“Oh, thank God,” Kitty whispered. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“I can only imagine, Kitty. Listen, we have to discuss tomorrow’s testimony. I’ll ask you basic questions about your name and address, and then we’ll go into your background and your attachments on the island. It’s important for the judge to realize that you have ties here and won’t skip town.” She nodded. “So I should tell him about my condo?”
“Yes. And Raymond. You’ll have to tell him that you two are engaged.”
“Raymond told you that?”
“Isn’t it true? Are you going to eat that patty?”
Kitty pushed the tray at Sandra. “We were going to keep it a secret for a while longer.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Okay. How much bail do you think you can make?” The alleged ground beef patty had the texture of cardboard but a familiar flavor.
“How much does it cost?”
Sandra swallowed. “For this charge, if a bondsman will make it, fifteen to twenty percent of the bail. So on a hundred thousand bond, fifteen to twenty thousand dollars.”
“Shit,” Kitty said.
Sandra thought her anger was at least an improvement over feeling sorry for herself. “Don’t you have any more money?” Sandra took another big bite of the meat. She held it with two fingers. It wasn’t half bad.
Kitty looked at Sandra holding her dinner and back at her face. Her nose wrinkled up. “I just hate to spend it for something I didn’t do. I work hard for my money, Sandy. I don’t want to give it away to some jerk who is just sitting back getting fat on my misery.”
“That describes it to a T. You must have been talking to the other inmates. How about property other than your condo? Could you put up a property bond? Or if you have the whole amount, like a certificate of deposit, you could put that up without using a bondsman. The county would give it back after the case is over. It’s just to secure your appearance for trial, to make sure you don’t run.” She stuffed the rest of the patty into her mouth and reached for Kitty’s napkin.
“I don’t have that kind of cash. I have some stocks and bonds, but it could take a while to cash them. I don’t think I have a hundred thousand anyway.”
Sandra dropped the soiled napkin in her lap. “Tell you what, put pen to paper and see what you can figure out. I’ll call Raymond and see what he can raise. The trouble is, we won’t know until tomorrow how high the judge will set it. What we’ll have to do is tell him how much bail you can make. They’re supposed to take that into consideration.” She finished wiping her hands and stood.
Kitty sighed as she pushed back her chair.
“What else is on your mind?”
“The funeral’s tonight, isn’t it? My father’s funeral.”
“Well, the memorial service, yes. He’s already been cremated.”
She winced. “I sure want to go, Sandy. Is there any way I could go?”
“Damn it, Kitty. I had no idea.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to catch a judge this late.”
Kitty stared down into her beans. “That’s okay. That was what I’ve been calling you for, but if it’s too late, it’s just too late.” She got up. “You want the rest of my food? I’m not hungry now. Would you call the deputy?”
Talk about guilt. Sandra pocketed the corn bread and hurried out to the lobby to call the criminal courts. Every last one of them was closed. On the way to her car, though, she crossed paths with Judge Olsen, the family district court judge who’d heard the custody trial earlier. The judge was in a discussion with two attorneys. Sandra approached and waited until a break came in the conversation, then she not too subtly persuaded the judge, begged the judge, to let Kitty go to Phillip’s memorial service. As it turned out, Judge Olsen was planning to go. She accompanied Sandra back inside the courthouse, where they found a prosecutor. The arrangements were made inside a quarter of an hour.
Minutes later, Sandra was back at the jail face-to-face with Kitty. “How fast can you get dressed if a deputy takes you home to change for the services?”
“I knew you’d manage it,” Kitty said and threw herself at Sandra.
Sandra was glad to be able to assuage her guilt. Still, she continued to be surprised that Kitty wanted to attend, after what Phillip had done to her. Kitty’s personality and motives were apparently a lot more complicated than Sandra had previously given her credit for.
“How did you do it?” Kitty asked, looking tearful again. “You let me worry about that, honey,” she answered. “I’ll take care of everything and bill you later. You have anything here in the jail that you need to take with you?”
“Just my purse. It’s got my house keys in it. Uh, I’m going to have to come back, aren’t I?” She sounded melancholy, but rather accepting of her plight.
