Nothing But the Truth (4 page)

“He’s not here. He’s staying at my brother’s house in Austin.”

“Can you get him on the phone?”

“I’m not sure they’ll answer the phone this late. And he’s shy about talking to people he doesn’t know.”

“I understand, but I’m used to talking to people who don’t like to talk about what’s bothering them.”

“He’s very upset. He keeps talking about the man who has been charged. He is threatening to turn himself in or maybe even harm himself.”

Brett wondered what inner turmoil would be so strong as to drive a shy young man to the nearest police station to confess to a murder. She knew when to push and this wasn’t the time. “What would you like to do?”

“I want you to help him.”

“Come to my office, first thing in the morning. We’ll figure this out. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes.”

“His mother will bring him in the morning.”

“What amount should I put in the contract?” Tony walked in and set a mug of steaming coffee on her desktop.

Brett looked up at him. “Look how clean my desk is?”

Tony rolled his eyes as if he knew where she had stashed her mess. “Beautiful. Now, what amount should I put in the contract? I have a family to feed, you know.”

She knew. She also knew Tony performed financial gymnastics some months, figuring out how to pay her office bills when she was in one of her crusade phases. Even when she wasn’t crusading, she couldn’t help it. She didn’t like to set fees in the abstract. Some attorneys charged x amount for certain types of case, no matter who hired them. Brett liked to think of her fees on a sliding scale approach. Some people shouldn’t have to pay as much, whether because they didn’t have the means, or they were particularly sympathetic. She needed to meet them to figure out who those people were. Tony, on the other hand, didn’t think she should factor emotion into fee setting. She relied on him to keep her afloat, but she had to have the final say when it came to which clients she accepted and how.

“Leave the amount blank and I’ll fill it in. I may take this one on retainer. Just depends how the meeting goes. If I do, I promise I won’t get less than ten.” Most attorneys of her caliber in Dallas wouldn’t touch a felony case for a deposit of less than ten thousand dollars. If this murder case turned into a fight, ten grand would be a drop in the bucket. Even if her unknown client really just wanted to confess to the crime, she would spend hours negotiating a sentence. If she couldn’t get an agreement from the prosecutor, she would dedicate her time to preparing for a contested sentencing hearing. Either way, she didn’t know enough yet to set a flat fee, so she would collect a retainer to bill against and go from there.

“Ten’s not much based on what you described.”

“I said I would get at least ten. Trust me, Tony. I’ll do what’s right.”

Tony shook his head. “I know, dear. That’s what scares me.” He grinned to soften his scolding. “Your office looks great. You’re great. And that’s why I hate to see you undersell your skills.”

Brett appreciated his loyalty. “Thanks, Tony. I swear, I’ll charge appropriately. Cross my heart.”

*

Ryan considered staying in bed. Her body was sore and her mind was spent. Nights spent at play drained her. She didn’t understand why. She chose not to spend too much time trying to figure it out. She needed the release, and she would continue to do whatever was necessary to satisfy her needs in secret. If the well-heeled suburban backers Leonard was lining up to support her campaign learned they were working hard to place a sex-crazed lesbian in what was arguably the most powerful office in the county, they would burn their money first.

If asked directly about her sexual orientation, she wouldn’t lie, but when did intimacy become the first subject people revealed about themselves? Her parents had taught her the value of discretion, and she applied their teachings to her life without exception. Whether it was Scotch in a coffee cup or secret sexual liaisons, Ryan carefully crafted her image so that her personal proclivities were well disguised behind her public persona. Image was everything.

Image was precisely the reason she would not sleep in today, or any other day when she was expected at the office. Ryan never called in sick to work. Sure, she sometimes fell ill, but she would tough it out. She wasn’t one of those who would show up coughing and whining, hoping for sympathy for putting the needs of the workplace above her personal comfort. No, she was always at work early, with the appearance that she was ready to take on the world. Today would be no different.

