Rudy reassured him with a smile.
"How did the defendant react to Justice Rayburn's attempts to help her?"
"She ran away from the rehabilitation center. Every conversation was an argument. She stole my wife's car. The police found her approaching the Mexican border in San Diego – with that same man. She started smoking marijuana. She began cutting herself. She was always angry. Hannah was either very verbal, or totally withdrawn. It was difficult to know what to do."
"Mr. Rayburn," Rudy stepped forward to wrap things up. "Did you ever see or hear the defendant threaten your father after the incident with the knife?"
Kip's eyes trailed to Hannah and she seemed to shrink, huddling under the blazer like it was a tent. Her head shook in miniature movements, silently denying Kip's testimony or begging him to say nothing more. With no sign that Hannah moved him, Kip Rayburn looked away.
"The defendant screamed at my father that she wished he were dead. She said he would get what was coming someday. That he should just wait." Kip's gaze snapped back to Hannah. He struggled to keep the loathing from his voice. "After all that he had done for her. She wanted him dead. I thought it was a figure of speech. I was wrong."
"Your Honor!"
Josie shot out of her chair ready to object. Rudy looked over his shoulder. Judge Norris swiveled toward the defense. It wasn't Josie they focused on, but Hannah. She was rising from her seat, tears poured from her eyes and down her cheeks. Her body vibrated and shuddered.
"I didn't. . ." she said sharply, her fury directed toward everyone. "I didn't want him d-dead." She tipped her head back as if she could reverse the flow of her tears. "I just said it. I didn't do anything to him..." A second more ticked away, and then the silence of the courtroom was ripped by gut wrenching sobs. Her teeth gnashed together as if she could bite off her words. Her hair whipped in front of her face, her eyes blazed at the jury, the judge and then at Kip. Her voice rose and she demanded everyone in the room listen "I just wanted. . .him. . . to. . .leave me. . . alone."
Over and over again she said it, one fist pounding on the table in rhythm. No longer passive and content to have Josie fight for her, Hannah reached for her mother. The blazer fell from her shoulders. Her arm shot out, she pointed at Linda.
"Mom! Tell them now. Don't let him do this. He is lying. You know he's lying."
Paralyzed, Linda stared open mouthed at her daughter. A juror suppressed a cry. Another looked away. Someone gasped. Reporters scribbled trying to describe the bloody mess that was Hannah Sheraton's left arm, trying to explain how a common pencil could become a gruesome weapon of self-mutilation. There was no razor blade but there was no stopping the pain and rage inside Hannah Sheraton from getting out.
Suddenly, the bailiff lunged. Hannah reacted, striking out at him. Off guard, he stumbled back only to come at her again. Linda screamed. Kip shot straight up out of the witness chair but made no move to help.
It was Josie, taller than the bailiff, more determined to do what was right, who pulled a thrashing Hannah to her, felt the blood wet her blouse, and did what had to be done. Stumbling with her client toward the bench, Josie led Hannah past Judge Norris as she said:
"I'd like to request a recess."
CHAPTER 20
"I should have been a mechanic like my father." – Judge Cy Norris to his clerk upon leaving the bench.
Josie once dated an emergency room doctor. She loved his wickedly dark sense of humor, his goatee, and the way he cooked. She didn't like the fact that being near a body of water larger than a bathtub made him seasick, and he wanted to have a house in the suburbs filled with children.
They had parted ways after a year but Josie always remembered something he said. A great deal of blood could come from just one wound. Once you found the wound, you could make a decision about what to do: work to save the poor bastard or let God deal with it.
In the windowless holding cell off Norris's courtroom Josie leaned up against the wall and looked for Hannah's wound while someone else cleaned up the blood. The jurors were at lunch, though she doubted they had an appetite. Judge Norris called a doctor, advised he would expect Josie back in the courtroom for her cross, and gave permission for Hannah to be excused in the company of her mother to seek further medical attention – mental or physical. Josie sent back her thanks. He was not only a kind man he was a smart one who wanted to control his courtroom now that the floodgates had been opened: Hannah being half carried away, blood everywhere, Linda barred from the room as Hannah became ever more hysterical, while crying that she was so sorry. So sorry.