“Yes. Right afterward. But we still have the hearing tomorrow. I’m sure we can get a bond set. Don’t let your hopes down.” Sandra opened the door and approached the desk sergeant. “Did you get word to release Miss Fulton for the evening, Sergeant Hunt?”
He nodded. His job included keeping an eye on the video cameras directed over each entrance as well as answering the phone and allowing admittance to the jail. Sandra liked to watch him work. When his arms moved, they were like that of an octopus under water, flowing around his torso, hovering over the phones and control panels, pushing buttons.
“We’ll just need her purse from the property room. She needs her keys.”
“Hang on, Miss Salinsky,” he said as he took a call. While he was on the telephone, he buzzed a police officer and a prisoner through the sallyport and another deputy through the bars leading to the stairs to the second floor.
When he hung up, Sandra said, “The D.A. was supposed to arrange for Deputy Flores to accompany Miss Fulton home to change and to her father’s memorial services. Have you heard from Flores yet?”
He smiled and pressed the buzzer that unlocked the first door to the outside world. “She’s coming through now.” Sandra watched while Flores shoved the door closed and turned toward the second door, the one made up of thick, paint-chipped iron bars. The huge lock clanked as it unlatched.
Flores was a stocky woman with black hair pinned back in a French twist, hazel eyes, and olive skin. Her short-sleeved tan uniform fit snugly. “Hi, Sandy,” she said. “That her?” She pointed at Kitty, who stood outside the interview room.
“Yes, this is Kathryn Fulton.” She beckoned to Kitty to join them in front of the cage. “Kitty, this is Deputy Mary Flores. She’s a regular deputy sheriff, but she’s off duty and we’re paying her to accompany you to your place and to the services. Okay?”
Nodding, Kitty asked, “Do I have to go in handcuffs?”
“No, ma’am,” Mary said, her chewing gum popping. “But if you try to escape, I’ll have to shoot you.” She slapped the leather holster that rode on her hip and grinned.
Kitty grimaced and bit her lower lip. The scene would have been funny if Mary hadn’t been completely serious. “Well, let’s get going before we’re late.” Sandra turned to the desk sergeant. “Hunt, we’ll just need Miss Fulton’s purse now, if you don’t mind.”
He held up a plastic bag with Kitty’s purse sealed inside and pushed it through the small opening, together with a release for Kitty to sign. A few minutes later, they arrived at Kitty’s house. Kitty quickly showered and changed. They got to Memorial Methodist Church with five minutes to spare. Sandra double-parked along the curb. Deputy Flores parked behind her. A large crowd of people overflowed into the street. They pushed their way through, Flores leading.
Inside, more people milled around the pews and lined the walls. Kitty, Deputy Flores, and Sandra took turns signing the guest book, and Sandra pulled Kitty through the crowd toward the front of the church. Deputy Flores stood at the rear.
It had been relatively quiet when they entered, but Sandra heard voices rise row by row as they walked by, like waves crashing over the breaker line.
When they got to the front, Kitty paused and glanced at each side of the aisle. To their left sat Erma, Patricia, Stuart, and Raymond. To their right sat Lizzie with a box of Kleenex in her lap. She wept into a handful of tissues. Next to Lizzie were two of Phillip’s other associates, who looked like they wanted to make their escape.
Kitty approached Lizzie and whispered something into her ear. Lizzie’s head jerked up like she’d been shot. She rose off the seat as though elevated by a magician. “Murderer! How dare you appear here, you little murdering bitch!” Like a cat, she sprang onto Kitty.
“No! No!” Kitty hollered. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him. It was—”
Raymond cut her off. At the sight of Lizzie attacking Kitty, Raymond had bounded off the bench and jumped into the fray. He wrapped an arm around Kitty’s ribcage and jerked her toward him. Deputy Flores appeared and restrained Lizzie long enough for Raymond to pull Kitty over to Erma and deposit her in between them. Erma wrapped her arms around Kitty protectively, shielding her from view.