*

Brett was on her third cup of coffee. The thermal carafe Tony left in her office for her meeting would have to be refilled if her new client ever bothered to show up. She glanced at her watch. Ten o’clock. They were an hour late. She glanced at her cell phone. The call log showed that Kenneth’s father had called from an unknown number. Brett swiveled so she was facing her computer. She pulled up the last e-mail from her mysterious caller and typed a new message.

I am at my office waiting to meet with Kenneth. I would appreciate it if you would call me and let me know when or if he is still planning on coming in.

B. Logan

“Brett? I have Judge Langston’s coordinator on two.”

“Thanks, Tony.” Brett punched the phone and picked up the call. “Hi, Gloria, what can I do for you?” Brett listened as Gloria ranted about how she had called another attorney to meet with a defendant on her jail chain, courthouse slang for a group of inmates brought over from the jail either to meet with counsel or to appear in court. The attorney hadn’t shown up, she couldn’t reach him on his cell, and the bailiffs were pissed because the inmate holdover was full. Brett tuned her out halfway through. She knew whatever lead up Gloria delivered, the end result would be a request that Brett drop by Judge Langston’s court and take the appointment. She also knew Gloria probably thought of her for the appointment because she had been appearing in their court a lot lately. Even though cases were randomly assigned to courts, Brett noted that happenstance seemed to occur in cycles, and she wound up working cases in the same few courts during any given time frame. She glanced at her watch again. Ten ten. She could sit here in her office and wait, or she could occupy herself at the courthouse. She finally decided the Phillips family had her phone number. They could call and reschedule.

Gloria was still talking. Brett cut in. “Would you like me to come down and help you out?”

“Oh dear, you read my mind. I know it’s late in the morning. I appreciate you coming down. I would’ve asked someone already down here, but—“

Brett couldn’t take anymore. Gloria could go on forever. “Okay, I’ll leave right now. See you in a minute.” She grabbed her jacket and swallowed the last of her coffee. As she walked out of the office, she called out to Tony, “I’m headed to the courthouse. Let me know if the Phillipses call. You’ll be pleased to know I’m going to earn a pittance rather than absolutely nothing waiting for new clients to show up.”

Brett ducked to avoid the balled up wad of paper he slung her way. She jumped into her Prius and drove the few miles from her office in Oak Lawn to the courthouse. Three-fourths of the attorneys who had business at the courthouse that morning were long gone, meaning lots of empty parking spaces. She snagged a primo space by the sky bridge that connected the garage to the courthouse and was in the court coordinator’s office in mere moments.

“Hi, Gloria, whatcha got for me?”

The frazzled coordinator spun around in her chair and promptly knocked over a mug of old coffee. As she reached for some Kleenex to wipe up the mess, she knocked over a cup of paperclips. They scattered all over the desk, half of them landing in the pool of cold liquid. Brett put a hand over her mouth to hide her grin. Gloria was in a constant state of chaos, the very antithesis to the calm and collected Judge Langston. Brett slid into a chair and gave Gloria time to collect herself. As she looked down at her suit, she detected the remains of the egg and cheese bagel she’d had for breakfast, and she instinctively knew her hair was probably doing wild things. She idly reflected that the outside observer might consider her a little frantic. She wasn’t. Not really. She just spent more time caring about what had to be done rather than how she looked doing it.

“Brett, I can’t thank you enough,” Gloria gushed as she handed over a few sheets of paper stapled together. “I’ve brought this woman down on the chain twice and the attorney I appointed hasn’t shown up either time. I knew I could count on you.”

