Hostile Witness (17 page)

Forcing herself to smile Linda put her hands on Hannah’s shoulders, kissed the top of her daughter’s head and breathed the scent of shampoo. She let her lips linger in the softness. She almost convinced herself that this was her little girl, her baby, but then Hannah stiffened. The shrug of distaste was slight but imminently insulting. Linda dropped her hands; one look at Hannah’s painting the smile followed suit.

Gone were the clear bright colors of oil replaced with opaque grays and blacks, thin blues and sheer browns of watercolor. Night shadows, indistinct figures, and just enough definition so that interpretation could be open for discussion.  This painting was damn personal.  Linda saw what Hannah wanted her to see: a woman with her back to a girl, a fire behind them both. The woman’s hair was long and dark; it streamed out behind her as if she was running away from the girl.

“What do you think?” Hannah asked sharply. Her eyes were down. She pushed the tablet to the side giving Linda a better look.

“Do you think that’s funny, Hannah?”  Linda fussed over her purse.  Hannah pulled the pad back in front of her. The spiral binding scratched the table. Her burned hand held a paintbrush up, its bristles pointing heavenward.  Linda pulled out a chair and sat down. “Well, do you?”

The hard end of Hannah’s brush clicked against the table. A drip of water squeezed out of the bristles and trailed down the shaft until it fell like a dirty tear onto Hannah’s hand. The sound, the movement, the mere idea of this counting was making Linda crazy.

“No,” Hannah said, her voice small, the tapping ever more quickly.

“I haven’t walked out on you, have I?”

“No.”  Hannah’s voice got smaller but still it slid on a slick of defiance. “They think I’m a drug addict.”

“And we know you’re not,” Linda snapped. “When are you going to get it through your head that all this stuff is just stuff? The thing that matters is whether or not Josie can convince that jury that they can’t be totally sure who you are, or what you did. That’s what our case rests on – not six Vicodin.”

“It’s not our case, Mom.” Hannah slid her eyes toward Linda.  “It’s mine. I’m the one that everyone is looking at and everyone is talking about? I’m the one they think killed Fritz and the one who does drugs and sets fires. Or have you forgotten?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten one damn thing.”  Linda’s voice dropped.  “If it hadn’t been for me you wouldn’t have nice clothes or a big house to live in or a car. You sure wouldn’t have the time for all this self-indulgent tapping and walking and checking crap. I haven’t forgotten that I’m the one who got you a great attorney, and I really haven’t forgotten that I promised you every thing would work out.  I always deliver on my promises. Name me one that I haven’t.”

Hannah’s lashes fluttered. The paintbrush tapped, tap, tapped. The gray water wept from the bristles.  “Kip’s going to testify against me. Josie wanted to know what I thought he was going to say. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but I’m scared.”

“He has to testify, Hannah. They subpoenaed him. There’s only an exception for husband and wife.  I’ve talked to Josie about his testimony, too, and I’ll tell you what I told her. Kip barely paid attention to you since we’ve been married. What can he say? What can he know?”

When Hannah remained silent, Linda took a deep breath.

“Look, Hannah, my priority has always been to keep you and me together but I’m in the middle here. I told you when I married Kip keeping him safe would keep us safe. Without him we’d be back in those cheap apartments. Without him we couldn’t pay for your defense. You should get down on your knees and thank him for that because he didn’t have to. . .”

“Why should I get on my knees? You’re already there. . .” Hannah hissed.

Before the last word was out, Linda grabbed her daughter.  Hannah’s chair teetered. The paintbrush flew out of her hand; the thick pad of watercolor paper slid across the table and fell to the floor. Linda put her face close to her daughter’s. Her make-up had sunk into the lines around her eyes and the small fissures above her lips. Anger aged her; frustration dried her out.

“You listen to me, Hannah. I’m no prostitute. I do what I do so we can both survive. You think there haven’t been times when I wanted to just leave you behind and make my life easier? I could have put you in an orphanage. I could have dropped you in a trashcan, but I didn’t. I kept you with me, I fed you, and I’m sure as hell not running out on you and you better not run out on me.” Linda tried to shake the look of cold fury off Hannah’s face. “Do you think this is easy for me knowing what I know? Knowing what went down? Do you think it’s easy?”

“No,” Hannah mumbled.

Linda’s loosened her grip but her voice was no less passionate.

“Without Kip we don’t have money. Without money, we don’t have a life. Without money, you don’t have a defense. Learn that lesson.”

“That’s not true!” Hannah’s anger flared and she struggled to pull away. “Josie would defend me even if we didn’t pay her anything.”

Linda laughed once as she let go.  Hannah might as well have punched her in the gut with that one.  The goddess Josie was with them even here. Linda draped her arm over the back of her chair and shook her head sadly.

