by John Foxjohn
Did Loren Estes murder the victim? The answer shouldn’t matter, but it did. After examining every aspect of the DA’s case, tearing it apart as a defense attorney, looking at it from the prosecution stand-point, she should know the answer to this question, but she didn’t.
Kayla could give Proctor problems on this one. Maybe too many problems for a conviction, but he still had crucial things she couldn’t explain.
A few minutes before six, Kayla’s cell phone rang. She recognized Marvin’s number. When she answered, his excited voice spilled over, “Kayla, if you don’t have the TV on, watch channel eleven. Hurry.”
She grabbed the remote as the phone clicked. “Good evening, I’m Peter Crawford with Inside the Courtroom. Tonight we have two distinguished guests joining us by satellite.”
A picture of two different men flashed on the set while he talked. “I’d like to introduce University of Georgetown professor, William Reinford and University of Harvard law school professor John Sparkman. Between the two of them, they have eighty-nine years of experience in the courtroom and teaching law. Tonight we’ll discuss the state of Texas versus Estes, or as some call it a modern day David and Goliath.”
Kayla groaned as the host welcomed the professors to the show.
“I know both of you are familiar with this case coming up since it has hit the national spotlight. My first question is this—in your opinion—does the analogy of a David and Goliath apply in this case?”
Reinford, with snow-white hair, and in a conservative suit gave a short nod. “Peter, thank you for having me on. In a way, the analogy is correct. I don’t know this defense attorney, Kayla Nugent, but I do know quite a bit about her opponent. He is a giant in the Texas justice system. It’s no small feat for him to never lose a case. However, I believe that the analogy ends there. Viewers need to remember, when David used his sling-shot to defeat Goliath, he had experience with that weapon.”
Kayla rolled her eyes as the other talking head nodded with this statement. She leaned back and put her feet up, taking a drink of her coke.
“Ms. Nugent,” he continued, “doesn’t have the experience that David did.”
Crawford turned to the other talking head. “Mr. Sparkman, would you agree with Mr. Reinford’s assessment?”
Sparkman, sporting an obvious toupee, nodded. “Absolutely. Her law firm is an old one steeped in tradition and for the life of me—I can’t understand why they would assign a novice attorney to a case of this magnitude.”
The doorbell rang while they talked. Kayla took twenty-five dollars out of her purse and headed for the front door. After looking through the peephole, she opened the door and handed the money to the Papa John’s delivery driver.
She set the box on the table next to her chair, lifted out a piece and bit into it as they continued to talk. Sparkman said, “I knew her father quite well. Darn good attorney. If he defended this woman, I wouldn’t think that the defendant didn’t have adequate representation. Jared Nugent had years of experience. If I understand correctly, Ms. Nugent has never led a defense in a murder trial.”
Kayla didn’t doubt them, but her father and all the other experienced attorneys they talked about had to start from the beginning at some time. They didn’t pass their bar exam and have twenty years of experience handed to them.
When they broke away for a commercial, Kayla rose and went to the kitchen to refill her glass. She didn’t know why she bothered to listen to all this. In many ways, they were all correct. Her father could have done a better job than she could. But her father wasn’t here—she had to do it, and not because she wanted to.
If they knew that she’d rather see Loren Estes spend the rest of her life in prison, they would think even more that she shouldn’t defend her.
The host of the show returned as Kayla had a seat. “Rumor has it that Howard Proctor is going to use this trial as the springboard to launch his campaign as Texas Attorney General. Does this help the prosecution or the defense?”
Reinford straightened his coat and tie. “I’ve heard the argument both ways. Some say the political race may occupy him from doing his best, but I take the other position on this argument. I believe this gives him even more incentive. If this is true, his political future could rest on this case. He can’t lose this case to a novice attorney.”
“I agree with Mr. Reinford,” Sparkman said. “Proctor is the giant that the media has portrayed him to be and he can’t let this up-start knock him down.”
Kayla closed her eyes as they talked. How she’d love to beat Proctor, be the person responsible for the demise of the asshole’s political life—knock that smug smile off his face—but it looked like he had too much on Loren.
Her father always said that defense attorneys shouldn’t gamble their clients’ lives. She’d looked at everything from every angle, and to win this case, she’d have to take chances she normally wouldn’t. She wanted Proctor mad, hoping he’d make mistakes, but she didn’t believe he’d make enough mistakes to help her.
“One last question for the two of you,” Crawford said. “In your opinion, for Kayla Nugent to have a chance to win this case, what will she need to do?”
“No surprise here,” Sparkman said. “If she can’t get a favorable jury, she has lost this case before it begins.”
Crawford turned to Reinford. “Mr. Reinford.”
“Of course, Mr. Sparkman is correct in that statement, but one other thing besides her jury selection. She’ll need to knock the jury for a loop with her opening statement.”
“I want to thank the two of you for being here.” He turned to face the camera. “For my viewers, both professors have agreed to come on every night at this time to discuss their impressions of the case. We’ll show the entire court proceeding live.”
Kayla punched the TV off. She hated the judge’s decision to allow the cameras in the courtroom. The last thing she wanted was this trial played out in the media.
