''I think you have a problem with your theory, Kathleen. If Michael's Mr. Porter is called to testify, and gives the same impression to a jury that he has given to Michael, that jury might see justification for Lionel taking his own life.''
''Because he was dissuaded from bringing up a billing discrepancy?'' Kathleen scoffed. ''I don't think so.''
''Because his job might have been jeopardized,'' Michael filled in and Gerry nodded in agreement, beaming at the younger man.
''I see. What you're saying is, with a supervisor like Porter, Lionel might have felt threatened.''
''Exactly,'' Gerry agreed, opening his hands in a Papal and inclusive gesture to show his delight. ''That's a powerful motive for suicide. Look at what you know about Lionel.''
Kathleen ticked off the list. ''He was conscientious.''
''Not a good thing in corporation like Tysco where rules are sacrosanct,'' Michael offered.
''He was spiritual, gentle.''
''Could be interpreted as high strung, delusional.'' Gerry added his two cents.
''He was honorable.''
Both men thought for a moment and it was Michael who commented.
''He might be viewed as a man with a conservative complex. Sort of a born again type. His version of right was the only one.''
''And therefore, Lionel would be highly distressed if he felt the entire twelve thousand employees of Tysco thought nothing of the problems he'd found,'' Gerry added.
''He had a goal. To own a farm and live a quiet life with his wife,'' Kathleen offered.
Michael countered, ''He believed his dream wouldn't be unattainable if he lost his job.''
''He was consistent, a ten year work record,'' Kathleen shot back, hoping to salvage anything from this.
''He was unemployable elsewhere,'' Gerry pointed out. ''Paranoid and afraid to leave, yet feeling himself above the rabble at Tysco. He was between a rock and a hard place. Many would become homicidal in that instance. Look at the postal workers. Gentle, mystical Lionel possibly became suicidal.''
Gerry ended with a flourish, the old skill still intact. If Kathleen had been on a jury, she might buy into the argument that Lionel Booker was a paranoid rascal with a personal agenda.
''Oh, Lord,'' Kathleen sighed. Defeat made itself comfortable in her lap. It was a heavy child.
''Kathleen.'' Gerry let his head hang as he stood up and came 'round his desk. Leaning against it, he raised his hand. For a moment Kathleen thought he was going to pat her head the way he used to when she was small. But he let his hand fall, along with the tenor of his voice. ''Are you going to give up so easily, my girl?''
''I don't know what else to do.''
''Why not ask yourself the question you'd ask a jury?''
Kathleen raised her eyes, but not her head. Michael was sitting quietly, watching Gerry intently. There was a deeply thoughtful look on his face - almost too personal.
''What question?''
Gerry let his eyes linger on Kathleen an instant longer before looking over his shoulder at Michael.
''Why would they believe that about Lionel?'' He looked back to Kathleen. ''Aren't they good people themselves? People who understand that honor and truth and empathy are the most valuable qualities in the world. Isn't a jury made up of people who have been mistreated by employers, companies and associations too? Aren't they folks who have been misunderstood because of their very pure motives? How many times have words been put in their mouths and their efforts to do the right thing been foiled?''
Gerry pushed himself off the desk and stepped around Kathleen so that his hands were on the back of her chair. With him came an energy that pulled Kathleen up straight as if he was tugging at her puppet strings. He leaned close but spoke in a voice that commanded attention.
''Make it personal, Kathleen. Point to the lovely widow Sarah - if she'll come to the proceedings as proof that Lionel was a good and loving man. Find out how he lived. Did he pay his bills on time? He was saving for a farm for goodness sake. The great American dream. Put Mr. Douglas on the stand. Paint them a picture of your Lionel, Kathleen. The Lionel you believe existed and Sarah believe existed and even Louise believe existed''
''Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I need to do. That will work, won't it?'' Kathleen sat forward in her chair and asked the question first of Michael, then of Gerry.
''Who knows?'' Gerry laughed, and Kathleen's face fell. Reaching out he touched her chin, lifted it up and spoke only to her. ''But, if you believe, then you'll be able to convince them. Everything is in that heart of yours, Kathleen. When you translate that and speak it loud and clear there's every chance you'll win.''