Deputy Flores gave Lizzie a talking to and pushed her over so she could sit down next to her on the end of the pew. Sandra squeezed herself across the aisle next to Stuart. The services began as though nothing had occurred. Sandra leaned forward and met Erma’s eyes. She wondered whether Erma was thinking the same thing she was. My, my, my, Raymond must have had a reason to be so quick on his feet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
During the service, Kitty stayed on one side of the aisle. Lizzie stayed on the other. The moment the service ended, Deputy Flores beckoned to Kitty and hurried her down the aisle. Erma hadn’t had time to talk to Kitty during the eulogy. She’d barely had time to stand up before Flores whisked Kitty into the waiting sheriffs car. She’d hoped that Sandra would ask Kitty what Kitty had started to say before Raymond dragged her away from Lizzie, but Sandra seemed as surprised as she to find that Kitty was gone.
Erma had been happy to see the large number of people who turned out for the memorial service. She’d never been sure how well-liked he’d been. Since she didn’t get out or mingle with the rest of the bar much, she had no way of knowing. And not many people stopped by the office to see her, to visit with her like they had in the old days. Gone were the drinking bouts, the poker parties, and what Sandra called her “Salon.” Almost all of the lawyers who came to the office now were there to see Sandra. Erma would be given the cursory hello and the time of day. What the hell, she thought, time moved on. At least she and Phillip used to have their monthly dinners to keep in touch.
So she’d been surprised to see such a large membership of the bench and bar at Phillip’s services. She also recognized people from local charitable organizations, civic groups, and the Galveston Chamber of Commerce. A lot of oldsters, retired directors, managers, and board members sitting with their younger counterparts. Phillip would have been pleased. The old fart.
The first speaker was the minister of Memorial Methodist Church. She spoke as though Phillip not only had been a long-term member, but active, being more than generous with his time and money. Subsequent to her speech, the minister introduced Alex Bailey.
At ninety years of age, Mr. Bailey was the oldest person in the Galveston County Bar Association. Erma smiled when she saw him hobble to the front of the room. He had been a great help to her when she’d set up her own law practice. Two other lawyers assisted Mr. Bailey to the podium and took care of his walker until he was through. Mr. Bailey didn’t practice law anymore, but still made his rounds to see what was going on. He enjoyed courthouse gossip. Mr. Bailey surveyed the faces before him and said, “You all may not believe it, but there was a time when Phillip Parker knew nothing about the practical aspects of law. Yes, he was book educated, but that was it.” He smiled, a gold cap briefly flashing. “I went up to him one day after seeing him founder in a hearing and asked if he wanted my help. The result? You’ve seen it over the years. He grew into a fine, gentleman lawyer.”
Mr. Bailey cleared his throat. “I can see from your faces that you are not impressed. A simple story of a lawyer making good. But let me finish. Later, Phillip Parker represented friends of mine for a lower percentage than the normal thirty-three percent. I can see by your faces, again, that you are thinking that wasn’t such a generous act.” He laughed, a quiet, gentle rumble. “But I found out later, quite by accident, that the remainder of his fee Mr. Phillip Parker had been donating to the charity my auntie founded in 1932, the children’s home.”
Erma glanced aside and saw Sandra leaning over to get her attention, her eyebrows raised. She was glad that Sandra was hearing things from others. Perhaps she’d be a little more sympathetic. Erma wiped away the tears that had sneaked down her cheeks. Rummaging around in her handbag, she found a shredded tissue and mopped her face. She’d wanted to be a part of the eulogy but had passed on the opportunity. There was no way that she was going to make a goddamned fool of herself in front of hundreds of people. She had helped put it together, made sure that the people who spoke represented all that was good about her friend, that was enough. Erma felt eons older than she had even at the cremation. A void had opened in her life. Her friend of many years. Her confidant. Gone. Her life would go on, but she would have to work hard not to let the quality of it go down. It would be so easy to give in to the loss. Who would fill the vacancy?
