Yet Rogers was now helping her up, and she allowed him to. As they approached the table, Aunt Freddy—her mouth dropping open, and then Sloate, his cool demeanor broken by a sudden flash of shock—saw them.
"Why, Heath Sloate," Rogers said, a little too boisterously. "My worthy opponent."
For a long moment no one spoke, the crosscurrents of emotion passing heavily between the parties.
"Hello, Aunt Freddy," Kit said finally.
Aunt Freddy, looking close to fainting, feebly said, "Kit . . . you're looking well." It was not a good attempt. Kit knew her aunt wanted to say more but was being restrained by the man sitting across from her.
"This is your great-aunt?" Rogers said. "The wonderful lady you've told me so much about? Ma'am, my name's Earl Rogers. May I say that your niece is an absolute gem."
"Why, thank . . ." Freddy began, then held back from completing her thought. She looked terribly confused. She began to tremble. "I must go." She stood up from her place and turned toward the lounges.
Kit took her arm. "I'll come with you."
Aunt Freddy turned to her, eyes filling with tears. "No, I want to be alone." She turned and scurried away. Kit allowed her to go.
"Well," Rogers said, "I seem to have made a mess of it. My apologies, Heath."
"Get out of here," Sloate said through clenched teeth.
Kit felt a fierce anger rising within her. This man had hurt her, yes, but now he was hurting Aunt Freddy, standing between her and Kit. She wanted Aunt Freddy to be happy, but this was too high a cost.
Rogers said, "And so good night. Come, Kit."
"Would you wait for me outside?" Kit said.
Rogers looked surprised at first, then silently bowed and departed.
Kit felt her entire body tensing. She fought for control. "You will not marry my aunt," she said.
Sloate looked at her, unfazed. "You have nothing to say in the matter."
"I'll stop you."
An ugly smile curled to his lips. "And how do you propose to do that? Freddy wants to marry me. I make her happy. And she knows you are not in your right mind."
"How dare you poison her against me!"
"Keep your voice down, you fool, and listen. I will only say this once. You be on a train to the East by the end of the week. Clear out of Los Angeles for good. If you don't, I will crush you."
"I think not," she said. "I will stand against you."
"You? My dear, you couldn't stand against a light breeze."
"As God is my witness," she said.
"God? How quaint of you. I presume you haven't read Darwin."
"What are you driving at?"
"I'm reminding you that we are not God's little children, as you suppose. We are beings that survive by being strong. The weak are consumed. And I am telling you I will consume you unless you leave this city." Sloate raised an oyster on a half-shell and sucked it into his mouth.
———
That night Kit could not sleep. Sloate's image and words kept playing through her mind. She saw him as he was—intimidating, mocking, scheming. And Aunt Freddy was the object of his plans.
Both anger and fear raged through her. Powerless. That's how she felt. Powerless to do anything now.
Then she remembered a verse of Scripture, as clear as when her father first uttered it to her: For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
Papa told her that the night before he died, when she was begging him to stay home. No, he told her, his call was to preach the Gospel. Kit told him she was afraid for him when he was away. He opened his Bible and read 2 Timothy 1:7.
Kit, in the shadows of her room, remembered that moment as if it had happened yesterday. She rose and lit an oil lamp on her desk and took her father's Bible down from its place of honor on the bookshelf. She opened to the passage and read it aloud.
The feelings of fear and anger begin to melt away, like snow on a hill under a warm sun. Closing her eyes, she prayed. I am here because you want me here, Lord. And until you show me otherwise, I will stay and do your will. She continued to pray and read the Bible, losing herself in her experience with God. When she finally went to bed, sleep came softly, easily, fully.
Chapter Twenty-two
THE NEXT MORNING Kit was eager to get to work on the case. The preliminary hearing was to start at nine. Rogers had told her she would be essential to the proceeding.