“I’ve raised an ungrateful fool.” Linda’s lip curled in an ugly smile. “How many people have let us down, Hannah?”

Hannah stared at the floor. Linda leaned forward. Her breath, hot and sweet smelling, brushed her daughter’s cheek. Linda’s perfume surrounded Hannah and Linda’s voice was sticky with truth.

“I’ll tell you who let us down. Everyone except Kip, so don’t kid yourself. Josie cares about this case, but she doesn’t care about you more than I do. Nobody cares about you more than I do because I’m your mother.”

“I think you care, more than anyone, what happens to me, Mom. I think about it all the time,” Hannah said icily. “But Josie cares about all of me.”

Mother and daughter’s matching eyes met and held.  

“You think like a child.”  Linda reached out to touch Hannah’s face but Hannah pulled away just far enough. Linda smiled tightly. She stood up and stepped toward the door but couldn’t leave without getting one more thing off her chest. “Josie’s got nothing invested here but time. She doesn’t care what’s in that sick head of yours. She’s not going to go out on a limb for you, especially if she knew the truth. The one thing Josie hates is a liar.”

“You’re wrong, Mom.” Hannah whispered. “She did understand.”

Linda’s shoulders slumped. It was so hard to be young and optimistic. Maybe it was even harder to be old and know the score.

“No, baby. Nobody does anything just because they like someone.”

“They do if they love them,” Hannah mumbled.

“Yeah. If you love someone you do anything for them,” Linda reiterated almost to herself.  She pulled herself out of the reverie. “Just remember that.”

“I do,” Hannah whispered, reaching out to touch her mother. Two, three, ten times. Linda shook her off.

“Josie wouldn’t know how to love you, baby.  You think a woman who has no husband, no children, and no mother of her own would know how to love a screwed up kid like you? All you are is a challenge, Hannah. Both of us are, and that is why we need to stick together. We’re two of a kind, honey, so don’t wish for something that doesn’t exist.  I know what I’m doing. I always have, haven’t I?”

Hannah watched her mother with clear, sad eyes. When the silence became too tedious, Linda wrapped it all up.

“Oh, for God’s sake don’t look like that. Everything is going to be all right.”

Linda needed to go. Kip wasn’t happy these days when she spent more time than necessary with Hannah. Still there should be something more, something settling she should say.

“I’m sorry about what I said about Josie.  She cares what happens to you.  Just don’t count on her for too much. Never count on anybody for too much.”

Linda was having cocktails with Kip at Shutters in Santa Monica when Hannah closed the door of the Malibu house and ran to the shoulder of Pacific Coast Highway. Her hair was pinned up, hidden under a bandana.  She wore a hat pulled low over her eyes even though it was almost dark. Her sweatshirt was old, her jeans baggy. Heavy clothes for a hot night but Hannah didn’t want to be recognized.  She stuck out her thumb, moving from foot to foot, praying that somebody would stop soon because she didn’t have much time. She had to be back before Linda and Kip.

The fourth car on the road swerved sharply and Hannah thanked God for small favors. She ran for the Toyota, hollered ‘Huntington Beach’ when asked where she was going and climbed in the back even though the guy at the wheel wanted her up front. He let her out in Long Beach. It took her two more rides to make the short hop to Huntington.

Pulling her hat down further, Hannah walked six blocks then circled around the back of Turc’s, pulled on the ancient door and slipped inside. No one gave her a second look. The band was playing. People were drunk. The entire place was sweating pheromones and Hannah needed to find the one man who would understand what she needed; the man she hadn’t seen since the night Fritz died.

Josie curled into Archer. He was warm.  His arm was heavy across her waist.  Taking his hand she put it on her breast as he looked at the clock by the bed. It was two in the morning. It was unlike her to wake in the wee hours of the morning yet here she was with her eyes open, staring at the bedside table. Then she heard it, the sound that had roused her.

On the table, her cell phone vibrated like chattering teeth.  She’d forgotten to turn it off and now someone was calling. She inched away from Archer and grabbed it.

“Yeah?” She whispered, her mouth barely working.

A whisper came back.

“One, two, three. . .”

Josie closed her eyes and listened until Hannah stopped. She closed her eyes, sleep coming over her, Archer reaching out for her again.

“I didn’t lie,” Hannah said but her voice was far away, the words were lost, Josie was asleep.

18

“
There’s no question that Rudy Klein has done a fine job of establishing that the defendant had both the means and the opportunity to commit this crime. Big points are going to be scored today, though. It says something when Kip Rayburn, stepfather of the defendant, is testifying for the prosecution. That really says something, doesn’t it?”  -  Court TV

Eight forty-five. The last day of the prosecution’s case. Judge Norris was late taking the bench, and that was just as well because Linda and Hannah were late, too. Josie sat at her table, looked at her watch, then stared at the bench. Finally she checked with the clerk and asked when she thought the judge would be ready. Ten minutes. Not exactly a reprieve, but there was some leeway.

