by Jay Brandon
He watched her face and could tell she wasn’t doing what he’d asked, thinking hard. She was barely putting any thought into his questions at all. Excellent expression. He wished he could capture it. It wasn’t the face of a murderer trying to remember anything that might give her away.
Then she frowned. Her face changed completely. Maybe someone else wouldn’t notice, but he’d known her face her whole life. A guilty thought had just crossed her mind. Then she shook her head.
‘No. Nothing,’ she said. ‘There couldn’t be, because I had no thought of killing him. Never had. I didn’t.’
‘Is there another gun in the house?’
‘No. I’ve never owned one.’
‘OK, here’s what I want you to do.’ He got a legal pad from his briefcase and wrote hurriedly on it, including the date and a signature line. ‘This is written consent to search your house. I want to give it to police, so they can search the place before you get out of here, before you’ve had a chance to hide anything you might have left behind. So they’ll find the appointment book and the receipts themselves. They prefer finding evidence themselves to having the defense hand it to them. I want to do this now. OK?’
He couldn’t get out of the lifelong habit of treating Amy like a little sister, but she was smart, probably smarter than Edward. Amy understood all the implications, but she nodded. Because this was a lawyer’s visiting booth, there was a slot at the bottom of the thick plastic. Edward slid the one sheet through it, followed by his pen. Amy read quickly and signed without hesitating.
But as she did, she said, ‘We all have secrets, Edward.’
She looked up at him, clear-eyed and unrepentant. What guilt was she both acknowledging and shrugging off? What would police find? Evidence of another man? Just something embarrassing that she’d prefer her brother not know? Edward hoped it was something as inconsequential as sex toys.
‘OK. I need to move fast. They’re probably already trying to get a warrant.’
‘What about me? Don’t leave me here. God, Edward, you have no idea—’
He looked at her sharply and she remembered to whom she was talking. But her panic only escalated. She tried to reach him, putting her fingers through that narrow slot.
‘Then you know better than anyone. I’ve got to get out of here. That holding cell, God, I thought I was going to die or be raped or drowned in the horrible toilet.’
‘They’ll put you in another cell soon. It’ll be better. I’ve got work to do on the outside, Amy. I can’t stay here just so you get your own little private booth. Don’t worry, I’ll get you out as fast as I can. You’ve already been booked, that’s what slows down the release process, so that’s good. You’ve seen a magistrate, right? Did he set a bond?’
She nodded. ‘Two hundred thousand dollars. It didn’t seem like she put any thought into it at all. It was if she was just following a chart or something.’
‘She was. The bond schedule. OK. The bond fee is ten percent. Do you have twenty thousand dollars? That you have access to right now? Or you can wait in here. Monday I can probably get your bond reduced, even make it a personal recognizance bond. Or you could put up a cash bond for the whole amount and get it back at the end. Do you want—?’
Again, her wide eyes and reaching hands answered him and stopped him. He slowed down and said, ‘OK. So do you have the money?’
‘Of course. But getting it tonight? I can’t. Not without—’
Telling their parents. He knew what she was thinking. As if this was going to remain secret long.
‘OK. I’ll take care of it.’
‘You will? You can? How? Do you have—?’
‘Just let me work, OK, Dr Amy? Damn it, look what time it is. I’ve got to go.’ He shrugged on his jacket and stood quickly. ‘Is there anything else, Amy? Anything I need to know?’
‘I loved him, Edward. More than ever. Going to this dinner tonight, it was like every prom and date I ever had rolled into one, but better, because I loved him and I knew he loved me still too and we were going to make it. I was so happy standing on that porch. Just before I heard the shot.’
This was obviously a declaration she wanted to make, but not exactly useful to Edward at the moment. He, by contrast, stood there a moment longer so he could give her information she could use, on the other side of that door.
‘Amy. Keep your head down. Don’t look them in the eye. Keep everything inside yourself. Don’t look weak, but don’t engage. If they force themselves on you, use what you’ve got. Tell them you’re a doctor. They won’t be able to stop themselves from saying, “Say, Doc, I’ve got this rash,” or “cough”, or “sick mother” or something. Diagnose if you want. Or tell them you’re about to get out and ask if they want you to take a message to anybody on the outside. They all want to get messages out. OK? You can do this.’
She stood up. She faced him and nodded, her face almost dead, then said, ‘And when I get out we need to look into that little tremor you’ve got in your left hand. It suggests hypertension. Take an aspirin tonight.’
She gave him a tiny wink, taking him back in time again. He nodded at her and hurried out, heading for his phone that he’d had to check at the counter.
TWO
His first call was to the police, its homicide division; a number he was surprised he still remembered. Edward got lucky and got through to a night detective he knew slightly. The detective seemed to remember him better, which could be good but maybe not.
‘Detective Skinner, you’re assigned to the investigation into the death of Dr Paul Shilling? The arrest of his wife, Dr Amy Hall?’
‘Yeah, it’s mine. What about it?’
‘Do you know she’s my sister? Well, she is. I’ve just come from seeing her. I have her signed consent for you to search her home. I will meet you there and let you in, but it has to be right away. I want it searched before she gets released, which will be soon.’