For the last ten minutes, though, all had been quiet. The doctor who had responded to Judge Norris's call was an older woman, unfazed by what she found. She spoke little, did her work well, and bandaged Hannah's arm with great care before she left. Hannah's arms were crossed on the tabletop, her head resting on them, and her eyes were closed. It was the first time Josie had seen her completely at rest. No tapping, no counting, worn out, and psychically and emotionally exhausted.
Josie watched her thoughtfully and counted her own failings. She had seen a hundred other clients proclaim their innocence, fall into despair, cry and wail against the system. At one time in her life, Josie had been able to gauge guilt in a split second. It had been a talent left dormant, a dull blade that no longer sliced easily through a client's guile – until now. Now Josie believed what she saw: Hannah was only a poor, confused girl who had sealed her own fate, whether guilty or not. Finally Josie pushed herself away from the wall. It was time to probe for Hannah's real wound.
"We're okay here." Quietly, Josie dismissed the bailiff. He hesitated but eventually left them alone. Josie touched the door as it closed behind him then pulled a chair close to Hannah and laid her hand atop the girl's head.
"Hannah, come on. We've got to talk."
Hannah's lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened. She stared, but saw nothing. It was another minute, maybe two before Hannah found the energy to speak.
"I'm sorry about your shirt. I'm sorry about everything."
"Forget the shirt." Josie petted Hannah, smoothing her hair, talking quietly. "It's the everything we need to talk about. Can you sit up? Can you talk to me?"
Hannah's body trembled. She raised her head. It was so hard for her. Finally she sat up. Her hands fell to her sides. She looked at the bandages.
"I don't even remember doing it. I just remember Kip talking and talking."
"Hannah do you want your mother to come in while we get things settled?" Josie asked.
Hannah shook her head. "No. She'll just say she was right all along. I should have done what she said. I should have gone to the hospital but I wanted to show her I was strong, too. I wanted to be strong like her." A pitiful sob bubbled up and escaped. Just one. She put her fingers to her lips. "I just couldn't listen to him anymore."
"Your mom is worried, not upset. We're all worried about you," Josie whispered.
"When you see her, tell her I'll be good from here on. I promise. I don't want to go to jail. I want to go home with my mom."
"That's what we need to decide Hannah." Josie cleared her throat. It was tough to say this. "I think we need to cut our losses here."
Josie fell silent. It was hard to think. If Hannah was unbalanced enough to hurt herself that badly, in such a horrific manner, then what could she have done to Fritz . . .
"Josie, why haven't you ever asked me if I'm innocent?" Hannah leaned close as if she knew what Josie was thinking.
Josie chuckled darkly. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms to look at her client. She told her the truth.
"Because I was being a good defense attorney. If I asked you and you told me you were guilty, I couldn't put you on the stand if I had to. If I knew you were going to lie, I'd be suborning perjury. No defense attorney ever asks that question."
"Don't you want to know?"
"I thought I did know, Hannah." Josie held Hannah's gaze.
"Until now, is that it?" The last flicker of hope drained out of Hannah's eyes when Josie didn't answer. "It's okay. I understand."
"No, you don't. I still don't think you deliberately killed Fritz Rayburn. I'll never believe that. But Hannah, nothing is ever black and white. People can look at the same thing and see it differently. You could swear you were innocent and those people in that room would look at the evidence and be sure you're guilty. It's a huge risk we're taking now that this has happened."
"But everything's going to be okay, right?"
Josie lightly touched Hannah's arm. "If you can do this to yourself, then there are really deep problems you have to contend with. I'm going to ask for a continuance. I want you to talk with some doctors. I want the jury to take a breather because what happened just now isn't going to help. Hannah, I couldn't live with myself if I screwed up and put you in jail when your mother was right all along and you need treatment."
Hannah clutched at Josie's hands, missing and trying again until she had them in both her own.
