by Wick Downing
“Mr. Washington! Hi. Any luck?”
“Bearclaw wants to know what this is all about. He says Spence owes him money.”
“If we can find him, maybe we can get Bearclaw paid.”
“Hold on.”
I heard a hand covering the telephone, but two seconds later a deep voice shattered my eardrum. “That guy Spence is bad,” it said as I pulled the telephone away from my head. “He drinks from my bottle but don’t pay for it. You tell him what I said.”
“Mr. Bearclaw, he’s an eyewitness in a case that means life and death to an old woman who needs help. Can you find him for me?”
“Spence talks crazy too. Says he’s sorry his people took the land away from my people, wants to give it back. Now it’s ruined with buildings and streets, he can keep it. You tell him what I said.”
“The police will kill Herman if I don’t find Spence,” I said, more to myself than to this man who wasn’t paying attention to me anyway.
“He took my coat. He’s bad,” he said. I started to put the phone in its cradle. “Herman?” he asked loudly. “The wolf-dog?”
“Yes!”
“I know Herman. Me and him are buddies.”
“If Spence doesn’t testify for him in court today, he’ll be executed for something he didn’t do.” I waited for a reply but didn’t hear anything for a moment. “Mr. Bearclaw?”
“It’s me, Miss Hope,” Mr. Washington said. “I’ll call you later. Bearclaw just charged out of here like a cowboy after a horse thief. If anybody can find Spence for you, he can. He’s gonna round up a posse.”
I could feel the blood that had been squished into some little ball in my stomach gushing out, filling my veins with life and hope. What a relief! The army it would take to check all the doorways and sidewalks and parks where Spence could be sleeping it off was being formed. I could work now, knowing he’d be found by people who knew where to look for him.
The telephone rang again. “Kate?”
It was Mike! “Hi,” I said. “How’d you know I was down here?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Took a chance. You’ve got that big trial this morning. Did you try to wake me up?”
“Yes,” I said, “but it didn’t work. Do you still hate me?”
“I don’t hate you. How’s it going?”
I told him about panicking because I didn’t know where Spence Phipps was, my only witness, even though I didn’t know what he’d seen. Then bumping into Mr. Washington, and talking to Bearclaw, and now there was a whole posse out looking for Spence. “How are you doing?” I asked.
“Okay. I talked to your mom.”
“You did? When?”
“Yesterday. Didn’t she tell you?”
“No. What about?”
“Ron Benson, growing up, stuff like that.” He cleared his throat. “Want me to do anything?”
“That’s really nice of you, Mike,” I said, all kind of warm and gooey inside. Maybe there were people in this world I could trust after all. “Can you talk to Willis Suggs? He might know who those kids were, on bikes, who ran over Miss Willow. One of them is called Tomato Face, and they could have seen something.”
“Okay,” he said. “Sally wants to help too. We’ll start looking.”
Sally! I almost yelled at him, and started to hang up. But I caught myself. “Mike?” I said. “Thanks for calling.”
The jitters were gone. All the scattered papers and files and arguments and questions began to organize themselves in the right order. At seven fifteen, Mom called to tell me that she’d bring my new dress and freshly pressed blouse to the office at eight, and that I was to be showered so I could get all dolled up and she could take pictures of me before my first trial. “Mom!”
Mr. Washington called a little later to tell me Bearclaw and his buddies were still looking, and if they came by the office I was not to give them any money. “They’d use it to get drunk,” he told me.
When Mrs. Roulette came in at a quarter to eight, I handed her a pile of stuff to type and asked her to get me some file folders while I took a shower. “Do I have time to put on the coffee?” she asked, glaring at all the papers. “You’re worse than your grandfather.”
Mom’s eyes were wet when she took pictures of me in my new clothes. Afterward, she smiled that great smile that always brings out the best in a person, and gave me a hug. “Break a leg, honey,” she said. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Aren’t you going to watch the trial?” I asked. I’d just kind of assumed she’d be there to pick up the pieces.
“No.” She blotted up some of the wetness around her eyes with a tissue. “I’ll be at the hospital with your grandfather. Mrs. Roulette will keep us posted.”