Kathleen covered his hand with hers, sure he was right. Then he dropped his hand and Kathleen looked at Michael and the hole in her heartfelt confidence opened a bit. There was always a chance that she'd speak her heart and mind and lose. It happened to good people like him. She just didn't want it to happen to her. Not now, not when someone like Richard Jacobsen was watching and someone like Lionel Booker was waiting for vindication.
''If it helps,'' Michael leaned over and touched her shoulder. Kathleen came out of her reverie, putting away her ridiculous thoughts. She could be in worse company if she lost.
''What?''
''If it helps, I went through Lionel's records. He was a whiz when it came to his records. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary. If he'd been upset I imagine he got over it and sent the docket back where it belonged. I'm no lawyer, but I'd imagine without the documents it's your word against Jules Porter's about how upset Lionel was.''
''Guess I'll have to have a talk with Mr. Porter, huh?''
''It'll be tough. I don't think he's at his desk longer than fifteen minutes at a time.''
''Then I'll go where he is. Think you could arrange that?''
''No, I don't think I was Mr. Porter's favorite visitor, but I could sneak you up to his office and let you see how far you can get on your own. It will have to wait until tomorrow.'' Michael stood up and put his hand out to Gerry. When the old man took it Michael covered it with his other hand and moved closer. ''Gerry. It's been a pleasure. If I come back for Kathleen at five-thirty do you think the day's work will be done? She promised me if I delivered I could take her to dinner.''
''You don't need my permission.'' Gerry beamed. ''But if you can't convince her, then I'll step in. I'll order her to go as my associate.''
''You better watch what you promise, Gerry.'' Kathleen said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Michael. ''It seems I have another professional admirer, and if you don't treat me right I'll just have to pay a little more attention to him.''
''Oh, ho,'' Gerry grinned from ear to ear, still holding onto Michael's hand. ''There's competition. I knew it wouldn't be long before the word got out that she was an enterprising young woman.'' He dropped Michael's hand.
''I hope I don't have the same problem when it comes to her social life.''
Michael held out a hand. Kathleen walked into the gesture and they both went to the door.
''I'll see you about five thirty.''
Kathleen followed him out the door.
''Kathleen,'' Gerry called. She stopped. She turned and held onto the open door. ''Just so I know what I'm up against, who is it that's nipping at your heels.''
''Richard Jacobsen. Shay, Sylvester & Harrington, Gerry. He came to watch me in court today. How's that for hitting the big time?''
Kathleen looked at the old man knowing the minute the words left her mouth that she had meant to wound her uncle just a bit. In that instant she thought she paid him back for the years of silence and the disappointment of finding out life wouldn't be what she imagined. She hated herself for it especially since there was the element of a lie in it. Richard Jacobsen had made no offer, he had done nothing more than inquire about her status.
''Impressive, Kathleen. Very impressive, indeed.'' Gerry smiled but the light of it dimmed, the words were hard for him to get out.
She closed t
he door gently. Behind her Gerry whispered to himself.
''Oh Lord.''
''What's your pleasure? Chinese? Japanese? A burger? Johnny Rocket's?'' Michael ticked off the list. Kathleen sat beside him, her head leaning against the upturned window, the air-conditioning blowing her hair back from her face. ''Are you not hungry, or just not listening?''
''Michael. I'm sorry. I am hungry. In fact, I'm really, really hungry.'' Kathleen scooted around so that she was cradled between the door and the seat. ''But I can't eat until I have some answers. Would you be up for a little drive?''
''Mountains, beach, downtown, desert? You name it, I'll head that way.''
''You're scary, you know that. You're far too obliging. Don't you have any faults?''
''Stubborn. That's what I am. If I didn't have that fault, I'd be somewhere else making a ton of money, driving a great car. I'd have fabulous babes falling all over me instead of sitting in a ten year old BMW, sticking my tongue out at Tysco managers who've all but forgotten why they hate me, with a. . .''
