[Barbara Holloway 02] - The Best Defense

by Kate Wilhelm

  “Oh no!” Barbara breathed.

  “Christ on a mountain! You are involved!”

  Barbara moved past him and put the paper on the kitchen table. Her hands were shaking.

  “Go shower or wash your face or something,” Frank snapped. “I’ll put on coffee.”

  She stumbled from the room into the shower and let the water beat on her in full force for a long time. Why did he do it? she asked over and over. Why did Spassero do it?

  Frank was at the back door facing out when she returned to the kitchen and wordlessly poured coffee before sitting down to read the newspaper. Every fact was followed by an explanation or opinion that was cruel, malicious, dangerous, and wrong. She, Barbara, had gone to see Paula Kennerman; the article added that her purpose had been to stop a confession that was in the works. She had objected to the doctor and his treatment; the paper said she was insistent on bringing in her own private psychiatrist, who would declare Baby Killer Kennerman insane. Judge Paltz had made the only reference to his friendship with her father and a fishing expedition; the paper said she had used old loyalties and affection to wheedle out of the judge (who might be senile or at the very least was said to have an eye for a pretty face) a three-day period during which Baby Killer Kennerman’s court-appointed attorney could not speak with her. Time enough, it went on, for her sister, on orders from Holloway, to talk her out of confessing.

  “Good God,” she said when she finished the article.

  “There’s more,” Frank said. “Back page.”

  She turned the paper over and saw her own face, a picture taken a year or more ago. Over it was the question: who is Barbara Holloway? She scanned the rest of the page swiftly, her stomach churning. “A member of the law firm Bixby, Holloway … Dropped out of sight a number of years ago. Doing what? Organizing legal counsel for her 'sisters'? … Solved so much confusion and doubt an alleged murderess had charges dismissed, but only after two innocent men died in a meaningless and avoidable accident… Who is she} Single, never married, her father calls her Bobby, engaged in a man s profession, chooses to wear male clothing, no makeup. 'Nuff said} One last item: She seems to believe no woman is capable of committing any crime more horrendous than marrying a man.'y

  “Who is this?” Barbara cried furiously as she yanked the paper open, searching for the masthead. She stopped at a picture of William Spassero, looking like a high-school football star. His headline: rising public defender outsmarted by female shark. “With less than two years as public defender, where he was making a name for himself William Spassero finally met the most predatory creature God saw fit to put on earth—a female shark hungiy for blood. And he lost. ...”

  There, the masthead. Publisher, Richard Dodgson; editor, Richard Dodgson; circulation, Kay Dodgson … The two of them apparently did it all. She frowned at the name, but could not recall where she had heard it recently.

  “Judge Paltz is senile or a womanizer, Spassero is a wimp, and I’m a shark,” she said finally. The words fell flat.

  “And don’t forget the defendant,” Frank said. “She’s a baby killer.” He left the door and sat down at the table opposite her. “You going to tell me anything?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Everything.” She did so, succinctly.

  “A blue sweater,” he said in disbelief. “All this over a damn blue sweater? For God’s sake, buy the woman a sweater and get out of it!”

  “I’ll see if I can get an appointment to see Judge Paltz,” she said, nudging the paper away from her.

  “That’s the dumbest thing you could do. What would you say? You didn’t talk, and Bill Spassero must be guilty? Lewis knows damn well it was one of you. Write him a letter and hand-deliver it to his secretary. No accusations, just express your dismay and include a firm statement that you talked to no one. That’s all!'

  After a moment, she nodded. He knew Lewis Paltz, knew how he would react to all this, what he must be thinking. And Spassero would be there making his own case. Why did he do it? she asked herself again, and got no further than before with an answer.

  “Thanks, Dad, that’s what I'll do. I’m really sorry the firm got dragged in like this.”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “Look, Bobby, we want someone to handle that copyright case. It’s right up your alley, you understand. It’s got to be someone with stamina to make the trips to New York and Hollywood, and enough smarts to stay on top of those Hollywood shysters. In a nutshell, you.”