Detective Skinner, to his credit, obviously understood. Edward wanted his sister’s house searched, so the record would show it was while she was still in jail, having had no time to hide evidence. So he was offering the detective an easy, quick way in, but asking for a small favor in return.
‘I don’t think she’ll get out before we get a warrant, which we’re in the process of right now. I think I’d rather wait for the official piece of paper.’
‘This is official. But OK, you wait. I’m on my way to her house now and I’ve got a key. So I’ll be inside when you get there.’
‘Hold on, hold on.’ Skinner reconsidered quickly; Edward could almost hear his thoughts through the phone.
People become cops for two reasons: they genuinely want to help people or they want to tool people around with impunity. The split probably wasn’t fifty-fifty. Detective Skinner seemed to fall into the second camp. His immediate instinct had been to give nothing to the lawyer, not even a fair trade. Now Edward had bullied back. He figured the detective was trying to figure some way to screw him, like send a uniform over there to prevent Edward’s entering, but there was no authority to keep Edward from getting in.
So the cop accepted the offer. ‘OK. I’ll meet you over there. On the outside. What’s the address?’
Edward gave it to him. ‘I may be a few minutes behind you. I have to arrange bail first.’
‘OK. I’ll wait there.’
Edward hung up and looked around. He was standing in front of the Harris County Detention Center and could feel its bulk behind him. Across the street, the sights were impressive in their own way. It was bail bondsman city over there. Every little office, house or trailer was a bail company, all in prime locations, all offering the same price structure. And all open for business twenty-four hours a day, with garish neon signs advertising that fact. It looked like a tiny Las Vegas for the accused over there.
All of them, of course, wanted cash up front, which he didn’t have. Edward gave a full two minutes of thought to his next phone call.
Lawyers ca
n make bail bonds; the lawyers who have registered property with the county, such as certificates of deposit or real estate. Then the lawyers could make bonds up to the value of that registered property. They would do so for the usual ten percent fees, which the lawyer kept. There were several lawyers who made more money from having a few rent houses and CDs registered with the county than they did from practicing law. Edward stood there in the waves of liquid light from the neon signs and tried to think which one he should call.
Finally his decision was made for him, by which one had his home number listed in directory assistance. The lawyer answered on the fourth ring, as Edward was about to give up.
‘Hello, Pete. This is Edward Hall. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
They kept the small talk mercifully brief. They weren’t friends, just colleagues who could talk like professionals.
‘I’d like you to keep this to yourself, Pete. My sister’s in jail for murder. Her name is Amy Shilling. The victim is her estranged husband, except they had started to see each other again. Supposed to be going together to a medical awards dinner, instead she found him dying on his bedroom floor. So, of course, got herself arrested.’
‘Cops,’ Pete answered disgustedly. Coming upon a bereaved widow and having no other thought except to arrest her.
‘Yeah. So she’s in jail on a Saturday night with a two hundred thousand dollar bond. And terrified. I can get you the ten percent Monday. Can you help me?’
There was a pause of a second, two, three, long enough for Edward to realize the night was growing colder. Houston in March, not normally remotely wintery, but tonight’s air carried a chill.
‘Sure,’ Pete said in his ear. Not the easy, automatic offer of help from a friend, but the end result of a calculation tinged by acquaintanceship. ‘Yeah, Ed, I can do it.’
‘Thanks, Pete.’
But of course Pete should be thanking Edward, because Pete would get to keep the twenty thousand dollar fee. Edward had just handed out his first big favor in this case.
‘I’ll be right down.’
Coming down to the jail on a Saturday night was a favor in return, but not a twenty thousand dollar favor.
The search of Amy’s house was uneventful. The detective had brought a couple of evidence techs to do the actual work. Edward told him about the desk appointment calendar and the receipt for the dress, but didn’t go inside. That would give the cop more confidence that Edward wasn’t trying to hide anything. It was also a small kindness to Amy, not to be part of this intrusion into her privacy. If she had other secrets the search would reveal, as she’d hinted, at least only strangers would find them. As he walked away, Edward wondered if he was making a mistake. There was no handbook for this kind of thing. It sometimes surprised him that, no matter how much experience one had, new situations still jumped up in every case. And this was a case, whatever else it might be.
He realized he was very tired and hadn’t eaten tonight. He headed home and fell immediately into bed, but slept fitfully, expecting his phone to ring. It didn’t.
It had taken until closer to dawn than midnight to get Amy bonded out of jail. She hadn’t called because she’d gone home exhausted, to find that her house had been searched and only very clumsily reassembled, but too tired to care. She slept into Sunday afternoon.
Edward didn’t have another significant conversation with his sister until two days later. By that time the story had exploded, as they say, in the media. Married doctors, both prominent in their fields, one arrested for killing the other. Poor people killed each other every weekend and barely made page five of the metro section, but when the players were successful and well off, it made the front page. Amy had dealt with that and had talked to their parents. Edward stayed away from all that. Besides, he didn’t think his presence would help with their parents. It would look even more clearly as if his sister had fallen into the black sheep status into which Edward had been the trailblazer. The Daniel Boone of disgrace.
