Desperate Measures (51 page)

“How can you do that?” Barbara asked.

“Practice,” he said. “It takes years of practice. In fact, some time ago, I found that I was having fun seeing how long I could go on without saying anything. My clients think I'm a legal genius.”

And that was the difference between him and Sam Bixby, her father's elderly partner, she realized. Sam took it seriously, and Will treated it like a joke.

That night, after Will left, she thought of the creeps who had planned to murder Alex. They would get a lawyer, whether they pressed charges or found themselves as defendants. And their lawyer would argue that they needed to be defended as much as a saint would if charged, an argument she had used more than once to justify herself and what she did. Where do you draw the line?

She had no answer, only the persistent question that came late at night more often than she would like to admit. Where do you draw the line?

Sunday afternoon Frank was in his study reading when he heard Barbara yell out something. He hurried to the hall in time to see her racing down the stairs, then toward the back door, where she stopped long enough to kick off her shoes before she ran out into the yard. Understanding, he breathed, “Ah. She noticed.”

It was raining. Not a hard, leaf-stripping downpour, but a gentle misty rain that was like having an infinite cloud sink lower and lower, caressing all it touched on its way to the parched earth.

On the back lawn Barbara spread out her arms in welcome, and lifted her face to the rain.

When their group arrived in court on Monday morning, the corridors were chaotic with news-media people and onlookers. A police escort cleared the way for them to get through and into the courtroom, where a bailiff met Barbara and said the judge wanted her and her father in chambers. He went to Novak's table to deliver the same message, then led them around the bench through a back door to the hall with many doorways to the jury rooms, and beyond to the judge's anteroom.

They were ushered into the inner room without delay. Judge Mac, already in his robes, was sitting behind his desk. “Good morning,” he said, and they all responded politely. “Frank, are you well?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“Please be seated.” He waited until they took chairs, and then said, “As you all know, a circumstantial case requires the same degree of certainty as one with eyewitnesses or indisputable forensic evidence, and therefore is a much more difficult case to present. I have a written decision which I shall read in court, but for now I want to outline the gist of it. I am dismissing the charges against Alexander Feldman for lack of sufficient compelling evidence that points to him and to him alone as the probable murderer.”

Barbara did not move, but she felt herself rising as if an immense weight had been removed, and she felt her heart thudding hard. Frank's hand caught hers and squeezed it, then let go.

“Jase, you were given a bad case to prosecute, poorly investigated, and biased from the beginning,” Judge Mac continued. “Briefly, I'll tell you what I found lacking; it is in greater detail in the statement which I shall read. First, the boy Daniel is impeached. I don't know what the true story is, but his version is not truthful. His statement that perhaps he saw someone on the property is inconclusive, not trustworthy. The evidence of the stopwatch is compelling. He could not have seen his mother in the house, or spoken with her….”

He went over the same details that Barbara had, reaching the same conclusion. Wrigley's testimony was stricken. Koenig had nothing to tell except what Gus Marchand had told him, and that had to be treated as hearsay. Some of the investigating officers had shown bias from the start, and evidence that should have been considered had been overlooked, for example, Rachel's boyfriend, the birth-control pills and condoms.

“I have informed the Children's Services Division that Rachel Marchand's story of stalking must be investigated. She is under the care of a competent psychologist who will assist in the investigation. She is not to be questioned by the police until that investigation has been concluded. Ms. Holloway, I also informed them that you have certain evidence regarding her allegations, and you will be called to present whatever facts you have gathered.”

He drew in a breath and leaned back. “Jase, I have based my decision on the presentation of the prosecution's case, not on any hypothesis that Ms. Holloway put forward, but I strongly advise you to consider the scenario she outlined and proceed accordingly.”

Very deliberately he said then, “The seeds of hate have been sown, and they bear bitter fruit, as we saw on Friday night. I will call upon the district attorney's office to issue an unambiguous statement exonerating Alexander Feldman of wrongdoing, and start the long and arduous task of rooting out the cause of that hatred before it spreads further with even more disastrous results. Unleashed hatred in a close community such as ours can have devastating effects. I strongly urge continued police protection for Mr. Feldman until the district attorney's office issues such a statement.”

As Frank had said early on, Judge Mac was a fiend for details; he liked all the i's dotted, and all the t's crossed. With court in session once more, he cited the Constitution, as well as Oregon statutes; he referred to case law. He stressed that a circumstantial case demanded the same burden of proof as any other and that the burden was on the state, not on the defendant. He referred to testimony and explained why it was stricken, or simply not trustworthy…. He had seven pages to read; he read them slowly, stopping to explain a point now and again, and throughout there was not a sound in the courtroom, not a movement, not a rustle.

When he finished and declared Alex free to go and then left the bench, bedlam erupted. Shelley had tears on her cheeks, and Dolly screamed; people were rushing toward the defense table, where Barbara hugged Alex, then Dr. Minick, then Will and anyone else who got within reach. And on the other side of the courtroom, a detective had approached Daniel Marchand and was talking to him. Rachel grabbed her brother's arm; he pushed her away, and she took a step back, another, and then let out a piercing scream. Her aunt and another woman held her by the arms and took her from the courtroom.

“I said from the start that if there had been a competent attorney, all this would have been stopped before it got this far,” Dolly was saying. “A whole week wasted! For what?”

