Character Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  ''Richard interned with me, Kathleen. That was many years ago when I was at the top of my form. Such a bright young man. So focused. So intense. I always thought I taught him everything, but there were some things he knew that I didn't. I still don't want to know those things in his head.'' Gerry fell silent. Kathleen looked toward the milling people but Richard Jacobsen did not reappear. Gerry reanimated himself and touched her arm. ''We parted company on a certain uncomfortable level. He went the way of an ambitious young man. I had my suspicions that he was walking an unusual path.''

  ''It couldn't have been that odd, considering his success?''

  Gerry looked at her, a wry little upturn of the lips transforming him into the man of the world Kathleen had seen as a child.

  ''I think parts of Richard Jacobsen are made of rubber band - they bend and pull in odd directions, don't you know. And another part is made of quicksand because of the way he absorbs information, making it disappear as if it never existed then spitting back his own version. But mostly he's made of steel. One never knows about Richard, and I've long since been truly curious. We went our separate ways. Perhaps I should have gone with him.'' Gerry chuckled, and then thought again. ''Perhaps not. But we must do business with all sorts, mustn't we? Funny thing is, I can't really say what sort Richard is, other than powerful.''

  Kathleen walked with Gerry. Louise was long gone. A hush had fallen over the now deserted halls. Those who had business with the court were either doing it or had been sent away. Richard Jacobsen had simply evaporated. He left behind him a sense that Gerry and Kathleen were now less than they had been that the triumph before Judge Kelley was minor.

  While she may be on a new ladder with Gerry, Kathleen knew she was still on the bottom rung. Richard Jacobsen was on the top and he wasn't looking down. She'd have to climb some to reach him, but that was where she wanted to go. Maybe she wouldn't go all the way to the top, she wouldn't be that arrogant. But up. She wanted to go up. After this morning's performance she knew that she could. If she made it to the middle of that ladder, Kathleen knew she wouldn't ask for anything more.

  ''Shall we stop for breakfast, Kathleen?'' Gerry asked as they stepped out of the courthouse. Gerry looked about, squinting into the sun, Richard Jacobsen forgotten. Kathleen had forgotten even Gerry for the moment.

  ''We have an appointment, Uncle Gerry. We need to start on the Booker problem right away. The sooner we do, the sooner it will be over.''

  And I can start climbing.

  Marlene Wong was late. They were early so they cooled their heels in the coroner's gift shop. Gerry sat on the straight backed chair in the corner. He fanned himself with the three page catalogue filled with ghoulish gifts. Kathleen, her forehead dotted with perspiration, her hair slicked back behind her ears, held up a fluffy white beach towel resplendent with a black body outline. She refolded it remembering this was Los Angeles. She wouldn't want to give anyone of a number of questionable folks on the beach any ideas.

  There was a mug.

  A picture frame.

  A call.

  ''Gerry?''

  Kathleen turned toward the door that led elsewhere in time to see Gerry smile and, looking cool as a cucumber, greet the woman with a kiss on the cheek. ''Marlene, it's been a long time.''

  ''You've been out of the loop lately,'' she drawled. ''Like the last ten years. What've you been doing?'' White coat and clipped words couldn't hide her obvious affection for Gerry O'Doul.

  ''Haven't I been working, Marlene! Sure, that's why you haven't seen me. How nice you missed me.''

  ''I'll take a working stiff over a regular one any day, Gerry. Come on, I've got what you asked for.'' She cocked her head, her short black hair glinting in the fluorescent lights, the pink beaded chain attached to her glasses swayed as she moved.

  ''Come, Kathleen,'' Gerry held out his hand. Marlene gave her a once over as she joined them. ''My niece and new associate. She's lead attorney on this, I'm only here to make myself feel useful.''

  Marlene Wong sighed at his blarney. ''Then I guess you both better come. But watch out, we're full up and there's no place for tea.''

  Gerry held the door. Kathleen looked straight ahead as she followed Marlene Wong down the hall to a glass enclosed office. There was nothing to see, but the mere idea that somewhere in this vast building was full up with dead bodies was enough to make her feel queasy. They entered a small, neat office.

  ''Here we are. Got the file. Looked it over. Have a seat, Kathleen.''

  Marlene Wong was already sitting down. Kathleen did as she was told, slinging her purse strap over the back of the chair and putting her hands in her lap. Gerry sat after the women were settled. Marlene Wong looked at Kathleen. ''What do you want to know?''