Instead he gave her the names of the three best criminal defense lawyers he knew, two smart, experienced men, one aggressive, one more of a good old boy, and also an up-and-coming younger woman, with a great track record in trial already and who knew how to play the press. He assumed Amy would choose her but, after that first meeting, Amy wanted to keep her appointments with the other two. She didn’t say why. She did surprise him by asking him to come to the third meeting with her.
‘For protection?’ he asked on the phone.
‘To translate. The first two said you’re very good, by the way. They said it was a shame you couldn’t … you know.’
‘OK.’ He shrugged off the compliments, which the lawyers had had no choice but to make to his sister. ‘I’ll come with you if you want, Amy.’
So he found himself on the client side of the desk in a law office. This one belonged to Don Hudson, a fifty-something former prosecutor and long-time defense lawyer, who seemed to be godfather to all the judges’ children and drinking buddies with the most important prosecutors. Edward didn’t know how Don could have time for a personal life, but saw that the wall behind Don’s desk featured at least a dozen pictures of him with his wife and children. No law books in here, just a desk that was a table with no storage space. The desk surface was mostly clear. In front of Don were a legal pad and a pen, but he never touched them. He sat and listened, with his clear-eyed gaze. His greeting to Amy had been pleasant but remote, his handshake with Edward friendlier. He didn’t seem to mind having Edward there, waving away his apology then concentrating on Amy. He hardly broke his gaze at her face during the entire interview.
They weren’t ten minutes into it before Edward saw the problem. He had contributed to it himself, with his first jailhouse conversation with his sister. She had been open and emotional with him, but he was family. By now she had regained her protective reticence.
Retelling her story for at least the sixth or seventh time, Amy’s answers were rote. She knew what the lawyer was going to ask and which details were significant. Why did you pick up the gun? When did you hear the back door close? Are you sure he knew you were coming to his house?
She answered automatically, beginning her answers before the lawyer finished the question. Don Hudson nodded sometimes during her recitals, but never smiled.
He also never challenged her story. Never asked if she was lying, never leaned across the desk to say: You know why the cops think you shot him, don’t you? You know why you’re the natural suspect, right? Lawyers had different theories on that issue. Most experienced ones never ask new clients: Did you do it? They ask something very neutral like: What happened? Some, Edward knew, started by telling the client the possible defenses, then asking her to tell the story, so the client could decide whether to fit her version of the story around one of those defenses.
Edward had always felt, though, that he himself was the first judge and jury a prospective new client faced. He would stop the tale to say he didn’t find it believable, if that was the case. This practice of his had caused a few people to walk out of his office abruptly. All of them, he took small satisfaction in noting, ended up getting convicted.
When Amy stopped talking Don asked her a couple of more questions, one about the gun, one about how far in advance her date with her husband that night had been made.
‘OK, then,’ he concluded. With a glance at Edward he added, ‘I don’t know how much you know about the process …’
Amy stood up abruptly. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d discuss my case with my brother and let him relay your thoughts to me.’
‘That’s very unusual.’
Edward leaned out of his chair, trying to catch her eyes. ‘Amy—’
‘Please, Edward? I’m not up to this anymore right now. Thanks.’
She hurried to the door and out, in a slight flutter of skirt and heels. When the lawyers were alone, with the door closed behind her, Don sat back and said,
‘Did I offend?’
‘No, Don. She’s just feeling a little overwhelmed, I think. Maybe the reality of having to deal with this just set in, when she knew she was going to hire you.’
‘Is she?’
‘Sure. I think. I would. So what do you think? What will you do?’
Edward saw the slight hesitation as Don made the calculation. Normally he wouldn’t talk to a family member, but the client had specifically authorized him to do so and the family member was someone the lawyer had known for years, who could speak the language. So he answered.
‘You know what I’ll do. Talk to the prosecutor as soon as possible. They probably haven’t even gotten the case from the cops yet, but it will undoubtedly be a family violence case, so one of maybe three prosecutors. Maybe even go to the top and talk to the first assistant. In the meantime develop defenses. Distraught over the divorce; I hope to God he cheated on her and we can prove it. Sudden passion, maybe? I have to go over her story with her again, pressing harder this time. I hope you know that.’
Edward said, ‘What about that closing back door? And the fact that Amy says she was on the front porch when she heard the shot fired?’
The lawyer mused for a few seconds. ‘Just have to check out the scene, you know. Talk to all the neighbors and get my investigator to find if there was anybody else hanging around. It would be nice if someone heard the shot and saw Amy on the porch at the same time, but what are the chances of that? As for the back door …’ He shook his head. ‘That’s a nice touch, maybe it can give us some traction with the D.A. or a jury, but it’s a little too, I don’t know, fanciful? Without some evidence to back it up.
‘Anyway, I’d talk to the prosecutors as soon as possible. Wouldn’t ask for an offer too soon – we don’t want that to be set in stone – but pretty soon. Just to consider, while we evaluate the case. You know what I mean.’
