Witness for the Defense (11 page)

“Only that he’d worked out some kind of deal with the D.A. His early retirement was part of it.”

“He just doesn’t seem the type.”

Howard gave me a blank look. Then his eyes narrowed. “None of them ever do.”

My thoughts were revolving so fast I almost forgot where I was. Some of what Howard was saying rang true. I had been transferred from his court a year before the judge left. He was in his late-fifties at the time and in the middle of his term.

The phone rang again, and Howard grabbed it.

“Good,” was all he said and hung up. “The bondsman’s out front. You’re free to go.”

Chapter 10

A home should be like a new pair of soft flannel pajamas that you get into on a cold winter’s night, warm and comfortable. But my house hadn’t felt that way for years. Not because it wasn’t nice enough. A three-bedroom Cape Cod, it was located on Telegraph Hill, one of the oldest and most prestigious neighborhoods in San Francisco, with a fantastic view of the city and bay below. But when we separated, I wanted Marlene to take whatever furniture she wanted. Whatever remained was sold. I didn’t want anything left that reminded me of her. I should have sold the house, too. Its feeling of warmth and comfort was gone, and I was sure it would never return.

“This is interesting.” Sarah was standing in the open doorway, musing over what I referred to as a fully furnished house. All she could see was a black leather love seat and matching recliner sitting in front of a twenty-five-inch TV with videotapes strewn haphazardly on the floor.

Ignoring her lack of appreciation for my ascetic simplicity, I walked into the kitchen, where a pervasive odor was painfully evident. Under a sink full of dirty dishes was trash that had been rotting for nearly a week.

“Little ripe,” I said. I held the trash bag far from my nose as I rushed past her on my way to the garage.

When I returned, Sarah was at the kitchen sink up to her elbows in soapy water. I grabbed the air freshener and sprayed it throughout the kitchen. But it only made the smell worse. A sour rotting odor mixed with sweet pine, like a garbage dump in the High Sierras, surrounding us.

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” I said, hoping she’d ignore me.

“You’re going to be gone for at least another week,” she said. “I’ll take care of these while you get your things.”

We’d already decided that it would be best if I continued to stay in her father’s guest house. We were going to need a lot of time together to prepare for my prelim. And, for a while at least, I had nothing to do in San Francisco.

“Sorry it took so long to get you bailed out,” Sarah said as I packed just about everything I owned, which wasn’t much.

“They were just about to make me bend over and spread my cheeks,” I joked and immediately regretted it. I was talking like she was one of my bowling buddies.

When I returned to the living room with a suitcase and overnight bag, Sarah was standing in front of the fireplace holding a picture of Marlene. The photo had been taken the month before we separated.

“You still love her, don’t you?”

I was taken aback by the question. She may just have been trying to be friendly, but her timing was wrong.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d rather not talk about it.”

Sarah replaced the picture. “It’s obvious you do.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

“It’s not often someone keeps a framed photo of their ex on the mantel.”

I didn’t want to talk about it. With all that had gone on that day the last thing I wanted to do was discuss my past marital problems. It was still painful just to think about.

I shrugged my shoulders instead, hoping that would end it.

“Damn it, Hunter. Something’s bothering you.”

She was right about that. And it had nothing to do with Marlene. I was still upset over what Millings had told me earlier about why her father had been forced to resign. Could it be just a coincidence that he had a history of child molests and Danny Barton’s attacker matched his description as well as Jared’s? That question kept gnawing at me. But I wasn’t sure it was the right time to get into it.

“With everything that’s happened today I feel a little rattled,” I said.

Sarah stepped toward the window and looked out at the lights of the city below. “You think my father put up the bail to make sure you were available to help me with Jared’s case.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“It is simple,” she said with a raised voice. “He bailed you out because he cares for you and thinks you’re getting a raw deal.”

“Your father may grow Christmas trees,” I said, “but he’s sure as hell not Santa Claus.”

It was a sour joke that I regretted the minute it left my mouth.

Sarah stood glaring at me. It was becoming evident we couldn’t work together as long as I suspected her father. I had to clear the air.