After washing, Kit gave careful thought to her attire. She chose a stylish but simple suit. The fashion was new, compliments of her wardrobe from Aunt Freddy and Mrs. Norris. The dressmaker had insisted it was the latest thing out of Paris, and Freddy had thought it a must.
Kit had to admit she liked the outfit. The close-fitting gown swirled around her feet, while a tailored jacket reached just to the calf. The thing Kit liked most about the affair was the lace cravat blouse, which completely concealed her neck. The lace, being rather simple, didn't look overdone or too feminine. It dressed her up in a professional air, yet softened her just a touch. It made her feel she could go to court and actually make a contribution to the case.
Deciding to have breakfast at the café two blocks away on Spring Street, Kit topped her russet hair with a wide-brimmed hat of cocoa silk. She felt confident and powerful. She felt as though she could take on the world.
Kit stepped out into the bustling activity of First Street. She was getting to know the city and the local establishments now. Living in the offices of her employer helped, though she was planning to look for more suitable lodgings soon.
The morning air was fresh and clean, another marvel to her. This city must have the cleanest air in the world, she thought. Quite a contrast to smoky New York! This was truly a paradise, and a person could fill her lungs without fear of coughing.
As she crossed Second Street, she came upon Garibaldi's Cafe, which she had heard Jory and Luther Brown talk about. A nice Italian man—Mr. Garibaldi?—greeted her and showed her to a table by the window. The room smelled of fresh bread and sausages, and Kit remembered she had not eaten a full breakfast since leaving Aunt Freddy's.
She sighed and looked at the simple bill of fare. She ordered eggs and sausage, biscuits with gravy, and, of course, a glass of orange juice. Kit felt entirely at home. This was her city now, and she would give herself to it.
A young newsie, his arms full of fresh newspaper, waddled by the window. She tapped on it and motioned for him to bring her a paper. She gave the boy a nickel and told him to keep the change. It was the early edition of the Examiner, Hearst's paper.
She unfolded it and glanced at the front page. The left side held a boxed advertisement for N. B. Blackstone Co. Dry Goods. The establishment was offering a selection of silk waists for seven dollars. Kit wondered if she would ever be that extravagant. To the right of the ad was the first story, with large type declaring BODY OF MISSING TAXIDERMIST WASHES ASHORE. In slightly smaller type below this: Mr. Edward Abbey Was Victim of Foul Play.
When they catch the perpetrator, Kit mused, I wonder if Earl Rogers will get the case.
She then scanned the front page, her eyes resting on the large headline on the right. When she read it, her body chilled to the bone: EYEWITNESS TO IDENTIFY FOX AS MURDERER. Below: Even Defense Team Has Doubts About Client.
Kit's felt her arms grow numb. She began to read the story, credited to Tom Phelps!
The trial of Mr. Theodore Fox for the grisly murder of Miss Millie Ryan on the night of August 10 in the crib district has taken a stunning turn. An eyewitness is set to identify the fleeing suspect as Mr. Fox, and the evidence has mounted to such a state that even a member of Mr. Fox's own defense team has expressed doubts about his innocence.
The defense is led by the skilled attorney Mr. Earl Rogers. He is being assisted by Miss Kathleen Shannon, newly arrived from the East, who has earned a degree in law from the University of New York.
During a recent interview with an unnamed source, Miss Shannon declared her uncer
tainty about the actual innocence of her client. When asked if her client had in reality committed the ghastly deed, Miss Shannon was heard to reply, "It seems that way."
Kit dropped the paper on the table. The room began to swirl around her, like a whirlpool of darkness into which she was going to fall. Only a voice at her side brought her back to the present.
"You breakfast," the Italian waiter said. He set before her a plate full of eggs and sausage.
But her appetite was gone. She looked at the waiter, wanting to say something, but no words came out.
"You no like?" he said.
"I'm sorry . . ." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a dollar, setting it on the table. "Will that be enough?"
The waiter looked surprised. "You no hafta pay now."
"I can't . . ." She stood and ran to the door.