  Another time that would have brought a smile to her lips: His office consisted of upright attorneys; in Hollywood they were shysters.

  “And it would keep me occupied,” she murmured, and suddenly wondered, Who had told Spassero he called her Bobby?

  “That, too,” he admitted.

  “No, thanks, Dad. Let someone else make a bundle this time. Are you going to be late for your appointment for the house closing?”

  He glanced at his watch and scowled. “I’ll give you a call later on. If you have those papers for Kennerman to sign, I could drop them off for her. Not out of my way.”

  She shook her head. “Dad, does Bessie still keep all those local newspapers on hand?” Bessie was Herman Besserman, who must be going on eighty; he had been with the firm since it started.

  “Sure. Why?” He glanced at the Valley Weekly Report on the table and said, “Leave it alone, honey. You can’t win with a rag like that, and you’ve got a lot to lose if they fix their sights on you. You know that.”

  “Just curious,” she said with a shrug. “You know them, the Dodgsons?” Another name swam back into reach: Craig Dodgson, the man who claimed he had asked Paula Kennerman out on his yacht.

  “Nope. I’ve got to go. Bobby, will you stay out of that mess? Please?”

  “Go buy a house, Dad.”

  After he left, she read the paper again, more carefully this time; there was no mention of Craig Dodgson, but there was a bit of information tucked into the recap of the murder: “Baby killer Kennerman left her husband and killed her child and thought she was rid of all obstacles to a life of luxury, free to pursue a wealthy man she believed would take her away on a yacht.”

  She wrote a brief letter to the judge and then dressed— today in a flowered skirt and blouse, parity hose even, and sandals. Just in case she ran into the judge, she told herself, tugging on the parity hose with some resentment. It was going to be a hot day.

  She delivered the letter without seeing the judge or Spassero, and then returned to the jail for the third time. Today there was no delay in taking her to the conference room, and they let her keep her pen. Paula was brought in almost immediately. The bandages had been changed, Barbara noted. They were no more than simple coverings to keep the wounds clean.

  Paula was still pale, but her eyes were alive and there was a light flush on her cheeks when she greeted Barbara. “I'm glad you came back,” she said, taking her seat.

  “What happened Friday?” Barbara asked.

  “He came to talk to me, the lawyer. He’s off the case. Thank you. They’ll send someone else now, I guess. Anyone would be better.”

  “Friday?” Barbara prompted. At least Spassero had had enough sense to bow out, she thought, before Paula asked for his dismissal.

  “He came and began asking me what Craig someone was to me. Were we having an affair? Was there anyone else I was running around with? Things like that. He said this Craig would cinch it for the state, that I had to talk about him, about us. I tried to tell him Jack must have done it, and he wouldn’t listen and just kept asking about affairs, and I started to yell at him to get out and stay out.” She ducked her head the same way Lucille did. For just an instant she looked like her sister, then the look vanished and she leaned forward with her hands on the table.

  “I kept thinking of what you said, someone else did it, and it had to be Jack. There’s got to be a way to prove it!”

  Barbara said quickly, “Paula, listen to me a minute before you say anything else. You know I’m not your at
torney. Fm representing your sister, that’s all. I have the papers for you to sign, and you can add whatever you’d like to the list of things for her to keep for you. You see, since Fm not your lawyer, there is no guarantee that anything you say to me will remain confidential. If they put me on the stand under oath, I would be required to repeat what you tell me.”