“Oh.” I was disappointed, which surprised me, but relieved, too.
Mr. Washington called again at eight fifteen, sounding worried as he told me not to worry. But at a quarter to nine there was still no word from him, and I had to be in court at nine. I called him to get the latest.
He said Bearclaw and his posse had given up. They didn’t handle failure well, he added, and most of them, including Bearclaw, were drunk.
That was the beginning of a very long day.
Chapter Twenty-two
MY HIGH HEELS CLICKED WITH OPTIMISM and my smile was in place as I left the office for the courthouse, but it was an act. I seriously considered walking down the middle of the street. Maybe a car would hit me—softly, nothing permanent, but a broken leg would be nice.
I felt like a convict walking the last mile. So much had gone wrong with my case. The day before, I’d met with Judge Steinbrunner and Mr. Thomas to plead for a continuance. But not only did the judge refuse to give me one, he ordered Herman to stay out of the courtroom during the trial. I’d wanted the big dog there so he could gaze at the jury with his soulful brown eyes and wag his tail at them from time to time. But Mr. Thomas convinced Judge Steinbrunner that Herman might bite someone and sue the City. Miss Willow was ordered to take the dog to a storage room in the basement of the courthouse during the trial, where there would be a cage for him and someone from Animal Control to watch him.
At five minutes before nine, I found the room in the basement and looked in. “Hi,” I said to a woman in a dogcatcher’s uniform who sat next to a cage in a corner of the room, reading the paper. “I’m Kate Hope, the lawyer for Herman and Miss Willow?”
“Hi, honey,” she said. “Where’s your client?”
Neither Herman nor Miss Willow was there! Miss Willow had never been late for anything in her life. Her genes wouldn’t allow it. “Not a problem, I’m sure,” I said, lightly trying to shrug off another disaster while my imagination pictured the worst possible scenario to explain their absence. She’d run away with her dog, knowing it was hopeless with me instead of the Judge as her lawyer. Now both of them were fugitives from justice. “Miss Willow must not have been able to find a place to park or something,” I said, “but they’ll be here in a minute or two.” I blessed her with Mom’s smile. “Thanks. I’d better get upstairs.”
The courtroom was jammed! Every seat was taken, the aisles were filled with bodies, and people leaned against every available inch of wall space, forming a big ring around the room. But it was not the average cross-section of humanity summoned for jury duty. Most of them were kids my age and older. It looked as though the entire eighth-grade class at Hill was there, as well as the East High School football team, the cheerleaders, and half the student body. “The Great Mouthpiece!” someone yelled out at me as one of the football players drew his fingers across his throat with something like malicious joy in his eyes.
Mom’s smile struggled, but I managed to keep it in place as I hurried through the gate into the pit, my briefcase in my hand. “Judge would like to see you in chambers, Miss Hope,” the bailiff said.
I made my way through the door behind the bench for judges and lawyers and was greeted by Judge Steinbrunner as I entered his chambers. He sat behind his large conference
desk. Carl Thomas nodded at me from one of the chairs like an executioner who loved what he did for a living. “You look very nice, young woman, as I expect lady lawyers to look in my courtroom,” he said. “Sit down. How’s your grandfather?”
“I wish he was here!”
“But he’s all right?”
“As far as I know, sir. My mom is with him, so I don’t think he has a choice.”
“You be sure and give him my best. Do you have a set of instructions for me?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, pulling them out of my briefcase and sliding one set to the judge and another set to Mr. Thomas, who pushed a huge pile of instructions toward me. “Why all the young people, Kate?” the judge asked. “I’ve never seen it so crowded. Civics classes bring in perhaps twenty children at a time, but there are fifty, seventy, who knows how many students out there, and it’s summer vacation! You aren’t planning on a demonstration or some kind of foolishness, are you?”
“Oh no, sir! I didn’t invite them. In fact, I wish they’d go away.”
His thin eyes adopted sort of a wait-and-see attitude. “Well, it’s a public trial and they have the right. Anything else we need to talk about before we start?”
“I have a tiny problem, Your Honor,” I said, squirming. “My client hasn’t arrived yet, which worries me because she’s always on time.”