''Thirty-year-old lawyer who doesn't quite know what she's doing and talks like she's been breathing helium?''
''With one fabulous babe,'' he whispered, laying his arm across the back of the seat, making sure his fingers touched the back of her bare neck. She believed him.
''Thanks for that.''
''Thanks for giving me something to care about again. I was digging that rut pretty deep at Tysco. I'm glad you fell into it.'' Michael touched her hair. He touched her arm. ''You're cold. Sorry.''
He flipped the switch and the air went from hurricane force to a mechanical version of a breeze. Kathleen crossed her arms and rubbed. Goosebumps marched under her short sleeves, under her bodice and across her chest. Air-conditioning had nothing to do with her goose bumps.
''Wow,'' she whispered.
''Yeah. Twelve years on the road and still going strong. I don't know many marriages you can say that about, much less cars.'' Michael readjusted some of the vents then sat back, satisfied. Kathleen took in every nuance of his body, every inflection in his voice and packed them away in her memory so she'd have something to dream about in case he got tired of chasing around with her.
''You're a really nice man, Michael.''
''And you are a really nice lady. So I think we'll just assume that we will keep exploring how really nice we can be together.'' He gunned the engine and threw it into gear. The car purred. ''But right now, what is it you want to do?''
''I want to see Sarah Booker. I want to ask her about this thing at work and get her perspective on it. I want to find out how mad Lionel was at Jules Porter. I've got her address. Is it far?'' She showed it to him, noticing the gold streaks that shot through his hair when he leaned over to look.
''No problem. I have a general idea where it is. It's the mountains just above Malibu. We'll find it.'' He sat up. ''So, eat first or drive first?''
''Drive,'' Kathleen said, and he did. He was already in traffic when Kathleen confided, ''I can't do what Gerry wants me to do. I'm not good enough to defend Lionel if I'm not telling the truth. I'm not as good as Gerry thinks I am.''
Michael opened his mouth, but changed his mind about what he was going to say. Instead, he covered Kathleen's hand with his own and said:
''Let's just talk to Sarah.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
By the time Michael turned the car around and headed back through the canyon for the third time to begin at the beginning, Kathleen had come to two conclusions. Southern California was an amazing land of contrasts. She'd been impressed by the difference between Banning and Beverly Hills. Marina del Rey and the ocean were fabulous; West Hollywood was more than colorful. Now up the coast from Santa Monica, and inland from the ultra rich Malibu colony, there were mountains full of brush and canyons that looked like fairytale forests. It was also amazing that Sarah Booker seemed to have lost herself.
''There it is.''
Kathleen peered through the Hansel and Gretel dark. The sun had set an hour ago. Signs that were difficult to read in the light of day were almost impossible in pitch black. There were no lights on the road and the few homes that could be seen at all were hidden by trees and bushes, accessible off small tangential roads. Michael turned the car onto a narrow paved road and Kathleen relaxed. Asphalt: the bread crumbs of the modern age.
''There are people in the desert who live like this. Way out, away from everyone. Most of them are crazy.'' The sound of her voice added another dimension to the comfort of the asphalt.
''You spent time with Sarah Booker,'' Michael reminded her. ''Do you think she's crazy?''
''I wasn't thinking about Sarah. I was worried about breaking down before we find her. I don't want to ask to use the phone at one of these places.'' Kathleen lifted her chin to indicate a house nestled behind a stand of eucalyptus. Three pick ups defined the perimeter, two were on blocks. A Confederate flag covered the front window and an ax leaned leisurely near the front door. They were past it before Michael could look, even if he had the inclination.
''Keep the map handy, but I think we're just about there. If this is the access road, the Booker house should be just up at the top. Boy,'' he mumbled, focusing on his task, ''Lionel must have had to start at five in the morning to get to work on time.''
''Not my idea of fun,'' Kathleen replied before they fell silent.