Oblivious to Rudy Klein’s curious look, and the reporter’s more interested ones, Josie left the courtroom. The hallway was nearly deserted. Washington’s Birthday was just around the corner. Only the courtroom kitty-corner from Norris’s was in session. A crying woman sat on the bench outside it sniffling and blotting her nose. Everyone had troubles and Josie’s were multiplying by the minute.

She reached into her pocket, got her phone, punched the numbers too hard, missed one and had to start all over. The phone at the Rayburn place rang until the machine picked up.  Josie left a short message. She called Linda’s cell and did the same.

Where in the hell are you?

Josie dropped her phone in the pocket of her blue blazer. She was halfway to the elevators when one of them opened.  No one came out. Josie kept going. Another ding. The scraping of the doors.  This time Hannah and Linda emerged.   Josie covered the next ten yards fast.

“Where have you been?” She grabbed Linda by the arm and twirled her around. The other woman teetered in her heels.

“Traffic. It was down to one lane on Pacific Coast Highway. My cell phone battery was dead so I couldn’t call.  Hey! Slow down,” Linda yanked her arm away. “Are we in trouble or what?”

“Not yet.  Judge Norris was delayed. You just cut it damn close. I want us settled at the table before they bring the jury in.”

Josie pushed Linda forward while she held the door open. Linda went in but Hannah had fallen behind and veered off toward one of the long benches that lined the hall.

Annoyed, Josie went back for her. Her client had taken a nosedive.  Hannah’s hair frizzed around her shoulders, her skirt was long and almost transparent. A short-sleeved t-shirt bared her arms. If Josie could make out the tracks of scars and scabs on her arms the jury could too, and that was the last thing Josie wanted the jury to see.

Josie put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, angry that all their hard work was going to go up in smoke. “What were you thinking? I told you to keep your arms covered, to keep your hair simple. Those people in there aren’t going to like. . .”

Josie’s tirade trailed off. Hannah’s head bounced gently like a bobble-head doll, all springs and joints. Unsmiling, bleary-eyed, one thing was clear, Hannah was stoned.  So much for Fritz Rayburn’s good intentions.

“Hey!” Josie backed Hannah up against the wall. Furious, she still had the presence of mind to keep her voice down. “What’s going on?  Are you high? You tell me straight up, Hannah, or I’ve got one foot out the door.”

“No. Valium,” Hannah whispered.  “It’s just Valium.”

“Oh, Christ. Why would you do something that stupid?” Josie snapped.

“My mom gave it to me so I wouldn’t be upset.  Kip’s going to talk today.”  Hannah shook her head, trying to find a normal rhythm to her words. “She said it would help. Don’t be mad. Please. Please. Don’t be mad.”

Hannah leaned into Josie. Her limp arms came round Josie.  Josie’s own hovered and finally wrapped Hannah up and held her close. Hannah relaxed, falling into Josie as if she had found a safe warm place. Taking a breath that started in her gut, Josie tipped her chin up and looked at the ugly fluorescent light fixtures, the long cold halls, the wooden doors that led into courtrooms where any bit of information could be twisted and tied into a package to suit anyone’s version of the facts. The prosecution had made a big deal of finding the pills and the joint found in Hannah’s possession, and today Linda was pumping her kid full of Valium. Wasn’t that a fine visual for the jury? Linda couldn’t have screwed up more if she tried. Why in the hell, when mothers screwed up, did it feel like they meant it?

Josie sat Hannah down, ripped off her blazer and draped it over the girl’s shoulders. Beneath her own strong fingers Hannah felt birdlike, thin and vulnerable. Josie glanced over her shoulder. Kip Rayburn was watching them. He sat on the bench outside the courtroom waiting to be called. She hadn’t noticed him before.  The bastard was watching them.  Well, Josie would give him something to watch.

Deliberately she got Hannah to her feet.

“Okay, Hannah. It’s game time,” Josie said quietly. “Keep your arms underneath my jacket. Keep your chin up. Just look at Kip when he talks and remember, when he’s done, it’s over for the prosecution.  I’ll be there every minute for you. I promise.”

Hannah gave Josie half a smile as Josie laced Hannah’s hand under her arm. 

“You care what happens to me, don’t you?” Hannah asked softly.

“Yes, Hannah, I do,” Josie muttered as they walked past Kip Rayburn and into the courtroom.

Rudy was there ready to convict Hannah. Kip was there ready to speak against her. Linda had sabotaged her daughter with her ‘good intentions’.  This sure wasn’t going to be the best day of their lives and Rudy Klein was going to draw it out as long as he possibly could. He was saving Kip for last. Tom Winston, fireman, would kick off the day.