"You change!" the waiter called out.
She did not stop.
———
Rogers' face was tight and his eyes full of reproach. "Do you realize what you've done?" he railed at Kit, who sat before him with her hands curled tightly in her lap. Tears were not an option, although she felt herself close to allowing them at several points.
"We will have a devil of a time finding an impartial jury!" he said, pacing up and down his office. "The entire city has passed judgment. Even if he is innocent, we will have to battle just to get a few of the jurors on our side!"
Kit said nothing.
"How could you be so naive? Don't ever talk to the press unless you tell them only what you want to tell them! These men are snakes in the grass. They'll print anything!"
"He told me he wouldn't print it," Kit said sheepishly.
"And you believed him?"
"I—"
"No, no, of course you believed him! Why should I be surprised? I was a fool to take you on. The law is no place for a woman."
He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. Kit tried to quiet her trembling hands. This was it then. Her career over before it started. Heath Sloate did not have to crush her. She had crushed herself.
"Well?" he said.
Kit looked up at him, his blue eyes piercing her veil of discomfort. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Rogers."
"Apology accepted. Now make me an argument."
"Argument?"
"I just told you the law is no place for a woman. You're a woman, you want to be a lawyer. Well, lawyers make arguments. Make me one."
Her thoughts bouncing this way and that, Kit realized he was opening a door. If she was to stay on, she would have to push through it. "I have been educated in the law," she said.
"Education is one thing, sense is another."
"I made a mistake. I will not make the same one again."
"That is a matter of trust. Why should I trust you?"
"Because I have not given you any reason to distrust me."
"The courtroom can be a very tough place." Rogers sat on the edge of his desk, a less threatening position as far as Kit was concerned. "Do you have what it takes inside you to withstand whatever may come up?"
"I do," she said.
"Even though you are of the tender sex?"
Kit paused. "I believe so."
Rogers smiled. "Then I believe in you, Kit Shannon." He took his watch from his vest pocket, glanced at it, snapped it shut. "We have a preliminary hearing to attend. Go get ready."
———
Freddy sat in her garden trying hard to console herself with mint tea. She had no idea how Kit was faring, but she knew the girl had been nothing but a burr under Heath Sloate's saddle since her arrival in Los Angeles.
Kit's strength somehow intimidated Heath. Freddy hadn't seen that at first. She'd only seen his concern for the Fairbank name and her own social standing in the city. But as time wore on and his tirades had become more and more fierce, Freddy began to discern something else. Dare she name it? Was it fear?
She had tried to speak to Heath on the matter, but he refused to be seen in such a light.
"I will not give words to what I believe you are asking me, my dear Frederica," he had said, barely containing his anger. "My only concern—my only desire—is that you not be hurt in this sordid affair."
Freddy wanted to believe him, just as she wanted to believe that isolating herself away from Kit was for the best. But it didn't feel like it. She worried about the girl. How was she doing? Did she get enough to eat? Was she all alone, without a friend to talk to? Worse yet, was she keeping the company of that Earl Rogers? Or Theodore Fox?
Fanning herself, Freddy fought to control her jittery nerves and thought perhaps ill-spirits had invaded her home and were even now plaguing her.
"I should call Madame Zindorf," she murmured. Then, remembering Kit's abhorrance of such practices, Freddy shook her head. "Perhaps not."
Oh, she was feeling so confused. The turmoil was enough to wilt a weaker woman. What was she to say to Heath? How could she convince him that Kit wasn't a threat to him? She felt as if there were no one in the world to whom she could turn. No one to hear her fears and worries. No one to offer her comfort that all would be well.
Chapter Twenty-three
THE PRELIMINARY HEARING in the matter of Ted Fox was held in the courtroom of Judge Wiley Ganges.
Rogers had briefed Kit on the way to court. In the preliminary hearing, he explained, the prosecution had to establish two things. First, that a crime occurred. Second, that there is cause to believe the defendant perpetrated the crime. If the prosecution succeeds to the judge's satisfaction, the defendant is bound over for trial.