Reinford and Sparkman sounded like talking parrots, but what they said was true. To win this, she’d need a favorable jury and the best opening of her life. At this point, she didn’t believe she’d get a favorable jury.
* * * *
At nine-thirty Kayla’s phone woke her. She’d stayed up until almost three working, going over witness statements, forensics and the statements from the experts she’d interviewed. She groaned and stretched, deciding to let the answering machine get it. After a shower and a cup of coffee, the phone rang again. She sighed and picked it up. Her eyes popped wide open when McMasters said good morning.
“Ah, good—morning, sir.” She collapsed on the edge of the bed. What in the world did he call her on a Sunday morning for?
“Kayla, have you had breakfast, yet?”
Still in her robe, she paced her bedroom with the cordless phone. “Uh—no, sir.”
“Good. I’d like you to join me at my house. The address is 2261 Bellevue Boulevard in Herrington Estates. That’s in Webster by Nassau Bay. Will you have any problems finding it, or do I need to send a car to pick you up?”
She blinked. He invited her to his house. But when she thought about what he’d said, it didn’t sound much like an invitation—more of a command wrapped in politeness. As far as she knew, no associate went to McMasters’ house. Never. “Sir, I believe I can get there on my own.”
“Will an hour be sufficient time?”
Getting her senses back, she asked for an hour and a half. He responded that he’d see her then.
After she dressed, she searched for Map Quest, plugged in McMasters’ address, and printed out the directions. Driving south on Interstate 45, she wondered what Darren did this morning. Probably still asleep.
She turned left after Nassau Bay and before Webster. Every few blocks, the economic status of the residents changed, but unlike normal neighborhoods, these houses started at well-to-do and went up from there. When she turned right on Bellevue Boulevard, she entered the top economic social group, the power brokers. All t
he houses appeared to start around the ten million dollar range.
On the left side of the street, a red brick monument beside a drive way held a gold plaque with 2261 Bellevue Boulevard. The drive way led up a hill carpeted in lush green grass, and a large stand of oaks and other hardwoods, but from the street, no home showed.
She took a deep breath, her pulse racing, and turned. She’d traveled half-way up the hill before she glimpsed the house—a white monster probably larger than the White House. It loomed in the middle of a clearing surrounded by an iron fence, and an iron entrance gate with a guard and guard shack.
A polite but professional guard in uniform stopped her outside the closed gate. When she told him who she was, he checked a list on a clipboard, asked to see her driver’s license, and logged her in. He stood by the car and made no movements at all, but the gate opened.
As she drove through, she glanced in the guard shack but no one occupied it to open the gate. She tapped on the wheel. How did that work? She wondered if the place had a no-fly zone over it. She glanced up, almost expecting helicopters circling. Some of the tension drained from her when she didn’t spot any.
However, a man in a starched red uniform waited at the front entrance to the palace. Polite, but taciturn, he led her through to the back patio where she found McMasters reading the newspaper.
Her boss rose and indicated a seat. “What would you like for breakfast?”
Kayla crossed her arms. “Coffee, black, and dry toast, please.”
A woman materialized from somewhere with a cup, saucer, and a carafe, poured the coffee and hurried off.
McMasters wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and set it on the table by his plate. “How is the preparation going?”
He sure didn’t call her out here for breakfast to ask her that question. If she’d learned anything from this ordeal, he already knew the answer to that question. “Sir, we’re going to have some problems. There are certain areas in the prosecution’s case that I can’t explain away. Someway, and I’m not sure how, I need to try to minimize those areas.”
He nodded. “Waiting to see how Proctor presents it?”
“Yes, sir, but he has the gun that belonged to Loren Estes and they found in her car. There’s no doubt that the gun fired the bullet that killed the victim.”
“Are you calling your own expert witness to testify about the gun?”
She hesitated before answering. She’d debated that problem for a month. “No, sir. I decided not to. The one they have is the best in the business, and I don’t believe they made any mistakes in the testing and comparison of the bullet. If I called my own witness, he’d confirm what the prosecution’s witness testified to. I’m afraid all it would do is reinforce those facts in the jury’s mind.”
“Smart. I wouldn’t call one either if I were in your shoes. What about the witness that puts your client at the scene?”
Before Kayla answered, the woman who brought the coffee returned and filled their cups. As she did, another woman brought two pieces of dry toast and set it in front of Kayla, and placed a plate of scrambled eggs and link sausage in front of McMasters.
Kayla sipped her coffee before answering. “It seems they found the perfect witness. We have no way to discredit her. We have investigated her every way possible. She has no vision problems, never been in trouble in her life, and never testified in a criminal or civil trial. As far as we know, the only report she has ever made to the police occurred five years ago when someone burglarized her car at the mall. We can’t find any link to her and Loren Estes. There’s nothing to indicate that they had ever met, or that she is testifying out of malice.”
McMasters sipped his coffee without speaking. Kayla nibbled on her toast. She should be hungry, but had no appetite. She’d ordered the toast out of politeness.
When McMasters set his cup down, he said, “You think you’re going to lose this one, don’t you?”