Thomas glared at me. “The dog?” he asked. “Where is he?”
“He’s with Miss Willow, and I’m sure they’ll be here, but . . .”
“Judge, I was afraid of this,” Mr. Thomas said, aiming an I-told-you-so expression at the judge. “That dog should not have been allowed to go back into the community—although I certainly don’t blame you for allowing it,” he added hastily. He faced me. “Kate, how are you going to feel when you read the paper and find out he’s bitten another baby?”
“I don’t think that will happen,” I said. “Carl.”
Not a huge victory in the infinite scheme of things, but if he was going to call me Kate, I was going to call him Carl whether he liked it or not. I could tell from his expression that he did not.
“Your Honor, I’m asking you for a warrant for the arrest of Miss Willow and her dog.”
The judge looked worried as one hand nervously stroked his chin. “Let’s not rush into this just yet,” he said. “Do you have any idea where she’d go with her dog?” he asked me. “Relatives? Friends?”
“She lives alone, sir, and her only friend in the world is Herman. I really don’t understand this, but I know she’ll be here. It’s just that sometimes she puts things off to the last minute, and she’s scared to death. But I talked to her last night and she promised me she’d be here.” Then another emotion chose that moment to thrust its way to the foreground: total defeat. My smile caved in on itself, and a tiny whimper pushed out of my mouth. My eyes betrayed me too, filling with humiliating tears.
Neither of the men knew what to do and I didn’t either, but I yanked out a hankie and blew my nose, wiped away the unwelcome moisture, and smiled with all my teeth. “Hay fever.”
“My daughter’s out there in that crowd of kids,” Mr. Thomas said, to my surprise. “She wants to meet you during a recess. That be all right?”
“Of course,” I managed.
“Just so we’re straight, Kate,” he went on, “I don’t want you to go to jail. Just that sweet little old lady who hired you.”
That was really so nice of him, I thought, smiling at him and laughing along with the judge at Mr. Thomas’s sudden flash of humor . . . when we heard the barking of a dog! “Well now,” Steinbrunner said. “Unless my ears are going the way of my eyesight, we may not have a problem after all. That could be your client I hear, barking! Why don’t you go take a peek, young woman?”
For an instant Mr. Thomas looked relieved too, until his expression changed into suspicion. “This isn’t a trick, is it?” he asked, pushing away from the table. “I’ll go with you.”
We looked into the courtroom and there was Miss Willow, sitting in one of the chairs along the rail in front of the audience with Herman at her feet. A man I’d never seen before sat next to her, rubbing Herman’s ears. He was as thin as a scarecrow and had tiny blood-soaked pieces of Kleenex stuck to his face like pimples and wore an old-fashioned suit that looked like it had been made out of gunnysacks. Ankles as white as a movie star’s teeth hung out below the suit, as though the trousers had been made for a shorter scarecrow. The man saw me and waved. “Good morning, counselor,” he said.
Spencer Phipps, without that scraggly beard of his! The blobs on his face must have been where he’d nicked himself shaving.
Thomas was not amused, to put it mildly. “Your grandfather’s idea?” he asked me. “This is a clear violation of the judge’s order, and . . .”
He stopped when a hush settled over the courtroom. Herman’s back had stiffened, his yellow eyes had narrowed into thin slits, and a menacing growl rumbled in his throat. I couldn’t figure it out . . . until I saw what he was growling at. Ron Benson! I’d seen him earlier, standing in the back with an army of his jockstrap buddies, and now I watched helplessly as he strutted to the seats behind the front rail where Ursula Jespersen sat.
Spence grabbed the leash out of Miss Willow’s hand and held it in both of his, as Herman seemed to put up his dukes, ready for a fight with Ron Benson. Suddenly Mr. Thomas pushed in front of me. “Get that vicious dog out of here!” he demanded loudly, as everyone in the audience near Herman—except for Ron—shrank back. “Quick!” Thomas hollered. “Before he goes berserk!”
I did my best to come to the rescue. “Spence, there’s a storage room in the basement,” I said. “Can you get him there?”
