under her waistband and grabbed her jacket off the hall tree. Mascara smears under her eyes made her look ghoulish. “We’re a little early, aren’t we?” she whispered, glancing furtively at Erma who stood near the back door.
“Going to get the old lady a couple of stiff ones first.”
“Good idea. I could use a belt of scotch myself.”
Sandra followed them out and locked the door. They rode in her mother’s black Lincoln Town Car. Sandra got in the back where there was more legroom, since her mother had to pull the bench seat all the way forward. Patricia wasn’t tall either, so she got to ride in the front.
Erma took them to 21 Postoffice. Because the martini bar was a block from the 1894 Grand Opera House and only a couple of blocks from the courthouse, it was popular with an upper middle class clientele. It had a three-sided bar, dark booths on a platform, and tiny tables under the windows. Late at night it could be a pickup joint, but early in the evening it was full of white-collar professionals getting loaded before going home.
The three of them slid into a booth. Jake, the bartender, waved and sent a cocktail waitress over. There was no anonymity in Galveston. No secrets. If you didn’t want it known, you didn’t do it. If you wanted to have an affair and you didn’t want everyone to know about it the day after the first tryst, you went out of town. Better yet, out of state. Perhaps even out of the country. And you’d best not fly out of Houston Hobby Airport together, because it would be all over Galveston way before you ever got back to town.
Sandra told Becky, the cocktail waitress and a former child support client of hers, “Give us the usual, but make Erma’s a double on the rocks and bring Patricia a scotch.”
Erma grinned. “You’re sending me mixed messages, daughter.”
“I know I’m enabling you, but I’m just making this one exception due to the circumstances.”
“Oh, quit with the AA talk.”
Patricia laughed behind her hand and swallowed largely when her drink arrived.
Sandra usually drank wine spritzers when out on the town. It took a lot to get high. The weaker, the better. Her mother, bourbon on or off the rocks. Sandra had ordered the rocks as a concession to Erma’s doctor.
They stayed in that booth Tuesday evening for almost an hour. Erma got as loaded as one of the cargo ships in the harbor. Patricia came in second. Sandra drove when it came time to leave. She had stretched her one drink over the whole hour, not be
ing anxious to be a cellmate of Kitty’s.
“People usually don’t appear at cremations,” Erma said as they walked out to the car. “It’s just not done; the manager told me. But I convinced him that we’re not people. A little cash makes a big exception.”
Sandra let Erma and Patricia off at the front door and went to park the car. When she got inside, she instantly became depressed. The place seemed like something out of a science fiction movie. Patricia’s eyes connected with Sandra’s over Erma’s head. Neither of them said anything. They were there to support Erma. They walked one on each side, like bodyguards. The manager spoke in quiet tones, like at a funeral. Erma said a little prayer. The rest of the time they stood mute. When it was accomplished, the manager gently ushered them to the door.
Sandra dropped Patricia off at her car. She seemed able to drive okay. Her mother, she drove home and fixed some dinner for, and listened to the ramblings of. Later, she helped her to bed. She knew Erma probably wouldn’t stay there. Sandra knew Erma would probably wander around her house like a sleepwalker, as she’d been wont to do since Sandra was a small girl. She’d probably be into the booze and cigarettes before dawn.
Locking Erma’s door behind her, Sandra shook her head. It was hard to see people get old and lonely. She walked the five blocks from Erma’s house to their office. Although it was close to ten p.m., she wasn’t afraid. In the past she would have been, but Galveston had changed and was much safer than it used to be. Besides, the mood she was in, a mugger wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with her.
Walking around to the back of the office where she had parked under a tree, Sandra found that one of her friends had left a note on the windshield telling her what bar they were headed to since she wasn’t in the office. Moments later, she pointed the Volvo toward the West End of the island and her condo. Her friends would have to party without her. She wished for the middle of the day. It had been beautiful and clear since early morning. She wanted to get out and walk for a while. She wanted to hang her legs over the side of the seawall and feel the gulf breeze upon her face and smell the salt and watch the seagulls and the sandcrabs. Well, she couldn’t see the sandcrabs in the dark, but she could sure do the other things.
When she got down to the San Luis Hotel complex, Sandra parked and skirted the cars as she hurried across to the beach. Salt air filled her lungs. Pungent seaweed smells, lightly spiced with that of rotting fish, swirled around her. It might have been offensive to some, but to her it was aromatherapy. Her whole life she had drawn strength from the ocean and all its accouterments. If more than a few days passed without her seeing the waves lap over each other, she felt as though she were in a foreign city. She longed to sink her toes into the sand and her teeth into some local seafood. Perhaps she’d get up early the next morning and take a short run down the seawall. She had been backsliding lately. But right now, just for a few minutes, she inhaled, peace settling around her. She sat on the edge of a rock. Emotionally, she felt overflowing. Breathing deeply a few times, Sandra meditated, trying to focus solely on her breath and put everything else out of her mind.
When she got home, the red light on her answering machine flashed. As she shed her clothes, she listened to a message from Stuart, another message from Stuart, another message from Stuart, a message from her daughter, two from clients, and another message from Stuart.
She put on her nightgown, used the bathroom, washed up, brushed her teeth, and huddled down in her bed. After she called her daughter and told her where her grandmother and she had been, she called Stuart and put him off. Then she pulled the covers up to her chin and fell asleep.