Knots tightened her stomach as she chewed on her bottom lip. “The odds are more in favor of losing than winning.” She hated saying this, but if she’d lied to him, he’d know it. Besides, she needed to face the possibility herself. Proctor was too good and had too much to lose.
His intense blue eyes stared into hers for a long moment. “Girl, are you scared?”
McMasters use of the word, girl, stumped her, but she didn’t need to hesitate about her answer. “Sir, I’m scared to death.”
Something happened with his mouth, like a crack in pottery and Kayla couldn’t tell if he smiled, grimaced, or had gas, and she still didn’t know why he’d called her out to his place. “I don’t have the experience to take Proctor on in a case of this magnitude. My father could handle it. I wish he were alive and could give me some advice.”
McMasters snorted and set his cup down hard. “If Jared Nugent had this case, I can assure you he’d ask your advice on it.”
Kayla raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”
“You heard me right, young lady. Jared Nugent was a damn fine criminal defense attorney, but in the courtroom, he couldn’t carry your briefcase. One of these days you’re going to wake up and realize just how good you are.”
EIGHTEEN
Kayla couldn’t speak. She didn’t expect a statement like that from McMasters, and his words made her draw the only possible conclusion—the old fool had gone daffy. She sipped her coffee to cover her astonishment.
She didn’t speak until she regained her composure. “I appreciate you saying that, but I’m not as good as my father. Besides, Proctor beat me on the last case.”
He crossed his knee as the maid refilled their cups. He twitched his mouth. “Proctor would have beaten any attorney in that last one. You had a guilty client, and a stupid, arrogant one at that. Your client could have brought in a team of the greatest attorneys ever, and they would have lost, too.”
He pointed a stubby index finger at Kayla. “I am telling you this—you have Proctor scared to death. His staff has never worked this hard on preparation for a trial. Them working like that has nothing to do with the fact he is going to launch his campaign or anything like that. The truth is, you worry him in the court room like no attorney he has ever faced.”
McMasters set his cup down hard and waved away the maid who rushed to refill it. “Why do you think he tried to get you excluded from this trial in the beginning? Why would he care if you didn’t have enough experience? He isn’t concerned if the defendant doesn’t have adequate representation.”
Heat formed at the base of her neck and shot to her hairline. She didn’t know what to say—hadn’t thought why Proctor tried to get her removed from Loren’s defense. Why would Proctor fear her in the courtroom? As the two law professors said, he was the giant, and she didn’t even measure up to David.
McMasters’ gaze bore into hers. “How do you plan on handling the trial?”
She took a deep breath. “I am going for the jugular right off the bat. I want him so mad he’ll make mistakes.”
McMasters rubbed his chin for a long moment as he stared at the table, and then looked up. “You’re going to hit him on his opening?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Hmm, that’ll be interesting. No one has ever had the guts to. Why didn’t you do it at the previous trial?”
Kayla stared at the trees while she thought. “I felt that if I objected, it would reinforce to the jury what he said.”
McMasters’ lips thinned even more than normal. “A hypothesis that many have taken over the years and no one has raised objections before.”
“I don’t think he’ll expect it, and I need to gamble to win.”
“You’re going to gamble your client’s life?”
McMasters had a way of asking questions that didn’t come across as questioning her strategy, but to cause Kayla to think, evaluate the situation. Most people in his position would offer advice, or even tell her what to do, or not to do. She didn’t get the impression that he’d do that.
She knew what her father would
say to the gambling, and knew what McMasters thought about it—what every attorney would say, and her decision had nothing to do with the fact that she’d like to see her client in prison for all of her life. If she didn’t gamble, she’d lose. “Sir, I’m going to do any and everything within my power to get my client acquitted.”
“So, you’re a gambler, are you?” McMasters reached into his back pocket and extracted a wallet. He brought out ten one hundred dollar bills, and fanned them on the table. “I bet you a thousand bucks you win this case.”
Her drive back home left her in confusion and no bet. She had more questions than she could ever answer. Why did McMasters seem to have so much confidence in her—confidence she didn’t have in herself?
Why would Proctor fear her in the courtroom? More important than that, why had McMasters seemed to take this much interest in her? Why had he invited her to his home to begin with?
Who wanted her off the defense badly enough to kill Princess and continue to threaten her?
* * * *
Confused and scared, Kayla arrived home and paced. She knew what she had to do, but for the first time, didn’t want to. Somehow, she’d changed inside. She didn’t know why this change had taken place or even what it was. She could never explain it, but deep inside, it persisted.
At last, she didn’t feel she could put it off any longer. She tramped into the hallway, caught the string, and pulled the attic stairs. She hesitated at the bottom before she began the climb.
Sitting in the dust before the old trunk, she rested her hand on the dry wood. She took a deep breath and lifted the lid. It creaked as it opened, and as always, musky odors assailed her.
Her hands trembled as she pulled out her mother’s diary. Like always, she held it to her chest. Kayla had and still did worship her father. When she needed advice, he had always provided it. She believed he relished the advisory role—not only because he was her father, but because he did it well.