“I found the defendant crouching behind a stone fountain a few feet away from the French doors of the west wing of the Rayburn home.”

“What did you do when you found her?” Rudy asked.

“I knelt beside her. The furnace had blown inside the house. I thought I might have to shield her from debris if something else was going to blow. When the danger was past, I saw that she was injured. I escorted her away from the scene and took her for treatment.”

“Did you speak to the defendant?” Rudy asked.

“No, I did not.”

“Did the defendant speak to you?”

“She said, ‘It’s all my fault’. She kept repeating that statement. ‘It’s all my fault’.”

Rudy turned away leaving the witness’s statement sitting on the jury’s doorstep like an abandoned baby.

“Mr. Winston.” Josie stepped to the side of the table.  “Did you ask the defendant what she meant by the statement?”

“No,” Tom Winston answered.

“Thank you.”

Josie sat down. Check. Unclear. Uncertain. That was no confession. Hannah didn’t even remember saying it.  Josie would deal with all that in her closing arguments when it would be one of many bits of information woven into the story of the multiple mistakes and misinterpretations made in the case of Hannah Sheraton.

Rudy called the coroner. DNA consistent with Hannah’s had been found in various places in Fritz Rayburn’s apartments.   Hannah’s hair was in the bedroom. A drop of her blood in the bathroom.  Worst of all, the slightest trace of Hannah’s blood was found on Fritz Rayburn’s jaw where a blow had landed before he died.  The coroner testified that Rayburn’s head trauma also occurred before he died. Actual death was due to smoke inhalation. The body had been partially burned.

Rudy was prepared with show and tell.

One by one he posted pictures of a pitiful, helpless old man sprawled on the floor near his bed.

A close-up. Waist down. Burned to a crispy critter.

The back of Fritz’s head. A contusion at the base of the skull, raw and ugly, surrounded by silky, silver hair.

A close-up. Fritz’s chin.

Mid-range. Fritz, his hands flung out. One clutching the bedpost as if he was trying to pull himself up, one curled like a child in sleep.

Rudy Klein was building an epic storyboard, making his case about youth and age, limits and a desire for independence, Fritz Rayburn’s success and Hannah Sheraton’s abject failures.  Now he was drawing the lines around Rayburn’s vulnerability.

Question:  Who could do this to an old man?

Answer: A young, selfish, indulgent, neurotic girl. That’s who.  Youth gone dangerously awry right here in River City.

The coroner’s testimony was destructive; the pictures of Fritz were devastating.

The spotlight turned on Josie.

Rudy looked at her.

Beat that.

Josie did what she could.

The coroner could not tell when Hannah’s hair and blood had been left in Fritz Rayburn’s apartments. The heat and smoke had dried out the samples.

He had no explanation for the minute trace’s of Hannah’s blood on Fritz himself unless the defendant had struck the victim, splitting her own skin and leaving blood traces on his chin. Unfortunately there was no way to tell if that was what happened since the defendant’s hand was burned, erasing any sign of an injury sustained in an earlier confrontation.

Josie thanked the coroner, wishing they could let the jury go home with nothing more than memories of what had been said here. They were on the edge of a four-day weekend and that could blur even the most prudent juror’s impressions. But there was more: the housekeeper.  Mrs. Peterson spoke to her hands until Rudy asked her to raise her head and speak clearly.

“I woke up at one forty-five in the morning. I sometimes have a hard time sleeping. I watch television and fall asleep in my chair.”

“Did you watch television that night?” Rudy asked.

“Yes, but I heard something outside.”

“Outside your window?”

She shook her head. “No, outside -  down the drive. It is very quiet at night. You can hear things from blocks away.”

“What did you do?” Rudy asked.

“I looked out my window,” she responded.

“And what did you see?”

“Hannah running back to the house.”

“Did you see where she had run from?”

“From beyond the trees, from the street. I heard a car right after I saw her.”

Do you think Hannah had just returned from somewhere?”

“Objection. Speculation,” Josie said.

Judge Norris sustained the objection. Josie sent a note to Hannah.

Who were you with?

 It was a car on the street.

 Josie slid her eyes toward Hannah.  They would take up the question again after the day was won. Josie gave Rudy her undivided attention.

 “Did Hannah go back into the house?”
            “Yes.”

 “Did she stay in the house?”

 “No. I went to her room to see if she was all right. She’s a nice girl. Just lonely, you know. . .”

“Your Honor, please,” Rudy appealed to the bench.

“The witness is instructed to answer the question.”

 Mrs. Petersen nodded and chanced a glance at Hannah. She shifted in the witness seat.

“Hannah wasn’t there.”

“Did you look for her?” Rudy asked.

“No. I knew what she was doing.”