In her dreams, Phillip fell off his balcony. His body bounced on the grass like a basketball. Someone dribbled him. Then they hit him. Over and over. Blood spewed everywhere. Sandra couldn’t see the face of the person hitting Phillip because blood had splashed into her eyes. She wiped and wiped, but her eyes wouldn’t clear. She could only hear Phillip shouting and see blood splashing like a breaker on the beach. When she awoke early Wednesday morning, she found that she had knocked her water glass off her night table, drenching her books, her purse, and the covers on the side of the bed. And she still hadn’t figured out who had killed Phillip.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thunderstorms had moved over the island during the night and showed no signs of letting up. It was one of those days when Sandra wished she could call in sick and stay inside, but since she worked for herself, she knew she couldn’t get away with it.
Pulling on an all-weather coat, the hood covering her head, she ran out to the parking lot. Strong winds made the rain feel like thousands of grains of sand driving into her skin, and it soaked her before she got to her car. It wasn’t as bad as a hurricane, but this was no light shower. Rough, brown breakers crashed onto the beach. Flocks of seagulls huddled on the ground like little old people clutching their coats around them. Traffic crept along, but since the island was only thirty-four miles long from tip to tip, it still didn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get to work.
It was Wednesday. Phillip’s memorial service would be that evening. If the weather didn’t clear by then, the turnout could be disappointing.
After stopping at the office to pick up some files, Sandra went to the courthouse. She was headed to Judge Olsen’s court, where she had a child custody hearing scheduled, when Edgar Saul accosted her in the hallway.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
Sandra put her briefcase down and waited. “Sure. You ready to drop the charges on all my clients? Each and every one of them is innocent.”
“Cut the comedy, Sandra. I just wanted to inform you that I’ve decided to let you go ahead with that examining trial instead of indicting your client beforehand.”
“If you’re talking about Kathryn Fulton’s examining trial, that’s real big of you, Edgar, since I already requested it and the J.P. agreed.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You know damn good and well that I could put a stop to it simply by getting the grand jury to indict her beforehand. I just decided that I’d give you a chance to see how weak your defense is.”
“Oh, right.”
“Sandra, a capital murder trial is very expensive.” He waved his finger in her face. “This county doesn’t need that right now with all the costs of building a new courthouse—”
“Spare me the lecture on how broke this county is. I take it your reasoning is that if I go through with the examining trial, I’ll see how weak my case is and I’ll negotiate with your office. Why not go ahead and make an offer right now and save us both a lot of time?”
Edgar Saul licked his lips. He reminded her more than ever of that cartoon wolf with the long snout and longer tongue. “Life?”
“Tsk tsk. See you in court, my friend.” She picked up her briefcase and walked away. She didn’t know what Edgar’s game was but suspected that he knew he didn’t have enough evidence to indict Kitty, so he was trying to save face.
In a couple of long strides, he caught up with her. “Now don’t go off half-cocked, Sandra. We can talk.”
“Not if we’re talking time.” She wasn’t interested in negotiating at all, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. It was considered bad form in legal circles not to engage in the negotiation process.
“You’ll change your tune as soon as you hear what we’ve got. Why not talk a deal now?”
“Edgar, please.” She pushed him away and pulled open the courtroom door. “The only thing we can talk about now is the time and place of the hearing. If you know that, you can save me a trip to the J.P.’s office.”
His face grew grave as he whispered, “Monday at nine-thirty. If you want to talk more, call me.” He stalked away. Sandra turned to go inside the courtroom and found the bailiff, who was almost seven feet tall, standing in the doorway, glaring like a linebacker. She knew then why Edgar didn’t stick around to taunt her. Ducking her head apologetically, she motioned to the other attorney who sat on a bench with his client. As they
went into the conference room, she couldn’t help but wonder if there had been something else on Edgar’s mind.
They were able to stipulate to a few things on the custody case, but the rest of the trial took the remainder of the day. When Sandra finally got to the jail to see Kitty, it was feeding time, which she always equated to that at the zoo. Since Sandra had to attend Phillip’s memorial service that evening, there was no other time she could see Kitty. By promising to stay only a few minutes, she persuaded a jailer to let her inside immediately. Normally they didn’t let anyone come in during dinner; that was when they counted heads. All inmates were supposed to be in their cells before they ate.
The jail policy of allowing inmates to shower only once a week made being in close proximity to them for any length of time in the small glassed-in cubicle uncomfortable. Kitty wore the same orange county jumpsuit as the other female inmates and tattered slides on her feet. Orange was definitely not her color. Her face appeared sallow and her skin blotchy. No one got makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
All of her jewelry had been inventoried by the jail sergeant and locked in a safe under the control of the property sergeant. She had been stripped of all her worldly adornments, but her natural beauty was still very much apparent even with dark circles ringing her eyes.
The aroma of ammonia was, that evening, mixed with beef and pinto beans. Sandra caught a whiff of Kitty’s dinner before she even got inside. A jailer brought Kitty’s tray while they talked. Dinner didn’t look half-bad. In addition to the beef patty and pinto beans, there was cornbread, tossed salad, and iced tea. Sandra was hungry in spite of the ammonia smell. She’d missed lunch.
Kitty fussed at Sandra as soon as the jailer closed the door. “I’m not used to being treated like this,” she said. “I can’t seem to stop crying.”
Sandra made soothing noises and explained about Edgar Saul and the examining trial.
“All I want to know is when I’m going to get out of here,” Kitty said repeatedly.
“Tomorrow’s the hearing on the writ of habeas corpus. You’ll be able to post bail as soon as the judge sets it.”
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