Raymond approached the podium sheepishly. His full eyes met Erma’s. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, Raymond read from a piece of paper. He’d told Erma that he could not do it unless he could read. He’d known he couldn’t hold himself together. Raymond’s tribute was short, telling of Phillip the teacher, who had taken him under his wing and had been in the process of instilling everything he knew about the law, as Mr. Bailey had before him. Erma hoped that she wouldn’t have to reconcile Raymond’s actions with Kitty with those words of eulogy. She didn’t want to, but she could bear it if Raymond was implicated in Phillip’s murder.
As they filed out of the church, Erma spotted Bubba at the back. He had cleaned up for the occasion. His spit-shined black loafers were worn down at the heels. His gray polyester pants and striped shirt didn’t match. His tie was incorrectly knotted, his jacket needed pressing, but at least he’d made the effort. He turned away when she got close to him, but Erma hollered his name and hurried after him and grabbed him by the elbow as he started down the sidewalk. When he whirled to face her, he tucked a handkerchief into his back pocket. Since it didn’t get dark in the summer until past nine, the temperature was still well over eighty. But Bubba had not been outside long enough to be wiping sweat from his brow.
He jerked his arm away. “What do you want, Missus Townley?” he asked, a heavy bouquet of gin assaulting her nose.
Steadying herself with her cane, Erma backed away a step and looked up into his face. “There are some things I’d like to discuss with you, Bubba.”
“I said everything I have to say to Miss Sandra and the police. You want to talk to me, you call my lawyer.” He sneered as he started away again.
“Okay. Who is your goddamned lawyer, smart-ass?” Erma followed him, but at a distance, hoping he wasn’t trying to lure her around a corner and beat the shit out of her.
“Let you know when I get one.” His laughter echoed as he ambled down the street.
Erma watched him for a few moments before she got an idea and hollered after him. “Hey, you’re in the will, you know.”
That stopped him quicker than airbrakes on a Mack truck. He reversed direction and came at her. “The boss’s will? How come you to know what’s in it?”
Erma stood solidly affixed to the ground. “I represent the estate, you dolt. Who’d you think it would be?”
“And you’ve seen the will?”
“Seen it, hell. I drew it. I wrote it up, Bubba. Of course I know what’s in it. If you’ll meet with me, I’ll go over the terms of it with you.”
“You mean what I got in it?”
“Yes, what you got.”
“When?�
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There he had her. She hadn’t even discussed this with Sandra, and it might not be so ethical, but they needed to act on her idea. No time to waste looking for Sandra to ask her what she thought. Erma looked every which way and didn’t see Sandra. Didn’t know whether Sandra would go along with her scheme or not. But this was no time to half-step. Sandra had to be in court the following morning for the hearing on the writ of habeas corpus, but as far as Erma knew, Sandra was free the remainder of the day. She smiled up at Bubba. “What say after lunch tomorrow? One o’clock? Our office?” She dug around in her purse for her card case and handed him a business card.
“So you want me to come to your office tomorrow, is that it?” Bubba looked skeptical, but he plucked the card from her hand.
“Yeah, and one last thing I want to know. You want yours in cash or will a check do?”
A grin spread across Bubba’s face, revealing teeth that would be every dentist’s dream, provided the owner had a lot of insurance. “Either one, Missus Townley. I ain’t a greedy man.” He made a mock bow, grunted under his breath, and turned back in his original direction.
Satisfied she had him on the hook, Erma edged back toward the church in search of Sandra. She needed to convince her that she had a workable plan. A few of the people she pushed past stopped to express their condolences. Erma, nodding as she went, headed home when she couldn’t find Sandra anywhere. What she needed was a stiff bourbon and a good night’s rest. Tomorrow was another day. And tomorrow she’d need her energy to deal with Bubba.
The temperature in the courtroom the following morning would have been enjoyable for a polar bear. As for Sandra, she was extremely uncomfortable. It made thinking on her feet more difficult. The constant complaints from attorneys over the years had caused the judge not only to swear up and down that he had no control over the thermostat as he huddled behind the bench in his robe, but he’d had a sign printed and hung on the wall behind his head that said: DIRECT ALL COMPLAINTS TO COUNTY COMMISSIONERS. Each morning before court began, he instructed the bailiff to open the windows, but the room never got warm.
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