by Wick Downing
More surprise witnesses? “Steinbrunner will explode into shrapnel, Mike, you heard him. He’ll unglue me if I do that.”
“So?” he asked, like it wouldn’t bother him in the slightest for the judge to unglue me. “Nobody’s gonna believe that old man, Kate. Now they will. Besides, I thought defense lawyers tried anything.”
He was right on both counts. Grandfather wouldn’t hesitate a second. He’d jump into the lake of the law with both feet, just to see how high the water splashed. He’d fight back with “the interests of justice,” and “the search for the truth,” and ask the judge how the new witnesses could have been included on a witness list when he didn’t know until they’d been found what their names were. “Ooooh,” I said, letting my voice shake, mocking my own terror, “this will be so bad. I need their names, telephone numbers, and addresses.”
“All I have are names so far,” he said. “Bean Pole and Tomato Face.”
“Those are their names?”
“That’s all I’ve got.”
“It will have to do, then. Can you get them to the courthouse this afternoon? So Mr. Thomas can interview them if he wants?”
“You got it,” he promised, as I choked on tears because of what I was feeling that I couldn’t say. “Anything else?”
“I . . .” There was so much stuff in my head that wanted to gush out, in waves of gratitude.
“See you in court!” Mike called out, hanging up as though to save me from embarrassment.
Mrs. Roulette typed the witness list without saying a word to me about it, which was nice of her. I felt encouraged enough even to try some of the sandwich, but it didn’t do well in my stomach, so I wrapped it back up for Herman. I tried to gather my thoughts in the quiet of Grandfather’s room, then took a deep breath, put the witness list and sandwich in my briefcase, and walked back to the courthouse, where I would slay the dragons of injustice that slithered around. But first I stopped in the basement to give Herman the snack and make sure Spence was still on the scene.
The dog filled up the cage he was cooped up in, his jaw flat on the floor, as his tail thumped with happiness at the sight of the roast beef, which he ate in one gulp. Spence and Miss Willow were with him, sitting next to each other and holding hands, which I thought was really sweet. “Well!” Spence said, full of heartiness and cheer like an actor playing the part of a senator meeting a voter. “Our lawyer, Wilma. Did you have a decent lunch, Kate?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, sitting down. “I am so glad you made it, Spence, and I like your suit,” I lied, ignoring the way it fit and the blood-soaked bits of paper on his cheeks. “How did you sleep last night?” I asked, fishing for answers to questions that popped into my mind, like where he’d spent the night and how Bearclaw’s posse had missed him.
“Wonderfully well,” he informed me. “I slept with Herman in Wilma’s backyard. She knew nothing about it, of course. Had she known that a man spent the night on the premises, she’d have been scandalized.”
“Spence!” she cooed as she tucked her hand comfortably in his.
“Yet she was extraordinarily hospitable to me this morning, and even allowed me the use of her shower.”
“The bathroom is a mess.”
The last place the posse would have looked would be Miss Willow’s backyard. “Why did you spend the night with Herman instead of, you know, with your buddies?” I asked.
“Because I’m incurably irresponsible,” he explained. “Had I remained with my companions, I would have missed the trial. And so, in order to ensure my attendance, I retired earlier than usual to a location of little or no temptation.” He smiled that sad smile of his that had its own stamp and strange appeal. “To make a promise to a human and break it is forgivable. Humans don’t deserve any better. But to let a dog down is absolutely unpardonable. I would never have forgiven myself had I let Herman down.”
It was ten minutes before one and I had to face the judge with the witness list, so I told Miss Willow to be sure and be on time and then went upstairs, hoping to find the judge in a good mood.
Ron Benson was sitting on a bench in the hall as I walked by. “Hi, counselor,” he said. “Nice try.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll find out.”
The judge hadn’t come back from lunch, so I left the witness list with his clerk who shuddered when she saw it and said, “I don’t know about this, Kate, are you sure?”
I shrugged at her, smiled, and nodded.
“Go, girl,” she said.