"Please, please don't give up on me. Josie, you can't. I know you don't want to know, but I didn't start the fire. I hit Fritz. Okay? I mean, I think I did. I know I pushed him. I did that. I was in his bedroom. I did scream at him. That's all the truth. I should have told you before, but I didn't think it was important. I thought the fire was important." Hannah pulled on Josie's hands like a child wanting an adult to see things her way. "I didn't see him fall and hit his head. I didn't set the fire. I didn't kill him. I just wanted to get away from him."
"Hannah, stop. Stop." Josie yanked her hands away and fell back in the chair. She put one hand to her temple and closed her eyes. She wanted to close her ears. There it was: the truth. Hannah had been there. Hannah had struck him. Hannah probably set that damn fire and whatever was in her sick mind just wouldn't let her admit it. Josie opened her eyes again, dropped her hand, and leaned forward. "Listen to me, Hannah. I'm your attorney. I have to tell you when it's time to give up."
"But it's not time," Hannah cried. Desperately she tried to control her anger, her good hand scratching at the bandages on her wounded arm. Josie grappled with her until she had Hannah's hand in both of hers. Finally, nose-to-nose, Josie begged:
"Then help me believe that. Did you say you wished Justice Rayburn were dead?" Josie relaxed her grip. She lowered her voice. They were both breathing hard. "Did you?"
Hannah blinked and sat straight up. She clasped her hands and pounded them into her lap as she whispered:
"I didn't mean it. I wanted him to leave me alone. That's what I told him that night. I told him he had to leave me alone. He said he wouldn't and I pushed him. I . . . I could have hit him. I know I pushed him. . .I told him. . . ."
Tears came out of her eyes, not in drops but in sheets of moisture that shimmered over her beautiful bronze skin, washed down her cheeks, and fell onto her skirt. Once begun, Hannah couldn't seem to stop crying. It was as if she had saved it up all her life.
"Hannah. What am I suppose to say to that jury? Fritz Rayburn spent time and money trying to get you the help you need. Kip heard you say you wished his father were dead. You were in Rayburn's bedroom. His pills were under your mattress. Now you admit that you hit him, or pushed him, or whatever. How can I convince that jury that you meant anything else except to harm Fritz Rayburn?"
"No. No. No. It wasn't like that. I swear." Hannah sniffed, she sobbed, and she put her hands on Josie's knees. Her eyes were red rimmed and the green iris's sparkled bright. "Fritz was going to hurt me. I had to stop him. Don't you see?"
"Hannah, please." Josie didn't want to hear her fantasies.
"He would sneak up and tell me what he was going to do and then he'd show that little knife to me. He said it was his favorite knife to cut with. That old one. I just wanted to take it away and hide it."
"Hannah, deal in reality."
"Wait, wait," she pleaded, her hands patting Josie's knees, babbling on. "I didn't lie about the pills. He gave them to me because I would need them someday, when he did something that really hurt. And I was afraid. I kept those pills because I never knew when he would come after me, or when I'd start feeling something. He was happy when I was afraid. If I wasn't afraid Fritz wouldn't think it was fun anymore. If he couldn't hurt me, it wouldn't be fun. I practiced cutting on myself so it wouldn't hurt if he did it."
Hannah was crying again and sniffing. The words poured out as she tried to coax a smile of faith out of Josie. Josie took her client's hands and put them together to keep them quiet. She spoke quietly, but firmly. It was time to end all this. Hannah had to admit the truth.
"Hannah, if all this happened why you didn't tell someone?"
"Who was going to believe me? Who was I going to tell?"
"Your mother," Josie answered. "She probably would have killed him."
Hannah bolted upright. She shut her eyes and shook her head violently.
"No. No. No." She said harshly. "Fritz said he knew exactly how to hurt her. He told me that all the time. That's what he said. I know how to hurt your mother. I couldn't let him do that." Hannah's eyes searched Josie's face looking for hope, for help. It wasn't there. "You have to believe me. I've never told anyone except for you. Josie, please, please. Look, I'll show you."