“I heard something in jail,” I started. “And unless I know the truth, I’m not sure we can continue to help one another.”

She stepped closer. “What are you talking about?”

I hesitated, then took a deep breath and blurted it out. “Was your father forced to resign from the bench because of an incident involving a young boy?”

Sarah looked surprised, but not shocked. “Secondhand jailhouse gossip,” was all she said.

I stepped closer. “Are you saying it’s not true?”

“That is none of your damn business.”

“How could it be none of my business when your father not only resembles the man who kidnapped the Barton boy but, might I remind you, also had access to Jared’s car?”

Sarah stomped back to the window and made a show of turning her head away from me. “Don’t say anything else,” she said.

“I need answers, Sarah.”

She marched toward me while folding her arms across her chest like she was about to scold me. “You wanted your privacy when I asked about Marlene,” she said. “I respected yours. Now you’ll have to respect mine.”

“Your questions were merely personal,” I said. “Mine go to the heart of Jared’s case.”

Her face turned red. I knew it was time to regroup.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” I said. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but you must see my point.”

Her eyes seemed to brighten, and I could see a calm came over her. “Think about it, Hunter. If my father was somehow implicated, do you think for a second he would have bailed you out? If he had anything to do with the attack on Danny Barton, why would he want you to help me with Jared’s case? My father knows you don’t like him. Why would he help set you free only to save the fall guy? He knows you’d expose him without hesitation.”

Sarah stopped for a moment as if she were thinking it through.

“Look,” she said softly, “I’ve believed in you from the very beginning. I know your life has been upside down ever since that day in Kellogg’s court. I know you would never have asked anyone to commit perjury. Now I need you to believe in me. And that includes my father.”

She was right. If Judge Harris was involved, the best thing for him would be to let his daughter handle Jared’s case alone. At least that way he could maintain some control.

“I’ll try,” I said and picked up the bags to leave.

Chapter 11

Reporters, cameramen, and their crews shouted, shoved, and pushed one another as they positioned themselves between a white police van and the courthouse’s side entrance. Without warning, the van’s side door burst open and several uniformed officers jumped out, followed by Jared, who, with his hands and feet shackled, fell to the ground. Before the media realized what had happened, the officers formed a protective cocoon around their bounty. Then, like a pig hanging from a roasting rod, they swiftly carried Jared into the building.

As soon as the door slammed shut, all but a few of the frustrated scribes ran to the courthouse steps, where a mob of curious onlookers and demonstrators were noisily milling about.

“What a circus,” Sarah complained as we picked our way through a group of locals standing in the parking lot. They were upset about not being some of the chosen few selected to be allowed inside.

I nodded to the top of the courthouse steps, where several of the reporters had already spotted us and were watching our every move. “It’s even worse up there.”

Sarah sighed and ironed her skirt with the palm of her hand. She was dressed in a light brown tweed suit and beige silk blouse buttoned tightly to her neck. She looked as though she was preparing for her first on-camera interview, but I had other intentions.

“Well,” I said, picking up the pace, “put your head down and hang on tight.”

“Child molesters!” someone yelled, and the crowd closed in front of us. As Sarah held onto the back of my coat, I lowered my shoulder and plowed up the steps.

A young woman grabbed Sarah by the hair. “You’re no better than that scum you represent.”

“Let go of me!” Sarah swung her briefcase at the woman’s arm, knocking it free.

When we finally reached a pair of huge, carved oak doors, mikes, some attached to the ends of long poles, were pushed in our faces. Two sets of kliegs went on, and a man with a camera resting on his huge belly pushed himself between us and the entrance.

“Are both of you going to represent Jared Reineer?” he said and shoved a microphone with a big number 9 on it at me. Before I could answer, the jostling of the crowd caused the mike to slam against my lips. A warm, salty liquid trickled from the corner of my mouth.

I grabbed the mike and threw it at the fat man’s feet. Then, like a fullback in front of the goal line, I plunged past him through the heavy doors as Sarah pushed from behind.

Once inside, I was surprised to see, that except for three uniformed officers, McBean, and a tall, muscular, middle-aged man, the courthouse lobby was empty.