The map was open on Kathleen's lap but she didn't bother to look at it. Her eyes roamed the forest as if it were an alien landscape. It all seemed blacker than black, yet the moon was full and there was enough light to see that there was nothing to see but shadows and shapes and imagined spooks. This was the kind of place where people disappeared. This was the kind of place where hikers happened upon bodies in shallow graves.
''Here we go.''
He slowed, pointing the headlights at a free-standing, bright-blue mailbox . A gray whale had been lovingly painted on the side, its huge mouth opening to gobble up whatever the postman brought.
''This is the place,'' Kathleen laughed quietly. ''Lionel drove Louise crazy with the whale thing.'' The map crackled as she shifted her weight. Sitting straighter she strained to get a better look at where they were going.
''Doesn't she sound special? I don't think I've ever met anyone who hates whales.'' Michael took his foot off the brake. He maneuvered up the long drive which was really nothing more than a wide clearing through the forest. Michael stretched his right arm. His shoulder popped. ''You did tell her we were coming, didn't you?''
Kathleen shook her head. ''I was afraid we'd scare her off if I called.''
Anxious, she leaned forward. Images of Sarah Booker came at her fast and furious, all jumbled up with Louise's pronouncements and her own observations. It was Louise's assessment of the lady that won out. Sarah Booker was a mouse, small enough to skitter through an opening where Kathleen certainly couldn't follow. A phone call would have been wrong, Kathleen was sure.
''What if she's not home?''
Michael pulled to a stop, stretched his arm across the seat and put his hands against Kathleen's neck as they sat in the dark. She trembled when he did. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. Lust was the last thing on her mind, the need to hide from - something - was the first. A specter in the night had skittered over the hood of the car and poked its pallid puss through the windshield.
''She'll be home,'' Kathleen said firmly.
These were only trees. She was used to the desert. This was a canyon and down was not her favorite direction. She was anxious because she'd made a decision on her own without asking anyone's permission, to intrude upon this person. She still wasn't used to that - making decisions or intruding. Nor did she like the claustrophobic feeling of the night here. But those same trees, this same dark, probably made Sarah feel safe.
''I wouldn't bet on that.'' Michael draped both arms over the steering wheel as he studied the well kept cottage in the partial illumination of the headlights. Every window was dark.
''Maybe sh
e goes to bed early. The car is here.'' Kathleen pointed. Michael looked. The nose of a Volkswagen peeked out of the shed to their right.
''You want to wake her up?'' Michael's eyes were on her, blacker than the night and, to her credit, Kathleen was able to look right into them without any thought but to do what they'd come for. The sooner they did that, the sooner they'd be out of here and looking at each other over a glass of wine. Then she would have very different thoughts.
Kathleen's touched the door handle. ''After everything it took to get here, I'll camp out before we drive back again.''
''You'd be sleeping on the ground alone,'' Michael chuckled. Simultaneously they got out of the car and closed the doors behind them, leaving the headlights on. Standing side-by-side they considered the house.
''This is a neat place, isn't it?'' Kathleen whispered. Gone were the creepy crawlies of a few minutes ago. ''It looks just like I thought it would. Sarah and Lionel were probably very happy here.'' Relaxing, Kathleen put her hands on her hips and breathed in the clean still air. ''I'm glad I came. Seeing this makes me realize that there is no way Lionel Booker committed suicide. He wouldn't have wanted to leave this.''
Kathleen took a step toward the house. Night dust danced in the twin beams that burned two holes through darkness.
''And the drugs?''
''There's got to be some explanation for that. It just doesn't add up. Oh look, a raised garden. . .''
Kathleen's heels crunched on the gravel that transitioned the drive to the area around the cottage. Michael reached for her arm, his mouth open to warn her about the uneven lay of the ground. Kathleen turned her head. She was smiling. His fingers brushed her arm. That's when it happened.
The wooded silence erupted with a deafening explosion. A bright light flashed to their left. Then it flared again and disappeared like ball lightening. Kathleen wasn't sure if another explosion came the second time since her ears were still ringing from the first horrendous noise. The ground around them seemed to implode but it was only the kick of buckshot slamming into it that made it shudder and sputtered beneath their feet.
Character Witness Page 19