Hannah shot up, pushed back her chair and frantically gathered up her long skirt. There was too much fabric and Hannah lost hold. Finally she had pulled it to her waist. Josie saw it all: her agitation, the bandaged arm, the healing hand, the wild eyes that saw something Josie didn't. This child was so near broken Josie wondered if she could ever be put back together.
The plain-faced clock ticked away a minute and a half before Hannah turned back to Josie, a triumphant smile on her tormented face. She tugged at her skirt and stuck out her leg forcing Josie to look.
"Oh, Hannah."
Josie's stomach turned at the sight of the final hurt on Hannah Sheraton's body. Running from thigh to hip was a raised and puckered scar, near white on her beautiful dark skin.
"I just wanted him to leave me alone. That is why I was in his room. That is why I pushed him, that is why that man saw us arguing," Hannah said quietly.
Hannah's young face was bright with hope. Slowly Josie got out of her chair and knelt on the cold hard floor. She reached out but couldn't bear to touch Hannah's skin.
"You want me to believe Fritz Rayburn did this to you? You want me to believe that a California Supreme Court Justice was a sadistic monster?"
Hannah nodded but Josie didn't see. She'd fallen back on her heels, her arms at her side. This changed everything. Hannah was certifiable. She had no grip on reality and Josie's heart broke.
Hannah let her skirt fall over her legs, and then crouched down in front of Josie and changed everything again.
"I can prove it. I know about other people. I know what he did to them. I'm not the first person he hurt, Josie. I'm just the last. Aren't I the last?"
There, on the floor of that cold, small, windowless room Hannah Sheraton told her stories until the bailiff opened the door and told Josie it was time to begin again.
CHAPTER 21
"This one is over." – Maeve Clark, reporter, to herself.
Josie learned how to hold her breath when she was ten. Not just hold it for a minute but hold it as if it was a matter of life or death.
The first morning they were in Hawaii, before the boxes were unpacked, Emily Baylor-Bates bundled her daughter into their old car and drove off the base to find an adventure.
Two hours later, Emily and Josie picked their way down a bluff through a light tropical rain toward a stretch of white beach, blue water, and waves that curled on to each other. Laughing, meeting the waves head on, Emily ran into the water. Josie went after, apprehensive, but so anxious to be her mother's daughter. Emily turned her back. A wave caught her and lifted her up. She reached out her hands calling to Josie over the roar, moving further into the bright blue water, moving
away from Josie.
Josie, smaller and more vulnerable than Emily, was buffeted by the waves. It took all her might to stand her ground. One hit her. Another came. A third slapped her down, dragging her into a whirlpool of sand and water. Josie was twisted head over heels, her small arms flailing, until she didn't know which way was up, or where down was. She hit the sand hard. Salt stung her shoulder where it was scraped bloody by shell and rock. Over and over again Josie was tumbled and dragged on the rocky bottom only to be sucked back up into the churning, crystalline bubble of water. She was suffocating. Death was around the corner. There was no savior in sight. She wanted her mother. Where was her mother, Josie wondered, as Hannah fought for her life?
Just when Josie was sure she couldn't hold her breath one minute longer, just when she was sure she was going to die, the ocean threw her up on shore. Lying on the sand, gasping for air, Josie looked up. Emily was dancing in the waves, oblivious to everything but her own pleasure.
Hannah Sheraton had been like Josie. She had held her breath as she tumbled through the beautiful treacherous waters of the Rayburn house while Linda and Kip danced outside the surf and Fritz dragged her under the tide of his sickness. Linda hadn't saved her, but Josie would. She was convinced that Hannah's story was not a fantasy. The girl knew too much, gave too many names, and was too specific as to Fritz Rayburn's particular habits. By the time the court reconvened Josie knew what she had to do. She had to believe in Hannah unconditionally.
Mired in her outrage, guarding against the slippery slope of skepticism, Josie stood rigidly behind the defense table; eyes forward as she controlled her breathing and planned her attack. Josie didn't realize Linda was near until she heard her voice.
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