"The prosecutors will put on only the minimum amount of evidence they need," Rogers told her. "They will keep back most of their evidence. Our job is to find out as much about their case as we can, and to make sure we nail their witnesses down on their stories. That way, when it comes to trial, we will have their testimony in our hands so they can't change it."
He also told her that most preliminary hearings were fairly brief and boring. But there was nothing boring in the tone and look of Judge Ganges when he first laid eyes on Kit.
She had taken the second chair at the counsel table with Earl Rogers. Ganges was a thin man with a beard who looked a little like General William Tecumseh Sherman. Kit had seen a Matthew Brady photograph of the stern general once, and Ganges' expression was identical.
Ganges took his seat on the judge's bench, gaveled everyone in the courtroom to sit, and immediately said, "Who is that woman?"
Kit saw that he was looking directly at her!
Rogers said, "Good morning, Your Honor. May I present my associate, Kathleen Shannon."
Kit stood, her knees knocking underneath her dress.
"I won't have a woman at the table," Ganges said.
"She is my associate, Your Honor. She is helping me prepare a defense."
"I don't care if she's helping you shine your shoes, Mr. Rogers. I want her back in the gallery."
"But—"
"Is she a lawyer or a defendant?"
"Neither, sir."
"Then back with her."
Kit felt like crawling under a large rock. Rogers turned to her and said softly, "We'll fight this one later."
Nodding but feeling humiliated, Kit walked back past the rail and took a seat in the front row of the spectator section. That's when she caught Heath Sloate smiling at her.
She closed her eyes and prayed silently for composure. At the sound of someone entering the courtroom, she looked back over her shoulder.
Tom Phelps.
He glanced around and then met her eyes. She glared at him. Phelps quickly looked away and took a seat in the rear.
A side door opened, and Ted Fox was marched in by a deputy sheriff. He looked even worse than when Kit had last seen him. His head was bowed as he was placed in a chair at the end of Rogers' table. He did not look at Kit.
Ganges ordered the preliminary hearing to begin. Sloate began by calling the county coroner, a meek-looking man named Raymond J. Smith. He describe
d the grisly scene of Millie Ryan's murder: throat slashed, blood everywhere. Step-by-step, led by Heath Sloate, the coroner drew a gruesome picture, one any judge would be loathe to overlook.
When Sloate finished, Rogers rose to cross-examine. Kit knew Rogers was an indefatigable student of medical science. When he questioned doctors, he had told her, he wanted to know just as much as they. Now was his chance. Kit was determined to learn all she could from Rogers' performance.
"Good morning, Dr. Smith," Rogers said.
The coroner nodded at him. "Good morning, sir."
Rogers walked slowly toward the witness box, twirling his lorgnette. "You have stated, sir, that the victim died due to loss of blood as the result of a wound to the neck."
"Yes, sir."
"And the wound was made by a knife?"
"In my medical opinion."
"Do you have an opinion as to the size of the blade?"
"Rather large. I would say in the neighborhood of a Bowie knife."
"Any other neighborhood you would like to visit?"
Judge Ganges cleared his throat audibly.
"I withdraw the question," said Rogers. "Now, Doctor, the wound obviously severed the carotid artery, did it not?"
Kit listened closely. The doctor had not mentioned the carotid artery specifically during his direct testimony, and now he looked surprised that a lawyer even knew about this part of the body.
"Why, yes," Smith said. "That is precisely what happened."
Kit noticed Sloate looking warily at Rogers, hanging on his every word.
"Such a cut," Rogers continued, "with such a weapon, would have required a slicing motion from side to side, isn't that correct?"
Smith paused, thought, then said, "Yes, sir."
"In other words, the killer would have had the victim from behind and administered the fatal wound by reaching around in front of her."
City of Angels (The Trials of Kit Shannon #1) Page 18
