Hostile Witness (13 page)

13

“My client looks forward to getting back to being a child.” - Josie Baylor-Bates

“I have great faith in the justice system.” – Kip Rayburn

“I want my daughter home.” - Linda Rayburn

Linda and Kip dashed up the steps of the courthouse.  Josie Baylor-Bates was close behind with Hannah cringing inside her protective arm. Reporters followed, tossing questions and shoving microphones their way.  The three adults threw their answers over their shoulders intent only on getting to the quiet of the courtroom.

They had exchanged no more than hellos when they met on the street. Each gave a one sentence statement. Kip rebuffed Josie’s attempts to thank him for coming, for showing support. He was there to show his support for the court, for the system, for a girl who was only accused. It was the line the governor’s right hand man, Alex Schaeffer, had suggested he stick with. Kip hated it.  Holding Linda’s hand was his idea.  Linda clung to him.  Even when Josie held the door open for them Linda hung back as if afraid something might happen to her if she walked through them. That was understandable. Josie had rushed up these steps with another client three years ago and met her Waterloo. Kip was taut, anxious, and trying to hide at every turn. Understandably so.  He wouldn’t be able to watch the trial. The prosecution had subpoenaed him. He would wait outside the doors until it was his turn to testify. It was a despicable move by Klein and there was nothing Josie could do about it. Hannah was the only one who remained silent, her eyes downcast, hearing, no doubt, every nuance in the terse exchanges between parents and attorney, attorney and reporters.

Inside, no one spoke. They passed through the metal detectors single file. Purses, briefcases went through the conveyor belt. Arms out. Wands were passed over each of them.  They waited for the elevator and entered together. They exited with Linda leading, her arm around Hannah, Kip on the other side of the girl. A tense caravan, they walked into a courtroom filled with curious, respectfully subdued spectators. The clerk was handling last minute housekeeping. The bench rose high off the floor, the seal of the state hung heavy on the wall. Josie and Hannah parted ways with the Rayburns; they to the seats behind the bar, Josie and Hannah to the table in front of it. Josie put her briefcase on top, pushed the chair aside with her leg.  Hannah was already settled, her hands in her lap, looking exactly as Josie had requested. Her wild hair was plaited in a braid down her back, wisps of caramel colored hair curled around her temple, highlighting her eyes. She wore a white sweater set, long sleeved to cover the scars on her arms. Her skirt was flowered in black and navy. It hit below her knees. Her shoes were low heeled; her multiple piercings discarded save for pearls on each earlobe.

Josie leaned down, put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder and whispered:

“I’ll be right back.”

Hannah was quick. Her hand caught Josie’s. She held on tight. Without a word she begged Josie with her eyes. Don’t go. Don’t leave.  Josie extricated herself. She half-smiled knowing she wouldn’t be effective for Hannah if she couldn’t banish the ghost of Kristin Davis real fast.

“I’ll only be a minute. You can talk to your mom. It’s okay.”

Josie looked at no one as she pushed through the door, walked halfway down the long hall, went into the ladies room into a stall and closed the door behind her.

Sitting on the toilet fully dressed, Josie cradled her head in her hands. She felt heavy, unworkable, in need of some cosmic grease for joints that hadn’t moved in years. She had been so sure the determination, the excitement, the game-day exhilaration would drive away any doubt or fear that still clung to her like a fine sea spray. She was wrong.

“Come on. Come on” Josie gritted her teeth and cheered herself on. This wasn’t three years ago. Her client wasn’t an evil woman with an increasingly wicked agenda. This was Hannah who called and talked just to make sure Josie was still with her. This was a kid who showed Josie exactly how she tried to put out the fire. This was a case where all the prosecution had was circumstantial evidence. She could do this. She could win, and it would be right.

Sitting up straight, Josie took a deep breath through her nose and held it in her lungs. She put her hands in the pockets of her blazer and squared her shoulder. Her fingers curled around the picture she’d almost forgotten was there. Archer had come early in the morning, missing her as she walked Max.  He had taped his favorite picture of her to the door of her house: Six pack abs showing, square jawed face straight on to the camera, hat on backward, and glaring eyes behind the glasses. He had taken it when she lost a point; Archer could see that she meant to win the next one. Now the next one was here. She wanted to do him proud, she wanted everyone to be proud including herself.