Back in the courtroom, Miss Willow waited like a little mouse, and Mr. Thomas and Officer Milliken nodded at me from their places. I gave Mr. Thomas a copy of the witness list and watched his eyes roll out of sight. “I don’t believe this,” he said.
Kids were filling up the courtroom again, and the reporter from the Rocky Mountain News was in the front row winking at me. “Pull out all the stops, okay?” he said.
“Why?”
“This could make the front page.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“WILL THE LAWYERS APPROACH the bench?” the judge asked, not even looking at me. But he stared at my witness list as if it was the dead body of his favorite pet. We moved forward. Mr. Thomas wouldn’t look at me either. Here it comes, I thought, hoping Grandfather’s voice would help me again.
“Miss Hope,” the judge whispered so the jurors wouldn’t hear, “your witness list should have been filed three days before trial. It’s too late now. If there’s good cause for an exception, you need to state what it is in a proper motion.”
Ask for an oral one, Grandfather’s voice said. “Sir, can I make an oral motion, then?” I asked. “In the interests of justice?”
The rays from Judge Steinbrunner’s eyes were hot enough to light a fire. “At the first recess I’ll hear you, young woman. Not now. We are going to finish this case this afternoon.”
At least he’s taking me seriously, I thought as I walked back to my chair. He isn’t sending me to my room like a naughty little girl. “Mr. Thomas,” the judge said, “you may call your first witness.”
The bailiff brought Mrs. Pearsan in from the hall, her casual summer suit perfect for Denver, with turquoise earrings framing her face. She sat in the witness box like an Indian princess, raised her right hand, and swore to tell the truth. I smiled at her to see if she’d smile at me, and she did, showing me and the jury an open and friendly attitude, with nothing to hide. It matched her appearance. I liked her, and so did the jurors, who listened with approval when she told them where she lived and worked, what her husband’s name was, and that their little baby’s name was Monica.
But when Mr. Thomas showed her pictures of the little girl, she smiled at each snapshot, then dabbed at tears I didn’t see in her eyes. “Poor baby,” she said, which sounded like a line she’d memorized. “Her legs are still bruised.” The pictures were passed to the jury.
When I got up to cross-examine her, the butterflies in my stomach reminded me I’d never done this before. I slipped around the lectern so she could see all of me, rather than just my face. “She’s so cute,” I said. “It must have been very scary for you.”
“Much more than scary,” she told me—and the jury. “I almost fainted. I will never forget how shocked and distraught I was when I first heard about it.”
I empathized with her totally. “Was it Miss Jespersen who told you?”
“Actually, I heard it from my husband first. But Ursula and I talked too, as you can imagine.”
“You’re lucky to have Miss Jespersen,” I said. “She’s an au pair, isn’t she? From Denmark?”
“Yes.”
I asked her what an au pair was, hoping there were some poor people on the jury who would hate her for having so much money that she could bring a babysitter all the way from Europe—which was mean of me, but Grampa seemed to be watching, and nodded his old head with satisfaction. After that, cross-examining her was easy, like chatting it up with a frie
nd of my mom’s. I asked her where the baby had been taken for treatment, and was told the emergency room at Denver General Hospital. Baby Monica’s pediatrician dropped everything, she said, and rushed out to the hospital to examine her. After treating her, he released the tiny baby to Mom and Dad. “How is Monica now?” I asked, and was told she was fine, except for a tiny bruise still on her leg. “She’s back to laughing and giggling and playing with toys in her crib,” Mrs. Pearsan said, glowing with love for her baby.
I was proud of myself when she stepped down from the box, because at least the jury knew Herman hadn’t chewed Monica into bits. But my confidence evaporated when Carl Thomas brought Mr. Pearsan to the stand. Mr. Pearsan told the jury he’d been devastated by the call, which came from the emergency room at the hospital, and he added that his wife became hysterical. He described in detail how everyone at the hospital, even Ron Benson, had cried. Although he didn’t say it, the message written on his face was easy to read: That dog needs to be killed.
That man won’t help you, Grampa’s voice said as I stood up, ready to take him on. He wants to hurt you. Leave him alone. “No questions, Judge,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. Pearsan,” I added.
