Hostile Witness

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 10

"Today, the grand jury indicted Hannah Sheraton on charges of arson and murder. She remains free on bail. No trial date has been set." - Superior Court Press Office

"I am pleased to announce that I will ask the Commission on Judicial Appointments to confirm the nomination of Kip Rayburn to the California Supreme Court. Mr. Rayburn brings a wealth of experience to the bench. On a personal note, Mr. Rayburn's father, Fritz Rayburn, was the victim of a horrible crime. While the Rayburn family has suffered greatly, this experience will set Mr. Rayburn apart in terms of empathy and fortitude. I look forward to Kip Rayburn's confirmation so that he may carry on the excellent work his father began." - Joe Davidson, Governor of California

"I'm honored by the governor's nomination and look forward to the confirmation process. Until then, I will do everything possible to support my wife, and her daughter, during the coming days of Hannah's trial and hope that a judicious solution to this sad problem can be expeditiously found. No, I'm sorry, no more questions." - Kip Rayburn, California Supreme Court Nominee

Archer was in Mexico checking up on a young pup CFO whose board of directors believed he was smuggling drugs in the widgets they manufactured down there in Baja. He had proved them right in record time, sent a bill from Cabo and was now on a picture safari, incommunicado, camping on some beach, taking his time coming back. He didn't know that Hannah had been indicted, but everyone else in the world did. Nobody could have kept a lid on what was going on. California loved a triangle and, as triangles went, this one was a doozy. Talk radio aficionados were already split with those who figured the stepdaughter was a bitch of the first degree and should fry, those who sympathized with the plight of a stepchild probably pushed to take drastic steps to be noticed, and those who refused to believe a child could possibly have had anything to do with Judge Rayburn's death.

Baxter & Associates was reeling from the impact. Faye wasn't happy. Josie was subdued. Angie, who was used to drawing up standard paperwork, was now organizing the discovery documents: arson reports, timelines, police reports, forensics, autopsy report and interviews with anyone who ever had any contact with Hannah Sheraton. Tiffany barely had time for a snack as reporters called for comments, and new clients with big problems called for consults.

Linda was devastated. She had convinced herself this was all a mistake. When Josie told them about the indictment and what would follow, Hannah touched her mother over and over again trying, perhaps, to comfort them both. Hannah's green eyes never left Josie's face, and Josie did not suggest they think about finding another attorney for the trial. She couldn't in the face of Hannah's silent fear.

On the beach, people who hadn't realized Josie was an attorney suddenly looked at her differently; they had an opinion about Hannah Sheraton. Billy Zuni told Josie to friggin' kick ass. Josie couldn't sleep, so half the patio tiles were laid in the dead of night. When she got the jitters thinking about cross-examination, exhibits, and evidence, she felt suddenly overwhelmed by a task that long ago had been second nature. She wanted Archer back every minute that Hermosa lay under the blanket of dark. But daylight came and there was work to be done and Josie put aside her disquiet.

Four days after the indictment, Linda summoned Josie to Malibu. It was still hot, even though fat, grey clouds hung off the coast adding humidity to the heat equation, as Josie drove Pacific Coast Highway. The Rayburn's beach house was set back two hundred yards off the highway. The closest neighbor was a mile away. The place was lit up like a movie set and might as well have been on its own planet. A giant fingerprint whorl of sand stone served as a driveway; the landscaping was exquisitely sparse: cactus, sea grasses, smooth stones, and jagged boulders. Beyond that there was beach. Prime property. Rayburn had done well for himself before taking the bench.

Twirling the Jeep into the drive, Josie stopped next to a Mercedes. A Lexus and a yellow VW bug shared the space in front of a four-car garage. Josie yanked on the emergency brake, and checked out the VW while she collected her things. The bug needed a wash and there was a boot on the back wheel. Hannah wasn't going anywhere in that thing. Josie got out of the car, tossed her baseball cap in the back, and checked out the amazing piece of architecture the Rayburns now called home.

A seemingly simple construct, closer inspection revealed a marvelous origami box of a home: glass butted stucco, stucco melted into copper, copper ran into tile, and that tile surrounded a pool of water that welcomed visitors with a serenity that masked the problems of the people inside.

A flight of low-rise steps brought Josie to a door as tall as the ten-foot wall that surrounded the house. It had oxidized to the strangely pleasing blue-green of exposed copper. A relief of angles as sharp as a maze of thorns was etched onto its surface.

"Come in, Josie."

Linda's voice, made deeper by the intercom, came through a hidden speaker. Josie scanned for the camera. She should have tagged the security before she was seen.

"What's the trick?" There was no knob or handle on the door.

"Push it."

Josie did as she was told and both sides swung open. Another touch and it revolved. Yet another and it closed again. It was a brilliant collaboration of art and engineering. She pushed again and passed into a courtyard paved in buff colored tile surrounded by walls of smooth stucco. Cut through the middle of this outdoor room was an endless pool. The water seeped under a glass wall that bared the heart of the house.

In front of the glass, in the middle of the pool, stood a bronze statue of a nude woman. She was contorted into a position of perpetual pain, or ecstasy, depending on one's point of view. Josie saw pain of the most humiliating and personal sort. Given what she knew about Hannah, Josie saw . . .

"Are you coming in?"

Josie tore her eyes from one tortured woman to another. Hannah stood in an opening in the glass wall. Her jeans were cut so low on the hip she could have belted them at her knees. Her white and blue checked long sleeved top was tied under her breasts. Her bellybutton had two piercings. There was a tattoo on her right hip and a streak of dried blood that stuck her shirtsleeve to her arm. Josie's eyes flickered toward that wound only to look away and see the statue.

"Nice place," Josie commented dryly.

"Un-huh." Hannah walked to the pool, hands pumping, counting as she considered the statue.

"What do you think about that?"

"I can't even begin to imagine what's happening to her," Josie said.

"I can." Hannah's voice was flat.

Silently Josie moved away. It would be easy to be drawn into the whirlpool of Hannah's problems, real or imagined. But Josie wasn't her shrink. Josie wasn't her mother. Josie was her attorney and she had to resist Hannah's attempt to make her anything else.

"Your mom's expecting me."

"Kip, too," Hannah said.

"That's half the battle," Josie muttered as she followed Hannah into the house.

"No it isn't," Hannah assured her.