Pocketing the picture, Josie got up, washed her hands for good measure, and walked down the center aisle of the courtroom where she sat next to Hannah as the Court TV cameras rolled.  Cyrus Norris, the trial judge, took the bench, Kip Rayburn left the courtroom, and Rudy Klein began his case with Chris Keenan, the arson investigator.

Young enough to be the kind of guy every woman would want to have around to put out her fire, old enough to be competent, he was the perfect witness. Blue eyed, black haired and handsomely dressed Mr. Keenan answered clearly and spoke directly to Rudy. They’d run through the preliminaries: when he arrived at the scene, ordering up the dogs, cordoning off the scene, and the suspicious color of the smoke indicating accelerants had been used. Now Rudy propped a board on an easel in front of the jury.

Exhibit one. The crime scene. The handsome Mr. Keenan pointed out where he had found the first indication that accelerants had been used to start the fire. Six feet inside the French doors on the ground level.

Exhibit two. Enlarged photos of the flooring shadowed with burn marks. Spalling, he called it. Caused by either high heat or mechanical pressure.

Keenan flashed a bright white, perfect smile at Rudy that radiated right into the jurors’ hearts. “The marks were made by high heat. A petroleum-based flammable was spilled on the asphalt tile floor and set afire. When the asphalt curled in the heat the liquid seeped through to the concrete and pooled in cracks. Bottom line, the fire on the first floor was deliberately set using a flammable liquid as an accelerant.”

“And could you identify that agent?’ Rudy asked.

“Turpentine,” the witness answered.

“And the second floor?” Rudy pointed to the exhibit.

“The vapor samples were consistent with a turpentine spill.” Keenan answered. “The fire was deliberately set just inside the door of the bedroom where the body of Justice Rayburn was found.”

“Is it unusual to find two independent points of origin in the matter of arson?”

“No. It’s very common.  The arsonist realized she couldn’t rely on the first fire to accomplish her objective.”

“Your Honor, the use of the pronoun is prejudicial!” Josie was on her feet. Keenan might as well have hung a guilty sign on Hannah with that one.

“Restate, Mr. Keenan,” Judge Norris said offhandedly, leaving the outrage for the attorneys.

“In my experience, the first fire is set to destroy something and the second would be started in the hopes of destroying the evidence of the first arson or an additional crime.”

“So in this case, the objective of the first fire would be to make sure Fritz Rayburn was killed in that. . .

“Your Honor! Speculative and highly prejudicial.” This time Josie flew out of her chair. Beside her, Hannah’s hands hit the underside of the table in agitation.

Judge Norris shot a finger at the prosecutor. “Mr. Klein, that will not be tolerated. The jury is instructed to disregard Mr. Klein’s comment. Mr. Klein, you know the boundaries. Don’t cross them.”

“I was just connecting the dots, Your Honor,” Rudy explained, his deceit obvious to his peers. To the jury, that comely face of his wore a look of innocent surprise that he had displeased the judge.

He backed away, smiling apologetically, until the jury could no longer see his face. When he passed Josie, his expression was rock hard. He was happy to have drawn the first blood.  They didn’t acknowledge one another as Josie stood. Two could play at this game. He nicked a vein; she would go for the witness’s jugular. Squaring her shoulders Josie let the jurors get a good look at her. She didn’t want them trying to figure out how tall she was when they should be watching as this witness went down in flames.

14

“Mr. Keenan, you testified that there were pools of flammable liquid found in the crevices of the concrete floor on the ground level. Would you consider that unusual given the inventory you noted in that room?”

“The concentration of the fluid was unusual,” the witness answered.

“But the room was used as an art studio.  Would it be unusual to find turpentine in a studio?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t think so either, Mr. Keenan.”  Josie smiled, happy that they could instantly agree with one another. “In fact, you referred to the pooling of turpentine as a spill.  Would you say it was unthinkable for an artist to accidentally spill turpentine in the course of completing a project?”

“No, it’s not unthinkable but. . .”

 Josie turned back to him, all business, non-threatening. She was simply intellectually curious, a direct contrast to Rudy’s more affable style.

“So it is possible that in a studio, anyone going about the business of creating art could have accidentally spilled turpentine in that particular area.”

“Yes.”

“And even if the artist wiped it up, it would be impossible to see the liquid pooling in the cracks and crevices of the floor. Yes or no.”

“Yes,” the witness answered, chaffing against the restraint of a one-word answer.

“Thank you, Mr. Keenan. Now, can you tell me what overlap is?” Josie changed tracks effortlessly. Let Rudy use the dirty tricks; she would use finesse.