Even that was too much. “Don’t thank me, young woman,” he snarled. “Don’t even talk to me. I don’t know how you can look at yourself in the mirror.”
As I tried to recover my poise, Ursula Jespersen walked down the aisle and mounted the stand. At least she was a nice distraction for the man on the jury, looking sexy in a miniskirt and a revealing blouse. All the guys in the audience sat up straight too, and so did the judge.
Mr. Thomas guided her through her testimony. In a soft voice with a delicate Danish accent, she told the jury how she and her boyfriend, Ron, had taken the baby to the park in the Pearsans’ car, with Monica in a portable baby carriage instead of a stroller because she was so tiny she couldn’t sit up yet. They wheeled her to a grassy spot near the lake, then sat down next to her and watched the ducks. Mr. Thomas had Ursula get out of the witness box and go to the chart, so she could point out exactly where things happened. Then she returned, and he asked her to tell the jury what happened next.
Her soft voice became even softer. It was Sunday and quite lovely, she said, with happy people everywhere . . . but suddenly her manner changed. “Such a large dog! From nowhere he came, huge, like a wolf!” Her eyes glazed over then, and her face turned white as she seemed to see him again. “He smash into Monica’s carriage and I scream when it crashes to the ground. My baby tumbles out! And Ron jumps to his feet. The animal take Monica in his jaws and run away with her!” She covered her face with her hands to blot out the nightmare vision.
But Mr. Thomas wouldn’t let her forget. He made her tell all of it: how Ron grabbed the chain around the dog’s neck, forcing him to drop Monica—but then the animal turned on Ron! Ron courageously fought the dog, whipping him with the chain and beating the beast into submission, while “I rush to protect my poor baby who cry with such fear in her voice, such terror, so afraid of the dog. I feel so bad for my poor baby.”
Had Spence made his story up? He’d told me that no one was sitting near the baby carriage when he arrived on the scene. That Ron and Ursula busted through a hedge or something, after the commotion started. Yet Ursula sounded so honest and convincing. The pain she’d suffered seemed very real in her mind. “Would you recognize the animal if you saw him again?” Mr. Thomas asked.
Her eyes flashed angrily. “Yesss! I see him this morning.”
“That may be,” Mr. Thomas said, “but he must be identified for the record.” He turned to the officer sitting next to him, who looked glamorous at that moment, like a Canadian Mountie in a blue uniform instead of a red one. “Officer Milliken, bring in the animal, please.”
I’d seen the way Milliken had dragged Herman away that morning, trying to make him look like the Hound of the Baskervilles, and knew he’d do it again just to make him look fierce. “Your Honor, Miss Willow can get him,” I said, jumping up.
Mr. Thomas smiled at me as though I was too young to understand all the ramifications. “I think we’d all feel safer, Miss Hope, if Officer Milliken got him. Just in case.”
“In case what?” I demanded. “Herman won’t hurt anyone.”
“You lawyers stop,” the judge snapped. “Approach the bench.”
I was sick of Mr. Thomas and his grandstanding about Herman the wild beast, and decided to grandstand right back. I even held my own with the judge, who ruled in my favor. Miss Willow could get the dog, he said, once some “protections” were in place; and a few minutes later, she and Herman came through the doors into the courtroom. I almost died when I saw him. He looked wild and vicious, with the hair along his back standing up like wire and his teeth hanging out.
But as soon as he saw all the kids in the courtroom, his ears lay down, a big doggie smile rearranged his face, his tail wagged back and forth, and he barked with friendliness. What had set him off, I realized, was seeing Ron Benson, whom Herman had passed in the hall before entering the courtroom. Two sheriff’s deputies stood behind Miss Willow with pistols in holsters on their hips. They were the “protections” the judge had ordered, and one of them said, “Easy does it,” his hand on the pistol grip, obviously ready to yank it out and start shooting.
When Herman saw me, he dragged Miss Willow over, put his front paws on my shoulders, and licked my face, almost tipping me over in my chair. Officer Milliken charged over as though I was in terrible danger, grabbing the chain out of Miss Willow’s hand. “Officer, let go!” I told him, taking the leash. “Herman likes to lick my face. I think it’s the salt.”