  Kathleen looked quickly at Gerry who didn't look back. She was on her own and he waited patiently for her to say what it was she wanted.

  ''I want to prove that Lionel Booker didn't intend to take his own life. So I guess what I'd like is any medical information that might help prove he was hoping to just get high. Is there any information you have that might help us prove that?''

  ''That's pretty broad.''

  Gerry stepped in, much to Kathleen's dismay. If he hadn't wanted her to handle this then he shouldn't have set her up.

  ''Is there something in the toxicology reports Marlene that might lead you to believe the dosage was such that Mr. Booker simply wanted to pleasure himself?'' Gerry filled in, gently protective, Kathleen imagined, of her feelings. He needn't be. Kathleen was a quick and grateful study; all he needed to do was show her the way.

  ''That's a tall order. I've seen kids in here who look like they've got everything to live for. Cheerleaders who jump off cliffs 'cause their horse has fleas. How in the heck am I suppose to know what this guy intended. Heroine was in his system, he died of an overdose. He could have misjudged the dosage, but then again he could have calculated it that way.''

  ''Perhaps then, you could give us a run-through on the report. Anything that doesn't ring true to your educated ear, we'll listen.'' Gerry nodded as if encouraging her to take center stage at the recital for which she was ill prepared.

  ''Okay.'' She took a deep breath through her nose, tipped her head back and her glasses down. ''It wasn't my case, remember. I didn't do the actual autopsy.''

  ''Not to worry,'' Gerry murmured.

  ''Just wanted you to understand. The great man himself did this one.'' Marlene practical and political to the last gave them both a look to make sure they understood. ''Guess that in and of itself is pretty bizarre. By the time they got Mr. Booker in here it was late, or early, depending on how you look at it. Doctor Greischmidt is usually out of here by five and doesn't come in until nine-thirty - which is his prerogative. He has so many administrative duties to attend to it must be exhausting.'' Marlene was muttering now, trying to convince herself that the top man's load was heavier than hers. With a tongue cluck she ran her finger down the report in the folder.

  ''So I'd say that was pretty out of the ordinary. Not extraordinary, you understand, but somebody had to make a special request. He wouldn't come in without it.''

  ''What was so special about Mr. Booker? I mean, why would Doctor Greischmidt take notice of anything at that time of the morning? He had to be called from home. Could we ask him about that?'' Kathleen asked.

  Marlene gave Gerry a Cheshire grin that, until now, had been carefully guarded, but she talked to Kathleen.

  ''Sure, and we'll invite him to tea.'' Marlene and Gerry laughed. ''Doctor Greischmidt isn't exactly a fan of mine or your uncle's. About fifteen years back Gerry pushed hard during a trial and embarrassed him a lot. A young girl was supposedly killed by her brother three hours after dinner. Doctor Greischmidt had thrown away the stomach contents which were pivotal to the prosecution. Gerry embarrassed the heck out of the good doctor by making a big deal about that.''

  ''Did you manage to get the brother acquitted?'' Kathleen asked.

  ''He did,'' Marlene a
nswered for him.

  ''What she's not telling you, Kathleen, is that the boy was guilty. That one made me think twice, I'll tell you,'' Gerry mused. ''Ah, the days of maneuvering like that, eh, Marlene. Kept me young.''

  ''Kept us all young. Guess that's why Greischmidt lets us underlings do everything now. He sticks to the paper work. So, back to the work at hand. Let's see how good he was on the paper this time.'' Marlene was still smiling as she read. ''Stomach contents were saved. Booker hadn't eaten in a while. Pretty empty except for some grains. No alcohol. Heroine in the system along with an overabundance of vitamin C and E. Our man was a vitamin taker. That's kind of weird if he's a drug abuser.''

  ''Would you say it was a massive overdose or a miscalculation?'' Kathleen asked.

  Marlene raised a shoulder and cocked her head toward it nonchalantly. ''I'd venture to say just about anything would be considered a massive overdose. This guy had to play it safe.'' Marlene looked over the top of her glasses. ''Booker had an enlarged heart. Not a terrible problem on its own unless you're doing the kind of drugs he was doing. Then it will definitely disturb the balance of what was going on in his body. He wouldn't have been able to take the same dose as someone who started with a strong and healthy heart. Heroine shoots straight to the brain, signals shoot back down to the heart and boom.''