“Overlap is a phenomenon by which a fire burning on one floor licks up to the floor above it and ignites a separate fire.”

“During stage two when the fire is free burning, is it possible for a fire to spread by flashover, Mr. Keenan?” Josie asked.

“Yes.”

“How about spontaneous ignition?”

“Yes, in certain condit. . .”

“Convection?”

Josie questioned without defining terms. The rhythm made the words frightening, mysterious and important. She felt swept along with the tempo of the moment. It was a good feeling.

“Yes.”

“Pyrolysis?”

“Possible.”

“Could a fire spread vertically?”

Keenan raised his hand slightly in exasperation.

“Yes, it could spread up stairwells or pipe shafts. But in this case. . .”

Josie interrupted, turning toward his sketch of the crime scene.

“What is this area indicated on your sketch of the scene?” Josie pointed to a green box.

“That is a dumb waiter.”

“A dumb waiter is a hollow shaft between the first floor and the second floor of that wing, isn’t it Mr. Keenan? And the inside of this dumb waiter was charred wasn’t it, Mr. Keenan?”

“Yes.”

“Consistent with highly accelerated vertical travel of the fire?”

“Yes.”

“And this stairwell, Mr. Keenan?”  Josie pointed to a rectangular area. “Another vertical path upon which the fire from the first floor could travel?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t take into consideration the flash point of the fire upstairs.”

Josie lips twitched. She barely took a breath.

“Mr. Keenan, can you tell us when the accelerant was spilled upstairs?”

“Considering the burn patterns, the rate of vaporization of the accelerants, the amount of accelerant left in the carpet samples the spill happened within minutes of being ignited.”

“And how was the fire initiated?” Josie asked, leaning toward him as if she was hanging on his every word.

“We found matches on the ground floor. We’re still testing debris on the second floor. ”

Josie walked slowly toward the jury. She stood close as if she was part of them, as if they were a team. Her skepticism radiated outward, engulfing them.

“Mr. Keenan, can you tell us who used that match to set the fire downstairs?”

“No, I cannot.”

“Could you tell if the match was dropped by someone? A smoker? Someone lighting a candle?”

“I don’t think that is probable.”

“But is it possible?” Josie prodded.

“It is possible, but not probable.”

“But it is possible,” Josie insisted.

“Yes,” Keenan acquiesced, his face coloring.

Josie nodded thoughtfully. She began to walk toward Hannah. She was almost at the table, almost by her client’s side, when suddenly she looked over her shoulder, held up a finger as if remembering something important.

“Mr. Keenan?  How long have you been an arson inspector?”

If looks could kill, Josie would have been incinerated where she stood.

“Six months,” he answered.

“That long?” Josie drawled.

“And how many arson investigations have you conducted?”

“Two,” he said quietly.

“Including the Rayburn fire?” she asked.

“Objection, Your Honor!” Rudy had finally had enough.  “The defense stipulated to his expert status before he took the stand. She has nothing to gain by trying to insult this witness.”

“Withdrawn,” Josie said quietly, confidently, her point well taken.

Rudy stood up without an invitation to redirect. He didn’t button his coat. Instead, he stuffed one hand in his pocket and ran his other through his hair.

“Mr. Keenan, have you completed all the necessary training an arson investigator needs to be qualified in the State of California?”

“I was top of my class.”

“And what did you do before you became an arson investigator?”

“I was a firefighter for fifteen years.”

“And could you tell the court why you are no longer a firefighter?”

“I lost my leg when I fell through the roof of a burning building while attempting to rescue a woman on the second floor.”

Rudy dismissed Chris Keenan, keeping his eyes on Josie as he walked back to his table. Disgust radiated from him. Josie’s eyes locked with his. She had nothing to be ashamed of. He would have ripped Chris Keenan to shreds if he’d been in her shoes. He just would have done it with a smile.

“I have no more questions for this very expert witness, Your Honor.”

“Then this seems to be a good time to break for lunch.”

Judge Norris ended the opening skirmish. Rudy Klein left the courtroom, Linda and Hannah walked out after the spectators. Josie sat for a minute, looking at the bench and the witness stand. The   muscles in her body had been locked since the proceedings began and now, suddenly, she realized they had miraculously relaxed. Josie laughed a little and shook her head. She was still standing.

Josie got up and rapped the wooden table for luck and turned around in the silent courtroom, turned around and found that she wasn’t quite alone after all. She walked down the center aisle, stopping when she reached the last pew.