Alex moved toward her and said in a low intense voice, ‘'I'm very tired, and Graham is tired. We're going someplace where we can rest. I suggest you go back home now. When you can admit that Barbara pulled off something like a miracle and apologize to her, let Will Thaxton know, and he'll get in touch with me. I'll give you a call then.” He turned, then stopped, and said over his shoulder, “Thanks for coming.”

Arnold put his arm around Dolly and said to no one in particular, “It's been a very hard time. Hard for all of us. We should go back home now, get on with life. My boy, don't write us off. Your mother's in a very emotional state. Come, Dolly, let's see if we can make our way through the horde.”

When Cousin Herbert said in Frank's driveway that he would be right proud to make them all some supper at Will's house, Frank didn't bat an eye. “Great,” he said. ‘'I'll pick up some champagne.”

“And some real stuff,” Bailey said.

“And some real stuff.”

Herbert drove off with Dr. Minick and Alex in the van. A city detective followed at a discreet distance.

“Press conference at two,” Barbara reminded Frank. She, Frank, and Alan Macagno would meet the press in her office, and for once she was looking forward to it.

Will left, saying no one would believe the work he had neglected during the past week or so. Then Barbara and Shelley headed back to her office. Barbara would be busy for the next week or two, wrapping things up, cleaning up accounts, going to the Children's Services offices….

“Are you going to want me for anything the rest of the day?”

Shelley asked at the office.

“I don't think so. Beat?”

“Pretty much. But I told Alex I'd be back as soon as I'm free. If it's okay, I'll take a few days off. We're going to be looking at real estate. Maybe a ranch with a whole lot of acres and a forest. But close enough to come in to work.”

“Shelley, what are you telling me?”

“You know, Barbara. You've known from day one. Think of how it is when you see someone you haven't seen for a long time. And you're surprised, because in your mind he's bigger, or smaller, or she's prettier or not as pretty as your mental image. In my mind, when I think of Alex, he's beautiful, a shining, beautiful man. And when I see him in person, he's still a shining, beautiful man. I love him, Barbara. And I'm going to make him admit he loves me. Today. This little-sister bullshit ends as of today. I'm going with him, if he'll have me.”

Herbert's dinner was excellent, as was to be expected. He had made a tenderloin of beef in a heavenly crust, baked to perfection, assorted vegetables, featherweight biscuits….

They had toasts and drank wine; Bailey had his Jack Daniel's, and Herbert drank whatever was near him. Alex showed them the sketchbook he had put together of the actors in his trial: a lawyer who looked suspiciously like Humpty Dumpty, a judge with flowing silver hair and an immense head, a man with a corduroy face, a woman in shining armor carrying a sword, standing upright on a white horse. Barbara choked when he came to that one. Bailey patted her on the back a little harder than necessary, and both Frank and Will asked if they could get a copy made.

Alex didn't show any sketch he had made of Shelley.

Then Will put on music, and Alex and Shelley danced. After a moment Will asked Barbara to dance, and the four onlookers retreated to the kitchen, out of the way.

Will led Barbara into the hall, where he kissed her, a long, thorough hair-raising-and-prickly-arms kind of kiss. When she drew back, shaken, she said, “Whew!”

“I wanted to do that twenty-five years ago, and damn if I don't still want to,” he said huskily.

From the kitchen doorway Frank watched them dance out of sight, then reappear, and he felt a strange mixture of sadness and joy. He glanced at Graham Minick and thought he was feeling the same kind of happiness, tinged with regret that something was ending, something new beginning. With no guarantees in sight, he added to himself.

“Hey, you two, you want to play some poker?” Cousin Herbert asked. “A real Texas version, one-eyed jacks, deuces and eights wild. Quarter limit.”

Ella Fitzgerald began to sing “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.” Graham Minick put his arm around Frank's shoulders and they turned together.

“What the hell,” Frank said. “We're in. Deal.”

• • •

Kate Wilhelm

Kate Wilhelm's first short story, “The Pint-Sized Genie” was published in
Fantastic Stories
in 1956. Her first novel,
More Bitter Than Death
, a mystery, was published in 1963. Over the span of her career, her writing has crossed over the genres of science fiction, speculative fiction, fantasy and magical realism, psychological suspense, mimetic, comic, family sagas, a multimedia stage production, and radio plays. She has recently returned to writing mysteries with her Barbara Holloway and the Charlie Meiklejohn and Constance Leidl Mysteries novels. Her works have been adapted for television, theater, and movies in the United States, England, and Germany. Wilhelm's novels and stories have been translated to more than a dozen languages. She has contributed to
Redbook, Quark, Orbit, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Locus, Amazing, Asimov's Science Fiction, Ellery Queen's Mysteries, Fantastic Stories, Omni
and many others.

Kate and her husband, Damon Knight (1922-2002), also provided invaluable assistance to numerous other writers over the years. Their teaching careers covered a span of several decades, and hundreds of students, many of whom are famous names in the field today. Kate and Damon helped to establish the Clarion Writer's Workshop and the Milford Writer's Conference. They have lectured together at universities in North and South America and Asia. They have been the guests of honor and panelists at numerous conventions around the world. Kate continues to host monthly workshops, as well as teach at other events. She is an avid supporter of local libraries.

Kate Wilhelm lives in Eugene, Oregon.

Visit infinityboxpress.com to find other books by Kate Wilhelm.