  ''Then he might have committed suicide.'' Gerry's comment was matter-of-fact. It was too early in the game to throw in the towel, but Kathleen didn't want to consider it. She had not only convinced Don Kelley of the rightness of her stand, she'd convinced herself.

  ''Or it could have meant he wasn't particularly smart,'' Kathleen offered. ''Is there some kind of manual who tells people how much they're supposed to use? I wouldn't know how much to use.''

  ''I think if you know where to buy it, you know how to use it.'' She went on to the next point of interest. ''We also don't know what grade of heroine he was using. It could have been contaminated. People are stupid. Can't tell from this what he knew and what he didn't, but I'm willing to bet he wasn't a real pro.''

  ''Why?''

  Marlene Wong opened the file and laid it flat on the desk. It was apparent she didn't want them to focus on the typed form on the left, but the autopsy photos so neatly tacked to the right side of the manila folder.

  Kathleen looked at Lionel Booker for the first time, and saw death as she'd never seen it before. Fascinated and curious, Kathleen was astounded to find she was neither revolted nor sympathetic. Were these the emotions of a lawyer? But she was a woman with a history of compassion: empathy for her father's disillusionment, for her mother's disappointment, for her fiancé's limitations. Funny, she'd thought she'd only left Banning behind, now she realized she'd left part of herself there. She wondered if she should try to find it again.

  ''I'm sorry, Doctor Wong,'' Kathleen said quietly, her personal epiphany put away for her to consider later and alone - if ever. ''I don't know what I'm looking for in these pictures.''

  Old eyes still sharp, Gerry had flipped the photos from full body to close ups of Lionel Booker's head, torso, legs and finally arms. He was the one who answered.

  ''Here, Kathleen. Look here.'' A long thin finger pointed to the mid-point of Lionel Booker's arm. She followed the instruction and shook her head again. ''Clear, my girl. His skin is unblemished. There are no tracks, Kathleen, no bruises. Indeed, Mr. Booker may not have known what he was doing. Lionel Booker was not a junkie. If there was a drug of choice, it wasn't injected heroine.''

  ''Still sharp, Gerry. So it could be his first try.'' Marlene Wong added her two cents. ''There are a few things that bother me.'' She flipped back to the picture that showed the left quadrant of Lionel's unclothed body. ''There is no note of a fresh needle mark, but see here? It looks like a something on the neck.'' She made a little circular motion to draw attention to it. ''This picture isn't great because the good doctor didn't turn the head fully, a fact which I would call sloppy if it were anyone but Doctor G. But the really strange thing is, if you look with a glass, there seems to be a slight tear in the skin. There's also a contusion on the back of his right thigh and one on the back of his right arm near his elbow. I thought that was weird, considering how nice the man was found on the toilette.''

  ''Like he'd fallen,'' Kathleen muttered.

  ''No,'' Marlene said thoughtfully.

  ''Then what?''

  ''Like he struggled.''

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kathleen had pirated Gerry's slightly larger office to depose Sarah Booker, but it was still uncomfortably crowded. The stenographer had settled in an upright chair in the corner, her machine at the ready on a portable stand. Tony Maglio was sitting in one of the bucket chairs purloined from the reception area. Kathleen was behind Gerry's desk and Sarah Booker was across from her. There was approximately ten square feet of floor space that wasn't being tapped upon by a set of feet. And, in the free space, Becky flitted about refilling coffee cups or water glasses. She looked pale, terrified as a young bride worried she'd blow her first dinner with the in-laws. The audience was too big, the activity more than she'd seen in all her years at O'Doul & Associates and she wanted everything to be right. The air-conditioning was working well and on full force. Perhaps that was what kept everyone from getting hot under the collar given Sarah Booker's victim-by-nature pose.

  ''Sarah.'' Kathleen crossed out number sixty-three on her list of questions and went on to number sixty-four. ''Did your husband spend time away from home?''

  Sarah slid her eyes toward Tony. Kathleen followed suit. Tony, unfortunately, wasn't quite on top of things. His eyes were crossing. The expression 'pulling teeth' took on a whole knew meaning as Sarah looked down again and shook her head.