“I can indeed.” Spence pulled Herman into the aisle past Ron, and everything was going okay—Herman’s tail was even wagging a bit—until Officer Milliken, the dogcatcher intent on executing Herman, burst into the courtroom.
“Out of my way!” he shouted, charging down the aisle like a hero. “I’ll take that, sir!” He yanked the leash out of Spence’s hand and started dragging the poor animal, choking him, as people jerked their hands and arms up to protect themselves from attack.
Miss Willow had her fist in her mouth. “My poor dog!” she cried. “What will they do to him?”
“Fear not, Wilma,” Spence said grandly, trying his best to keep up. “Officer, unhand that dog!”
“Out of my way, old man, before you get hurt!” Milliken shouted as they disappeared into the hall.
“Don’t worry, Miss Willow,” I told her. “Spence is right there. Herman will be fine, if we can keep him away from certain people.”
But my client had not made the right impression at all. He’d acted like a dog with a wild streak in his nature: one that could suddenly go berserk.
He’d acted like a dangerous dog.
We’d picked the jury, and after a short recess, we sat in the courtroom like fish in a fishbowl, watched by a hundred eyes. Carl Thomas and Officer Milliken sat next to the jury box at the plaintiff’s table with relaxed and confident expressions, but Miss Willow huddled next to me at the defense table like a little girl trying to hide. Only there was nowhere to hide. The spectator area was filled with kids waiting for the curtain to go up, and the six jurors who had been picked earlier that morning were staring at us from another angle.
During the recess I’d had a chance to talk to my star witness for five minutes, which helped a little, but wasn’t anywhere near enough time because he couldn’t stick to the point. But I thought I’d gotten the gist of what he’d seen, and it gave me hope. At least we had a fighting chance. Yet I had horrible misgivings about the jury we’d picked. During voir dire, I didn’t bring up anything that would help my side of the case, as Grandfather would have done. All I’d been able to do was smile and agree with them when they told me they’d be fair and impartial; but now they were seated in the box and ready to sit in judgment. How could a sixty-year-old grandfather with three daughters and seven
grandkids, and five middle-aged mothers with children, be fair and impartial to a dog charged with biting a baby?
“You may give your opening statement, Mr. Thomas,” the judge said.
“Thank you, Your Honor.” He positioned a notepad on the lectern and faced the jury, obviously at ease as he looked into their faces. “Members of the jury,” he said, and then, turning toward me with a big smile, “and Miss Hope.”
I have a better, richer, cuter, and more devastating smile than he does by far. My teeth are whiter, too, so I smiled back.
Thomas quickly went on with his statement, deflecting the attention of the jurors back to him. When he told them what an opening statement was, he trotted out the same old analogy lawyers always use, but made it sound like something he’d just thought of. “Trials are like jigsaw puzzles, and the evidence often comes in bits and pieces. But if you see the big picture first, then you know how they fit into the puzzle. And so, before the evidence is taken, both sides have the opportunity to tell you what they believe the evidence will show. Because the burden of proof is on the City, I go first, but please pay close attention to Miss Hope when she gives you her version of the evidence.”
How nice of him, I thought, as my stomach wrapped around my spine. I was certain my vocal cords would snap and my brain would take a holiday and I would drool. You had to admire how smoothly he played the part of a nice lawyer who would never in the world take advantage of his inexperienced opponent who was a mere fourteen-year-old girl.
“The City’s evidence will be testimony from these witnesses,” he said, gesturing toward the six handsome and well-dressed people who sat in the front row of the spectator area, directly behind me. They looked judgmental and righteous, like Puritans during the Salem witch trials. “But before I introduce them to you, let me tell you a little about this case. You will meet a dog named Herman, and will be called upon to decide whether or not the animal is a ‘dangerous dog.’”
I hated knowing what he was doing during his opening statement and not being able to keep him from doing it. In one sentence, he’d transformed Herman from a dog with a name to an animal. “Of course, a dog can be loyal to its owner and still be a danger to others,” he said, “which is what the evidence in this case will show. There is no doubt in my mind that the animal is loyal to its owner, that nice-looking woman sitting with Miss Hope. In spite of that, you will learn he’s extremely dangerous.”