  “I understand,” Paula said impatiently. “It’s what I told the police in the very beginning; they know what I said. So does that lawyer, but lie didn’t believe it. I just didn’t tell them all about Jack because ... I don’t know why. I didn’t think of him, of someone killing Lori. I thought I was hidden from him out there at that place.” She took a long breath. “He did it, he had to have been the one. We ... he used to hit me now and then, not often, three or four times. I told him if he did it again I’d take Lori and leave, and for a long time, nearly a year, he didn’t touch me. So that day I had a big tip from the night before, and I went to the bank to add it to the special account we started for Lori’s school later, and all the money was gone. He took it all out. When he came home I yelled at him and he punched me.” She had started calmly enough, but now she was crying and choking on the words, which came out faster and faster. “I was on the floor and he picked up Lori and threw her down on the bed and he said next time he’d throw her out the window. I was scared, more than I ever was before. He’d never touched Lori before, only me, and I knew it would be like it was with my father. I heard the hall door slam, and as soon as I could get up from the floor I grabbed Lori. She was crying, as scared as I was, and I ran out with her.”

  She had to stop, her sobbing was too hard for the words to be coherent. Today Barbara had stuffed a big wad of tissues in her briefcase; she put some into Paula’s hand and waited, feeling sick.

  When Paula was able to speak again, she said, “A long time ago, one of the girls at work told me about a Safe House, and I went there. But I was afraid to stay because he’d find us. And they took us to the ranch and gave us some clothes. But he found out anyway.”

  “Did you tell anyone about this?” Barbara asked.

  “At the ranch? I couldn’t. I just couldn’t say anything like this in front of Lori. And I couldn’t leave her alone, she was so scared.”

  “You have to tell this to the new attorney they assign you,” Barbara said. “It’s very important that you tell him exactly what you told me. Will you do that?”

  Paula nodded. “Can I tell you about the … that day? It’s just what I told the police,” she added in a rush, “and the psychiatrist. I haven’t changed anything because there’s nothing to change.”

  Reluctantly, Barbara nodded.

  “Lori wasn’t feeling good,” Paula said. Her voice wavered, and she closed her eyes for a moment and drew in air. “She kept getting a stomachache, and she had to go to the bathroom, and she didn’t want to go out when everyone else did, and another little girl said she would stay with her. One of the women said the best thing I could do for Lori was to act like I wasn’t afraid, and that sounded right, so I went out, but I stayed at the edge of the woods waiting for her, and the other little girl came running over in a while and said Lori was sleeping. I hung around the woods for another minute or two, but finally I had to go back, to be with her if she woke up in a strange place, so she wouldn’t be alone and scared again.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, and she was staring at her hands on the table; they were clenched into tight fists. “I went to the back door and the whole kitchen was on fire, so I ran to the front. I ran upstairs, but she wasn’t in the bed, and I looked in the bathroom and the other bedrooms and then ran down again, and then ... I don’t know what happened, they said the stove or something exploded, and someone was holding me and the house was burning up.” The words were almost unrecognizable now. “I woke up in the hospital.”

  Barbara did not ask questions, did not try to get any more details than Paula was giving her; that was a job for her new attorney. Obviously the police had found terrible flaws in her story, and also obviously the district attorney believed he had everything he needed to convict her. She simply listened as Paula talked.

  Toward the end of the hour and a half she spent with Paula, she did ask if Spassero had told her about the new attorney.

  “No. I haven’t seen him since Friday. Dr. Grayling told me. He said I can have my own doctor if I want, but I don’t have a doctor. Dr. Grayling has been good to me. Is he all right, to just let him be my doctor now?”

  “I think he’s fine,” Barbara said.

  Paula added to the list of things for Lucille to take from her apartment, and signed the papers. Barbara was replacing them in her briefcase when a tap sounded on the door, and the matron opened it to say, “Mr. Fairchild is here to see Mrs. Kennerman. Will you be much longer, Ms. Holloway?”

  “No. I’m leaving now.” Theodore Fairchild, she repeated to herself: retirement age, in the public defender’s office as long as she could remember, kindly, sharp in court …

  “Will you stay, too?” Paula asked in a hushed voice.

  “No,” Barbara said, and stood up. “You have to have confidence in your attorney or the case is hopeless, and you have to speak to him knowing that everything you say is protected. That isn’t true about what you say to me. I explained that before, remember? I can’t sit in on a private, confidential talk between you and your attorney.”