“Thanks for the help,” I growled. The three stooges were too busy snickering at the sight of a bloodied defense attorney to respond.

McBean was relishing the moment, too. “What’s wrong, Dobbs?” He smirked. “Little rough out there ?”

Their attention shifted to Sarah as she adjusted her skirt and jacket. “They’re all crazy,” she said to McBean.

“Just concerned citizens, ma’am.”

“More like an angry mob,” I fired back and wiped my chin with my bare hand. “Can someone help me here?”

Sarah pulled a handkerchief from her purse. “How did that happen?”

“Some of his so-called concerned citizens.” As Sarah wiped my chin, I placed my tongue against the front inside of my mouth. I could feel the tear caused by my lip being sandwiched between the mike and my teeth. But at least the bleeding had seemed to stop.

Sarah spun on McBean. “Next time we want protection!”

“Whatever you say, Counselor,” McBean said in a sarcastic tone. As he slowly stepped aside for us to enter the courtroom, the tall man next to him slid into the spot vacated by the lieutenant.

Sarah looked up at the man’s face. Her chin was even with his belt buckle. “Excuse me, sir.”

The giant didn’t budge.

Sarah turned to me as though I was supposed to do something.

I took a deep breath. “Would you please get out of her way?”

“Screw the bitch.”

I wasn’t sure what to do. He obviously needed a lesson in manners, but I didn’t like the thought of being the one to give it. I turned to McBean instead. “If you want us to tell the judge that you and this foul-mouthed idiot wouldn’t let us pass, then keep it up.”

The man stepped around Sarah toward me. “Who’s an idiot?” he bellowed in a deep, throaty, reverberating-off-the-walls voice.

“All right, all right.” McBean held his hand against the man’s chest. “Mr. Cosgrove, would you mind waiting for me over there?” he said, pointing at a wooden bench at the other end of the hallway.

The man’s eyes darted back and forth between me and Sarah as he brushed past us. “Your client killed my little boy,” he said. “You tell that piece of shit that I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get away with it.”

“What’s he talking about?” I mouthed to McBean.

“Mr. Cosgrove lives a few miles outside Boon-ville. His son disappeared, and he thinks Reineer is responsible.”

Typical. Anything unexplained that had happened in the county in the last dozen years, Jared would be blamed for.

“Does he have any proof?” Sarah asked.

“We’re working on it,” McBean said and walked to the three cops who’d been waiting for the word to let the public in.

When we entered the courtroom, I paused to take in its grandeur. The high ceilings and wood-paneled walls dwarfed the rows upon rows of wooden pews, all darkened black with age. The stately room was a striking contrast to the modern and sometimes sterile houses of justice I was used to.

On the other side of the hand-carved railing which separated the gallery from the participants was a short man in his mid-to-late-thirties, watching as we walked to the counsel table. Each step echoed throughout the room.

“Ms. Harris,” the man said and extended his hand to Sarah. I could see a gold watch chain dangling from the vest pocket of his black, hand-tailored suit.

Sarah had clued me in about the head district attorney of Mendocino County. He had a reputation for a big mouth and an ego to match. After eight years as a lower-level prosecutor, J. J. Bragg had been elected district attorney. His father, Raymond Bragg, the third-generation owner of Came-lot Winery, was one of the most successful farmers in the state. While most of the other vineyards were owned and operated by generations of offspring who worked the family farm for the pride and fulfillment it gave them, Raymond Bragg was different. Over a hundred years of family tradition meant nothing. To him Camelot’s success only meant money. Bundles of it. Enough to ensure that his only son, J.J., could climb as high on the political ladder as either of them wanted.

“My son was born to be governor,” Ray would joke with his golf buddies. “No matter how much it costs me.”

As I continued my slow walk down the aisle, I was more in awe of my surroundings than meeting the rising star of Northern California politics. It was easy to imagine Clarence Darrow sitting behind the heavy oak counsel table, dressed in an old tattered suit. I could see him cross-examining the prosecution’s main witness while chomping on his saliva-drenched stogie—its long ash threatening to fall in his lap.