  ''Mr. Maglio?'' Kathleen looked for a little help with a raised brow. She had long since overcome her awe of him. It went out the door the first time he snoozed off. He cleared his throat and pushed back his coat, letting his hand rest on his hip.

  ''You'll have to speak for the record, Sarah.'' Tony fell short of giving her a nudge on the shoulder. He'd said the same thing forty-three times. This, Kathleen decided, must be legal hell: Sarah sitting with her hands in her lap, her gray sweater hanging over her thin shoulders, her dishwater blond hair falling from a middle part to hide her face and that woeful expression on her face. The court reporter's fingers were at the perpetual ready only to be stretched for seconds by one word answers, Tony playing imaginary cat's cradle with his fingers and. . .

  ''No.'' Sarah's voice was flat as a pancake.

  ''I'm sorry, I've forgotten the question,'' Kathleen looked at the reporter.

  ''Did Lionel stay away from the home for long periods of time?''

  The woman's mouth hadn't moved. Kathleen glared at Louise. She'd forgotten Louise who had been progressively banished further from the table where counsel and client sat. The reporter looked at Louise just to make sure she wasn't going to say anything else. When it was clear that there wouldn't be a duet, she intoned:

  ''Did Lionel stay away. . .'' The reporter began.

  Kathleen nodded politely. The woman stopped. They all looked at Sarah who looked back with deer eyes - the kind that were wide and scared and caught in the headlights Kathleen was shining on her.

  ''Sarah?'' Kathleen prodded.

  ''No. He was always home.'' This time her voice was almost defiant.

  Louise snorted. She was ignored by everyone - except Sarah Booker. Slowly Sarah turned to look at Louise. The picture was stunning. Louise in her black satin jumpsuit, breasts pushing out the top, high heeled, sandaled feet pushing out the bottom, sat confidently at her end of the spectrum. Her nails were white. Louis Armstrong blew into a gold trumpet. Louise's own lips were outlined in pewter and colored in with plum. Tammy Faye didn't have a thing on her.

  On the other end of the spectrum sat Sarah. The sweater she'd worn in court still hung over her shoulders despite the heat outside. Today it covered a denim dress, neatly pressed, too long and too big to bring to mind an
y prurient interest. She was Cinderella forgotten by her fairy godmother. Yet, on her unpainted face there was an expression of such courage she seemed as formidable as her counterpart.

  ''Lionel was home every night because that's where he wanted to be. That's where he felt safe.'' The reporter typed like crazy, happy to have something to do. Sarah looked back at Kathleen, her piece said.

  ''Was there something that made Lionel feel unsafe?'' The odd choice of words alerted Kathleen. The picture Sarah painted of her life with Lionel was crucial to Kathleen's argument and Sarah knew it. But whatever else was in Sarah's head was now tucked firmly away.

  ''Nothing. There's nothing. He just liked the feeling of being at home,'' she hesitated. ''Lionel liked being away from everything loud - and vulgar.''

  They all thought about that for a moment. Louise inspected the tip of her nail. The guise of indifference was well done, and because it was Louise, believable.

  ''Did Mr. Booker ever verbally or physically abuse you, Sarah?'' Sixty-four was checked off.

  Sarah rose to the occasion, defending her dead husband. ''No. Not Lionel. Whoever said that is a liar. Every word out of Lionel's mouth was truthful and loving toward me.''

  ''No one has accused him of anything, but everybody thinks there was something wrong at the end of Mr. Booker's life.''

  Kathleen put her hand to her head, winding her fingers through her hair. She looked at Sarah Booker and opened her mind. The belief that Sarah wanted to talk was a far cry from Kathleen knowing how to tap into that desire. Obviously her desire was fleeting.

  ''I want to go home.''

  Sarah pleaded with her attorney. She refolded her hands. Tony Maglio looked through her not knowing Sarah saw through him, too. Only by the grace of the estate was she represented by counsel at all. Sarah Booker was a woman alone. Finally she turned the full force of her frightened and anxious attention on Kathleen.

  ''I want to go home.'' This time she appealed to Kathleen. ''I've told you everything there is to tell. Lionel was a good man. We were very happy. We loved each other. I know that you people can make things seem different. I know you're smart with words. If I could, I'd give you all the money just so you would go away and let Lionel rest. But I can't. It's not up to me.'' She hung her head and the curtain of hair fell again. She spoke from behind it.