  “What if he agrees with the other one, that the only thing I can do is confess? What will I do then?”

  “Talk to him,” Barbara said firmly. “Just talk to him. Okay?”

  Paula nodded, and then made a visible effort to control the fear that had reappeared on her face. She dosed her eyes a moment, opened them, and drew herself up straighter. Her clenched hands gave her away.

  Barbara met Theodore Fairchild briefly in the corridor as he was being escorted in. They shook hands. He looked tired, she thought, older than she remembered, not quite haggard, but drawn.

  “Ms. Holloway,” he said. “Barbara. Always a pleasure to see you. How are you?”

  “Fine, fine. And you? And Mrs. Fairchild?” A mistake, she realized too late when a shadowed look crossed his face and his shoulders sagged momentarily.

  “I’m well, and my wife is getting along fine. Doing better all the time. I’ll tell her you asked.” He started to move away, then added, “Oh, yes, I told Bill I’d pass the word to your … that is, my client. He was given permission to oversee the case after all the preliminary work he put into it. Judge Paltz said that seemed fair.” He was watching her closely.

  She shrugged. “That’s his right. Nice seeing you.”

  She spent the next several hours in Herman Besserman’s office reading The Valley Weekly Report. She had come to the office when most of the people were out to lunch, but it seemed word had spread that she was here, and now and then someone opened the door to say hello, or just to check it out that she really had made an appearance. Her name was still included in the long list of attorneys that went down the length of the left margin of the official letterhead, but it was a joke, and they all knew it. She had no salary, no office, no flunky to bring her coffee… The door opened a crack; she looked up to see Herman Besserman—Bessie—peering at her curiously. She had called, asking permission to use his room, read his papers, and he had given it cheerfully, although, he had added, he wouldn’t be around until midafternoon. His eyes were like owl eyes, magnified by thick lenses, and he was as pink and roundly smooth as a baby. Stout, they said; never fat, just stout. But he was fat and happy with himself, with his body, with his office, and now he seemed especially happy to see Barbara at a table poring over the tabloids.

  “I always say know what the devils are saying about you,” he said, entering. “How are you, Barbara? Good picture of you there, I thought.” Bessie would outlive them all, everyone agreed, and although he had not been in court for fifteen years, he was still respected as a smart attorney who knew a thing or two.

  “Makes me think censorship m
ight be a good idea, after all,” Barbara said with disgust.

  “You know what they say, homophobia, hatred of all government, misogyny, you name it, might be bad, even evil, but it’s not a crime. Not yet. The Dodgsons have perfected every aspect of voicing hatred for the other.”

  Barbara nodded, putting the newspapers back in their bin. Reading them like this, one after another, covering a six-month period—all that Bessie kept at any one time—was like seeing particularly evil souls exposed to a harsh light that left few secrets. Evil, she repeated. Evil people who hated women, hated gays, hated liberals, humanists, Democrats, most Republicans, feminists, agnostics, atheists …

  “Why did they take out after Paula Kennerman like that?” she asked. “From day one, they tried her, convicted her, and now they’re yowling for the death sentence for mothers who ‘kill’ their babies in any way—abortion, actual murder, manslaughter, neglect of the child, prenatal neglect…

  “That’s their style,” Bessie said simply. “You mixed up in that?”

  “No!” she snapped. She straightened up from restoring the newspapers to their proper place. Bessie’s office was large, like her father’s, with the same kind of desk, big and durable, and a round table with two straight chairs, other comfortable chairs. His office had one wall taken up with big windows, one wall with bookcases, and two walls with bins for the newspapers he collected, fifteen different papers, at least. She glanced at them. “Bessie, are others picking up that same message? Death sentence, baby killer already convicted, all that?”

  “Some are.” He waved at the bins. “Do you good to spend a day or two with them, see what they’re really saying out there in the boonies.”

  She nodded slowly. “I might do that, if you don’t mind. Thanks. I’ll give you a call. Now, I need a shower.”