Some of the kids laughed, but Mr. Thomas was clearly nervous and so were most of the jurors—except two of them who might pet him, I thought, if I could manage to get him close to them. “For the sake of all of us, let’s do this quickly,” Mr. Thomas said, maintaining his distance from Herman and leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that he thought Herman was vicious. “Miss Jespersen, have you seen this animal before?”
Herman seemed to understand that the witness was the center of attention, and he pulled on the leash, his tail wagging, as though he wanted to go to her and say hello. “I have seen thees animal,” Ursula said, shrinking back in her chair as though terrified of the beast. “He take my baby away from me in his jaws!”
“For the record, the Court notes that the dog named Herman, belonging to Miss Wilma Willow, has been identified by the witness,” Steinbrunner said.
“Good. We’re done with the creature,” Mr. Thomas said. “Get him out of here, please, before—”
“Your Honor?” I asked, interrupting Mr. Thomas before he had a chance to spit out all his dire predictions. “There is lots of room under our table. If the jury has to decide whether Herman is a dangerous dog, wouldn’t it be better to leave him where they can see him? He’s on a leash, the protections Mr. Thomas has insisted on are in place, and he could stay where he is at Miss Willow’s feet.”
Two more jurors were interested in him. One woman even leaned over the rail to see him better, which perked Herman up. He crawled under the table and tried to reach her, with his tail wagging and his nose working and a friendly expression on his face. “Be careful!” Mr. Thomas warned. “Keep the animal away from the jury!”
Herman stopped, like a well-trained dog obeying an order, and looked at Mr. Thomas with a question on his face as I pulled him toward me and gently rubbed him around his ears the way Mike did, knowing he liked it. “I can’t allow him to stay,” Judge Steinbrunner said. “Have your client take him away.”
That’s the way to mix it up, young lady, Grampa’s voice said. It startled me, but I liked it because he wasn’t usually very generous with his compliments. “Of course, Your Honor,” I said, handing the leash to Miss Willow. “Take this vicious monster back to his cage, please,” I said, “before he licks someone to death.”
“Enough, young woman,” the judge said when a few people laughed.
Herman eagerly led Miss Willow out the door as Mr. Thomas looked at me with a tighter smile than I’d seen before. “Your witness, Miss Hope,” he said. “You may cross-examine.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” I said, and adopted a lawyer-like expression, deciding to get tough. “Miss Jespersen, you didn’t see Herman smash into the baby carriage at all, did you?”
What are you doing? Grampa’s voice thundered at me. Giving her another chance to beat you up? Think like a lawyer, Kate. Don’t worry about looking like one.
Ursula did just what he said she’d do. She leaned forward angrily. “Thees dog that day was not so very nice and so friendly as with you, Miss Hope,” she said. “He knock down the carriage and my baby fall out, and he pick up my baby in his jaws!”
“How do you know that?” I asked, trying to regain my footing. “You didn’t see a thing because you and Ron Benson were behind a lilac hedge. Isn’t that the truth?”
For God’s sake, Kate, the voice said. What kind of answer do you expect from a dumb question like that?
“We were not behind a lilac hedge!” she gasped, as though insulted beyond her endurance level. “What do you suggest?”
My brain had hemorrhaged. I tried to stop the bleeding with a tourniquet. “Wasn’t there a lilac hedge near you?” I asked.
“I do not know how far away. I hardly see this hedge.”
“But it’s there on the chart, isn’t it?” I asked.
“There are many bushes on the chart. Ron and I watch the ducks.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to ask her and started to sit down. Don’t leave it there! Grandfather stormed. Ask her something that can help your case! Did she see the boys on the bikes, for example . . . but lead up to it so she’ll agree with you. Hammering people on the head works on Perry Mason, but it’s bad cross-examination.
I smiled, but she didn’t buy it. At all. “Miss Jespersen, where did you and Mr. Benson park your car?” I asked, sliding behind the lectern where I could hide from her and the jury.