Brett reviewed the papers and sighed. Leave it to Gloria to think a prostitution case was worth dragging her down to the courthouse. First year lawyers cut their teeth on these kinds of cases; nothing about it could possibly require the skills of a courthouse veteran. Prostitution was only even a felony if you did it often enough. And got caught. Apparently, this defendant wasn’t very good at screening her clients since she had been arrested by an undercover vice cop. Brett looked closer. The woman didn’t have a prior record. The arresting officer had charged the case as compelling prostitution, a second degree felony. Compelling prostitution was a charge most often used in human trafficking cases, or cases where pimps got girls instead of women to work for them.
What the hell?
Brett glanced at the name on the paperwork: Ann Rawlings. There was no real file yet since the case hadn’t been indicted by the grand jury. All Brett had was a two-paragraph summary written by the arresting officer, called a probable cause affidavit, and it was naturally designed to bolster the arrest. She wouldn’t have much more to go on until the case was received by the grand jury, except the information her client could give her.

Brett gathered the papers and walked into the courtroom. Mid-morning on a Friday tended to be a quiet time at the courthouse. Many trials only lasted a few days. Texas criminal courts were generally quick to dispense justice. Jury selection on Mondays, state’s case on Tuesday and Wednesday, defense case by Wednesday afternoon, and jury deliberation on Thursday, leaving Fridays for random court business and punishment hearings for those unlucky souls that lost their trials.

Brett checked the clipboard and verified Ann Rawlings was indeed in the holdover. She addressed the bailiff who was deeply embroiled in a crossword puzzle. “Sam, can I see Rawlings?”

“Windows full. Female in the chair.” He didn’t look up from the puzzle as he delivered his seemingly unintelligible response. Brett had no trouble interpreting his words. Each courtroom had a holdover where inmates stood in small cells waiting for hearings, trials, or one of the three cramped spots contained within where they would have the opportunity to meet with their attorney for the very first time.

Since all three spots were full, Brett slid into one of the chairs just inside the rail of the courtroom and checked her BlackBerry. No response yet from the Phillipses. Someday she might become so jaded she wouldn’t let other people’s emergencies dictate a sense of urgency for her, but for now the information about Kenneth Phillips’s situation worried its way under her skin. The family could hire someone else for all she cared, but until she knew they did, their situation would tickle her consciousness. She just hoped he didn’t do something foolish.

“Hi, Sam.” Ryan had come downstairs to meet with Jeff, but when she saw Brett sitting in the courtroom, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to get a closer look. Sam gave her a nod then returned to his crossword. Now that she’d exhausted her not very well thought out approach, she no longer had an excuse to continue standing next to Brett, sneaking glances at her shapely legs. She had decided she should leave, when Brett looked up from her papers and caught her eye.

Brett was surprised to see Ryan Foster standing beside her. She took the opportunity to appraise the woman known as the fiercest bitch at the courthouse. As usual, her suit was severe, with sharp lines. The cotton blend was crisp, without a wrinkle in sight.
She must not sit, eat, or drink after she gets dressed in the morning.
Ryan’s hair was tucked into her usual French braid and her makeup, though light, was in perfect condition.
She might not be human. Maybe the outside is just a shell, and she’s one of those lizard people underneath. What a shell, though.
Her buttoned-up appearance didn’t completely contain a simmering sexuality. Brett wondered if she ever let that side of her out to play.

Sam waved a hand in Brett’s direction. “Chair’s ready.” His way of telling her she could see her client now.

Brett stood. She was so close to Ryan Foster, she could feel the vibrations radiating from her. Brett acted on impulse and thrust out her hand. “Brett Logan. I don’t believe we’ve ever actually met.” Her hand hung in the air. Brett wondered if the rumors were true that Ryan was the anointed successor to Leonard Duncan. If so, she needed serious work on her hand-shaking skills. Finally, she felt Ryan’s hand connect with hers. She had more than the basic skills in personal touch. Her soft skin belied the firm confidence of her grasp. Their clasp lingered long enough to create a vacuum when the connection was broken.

“Ryan Foster. Pleasure to meet you.”

Her tone was easy and even. Had it not been for the sparks transferred in the handshake, Brett would have considered Ryan’s words polite nothings. “Pleasure to meet you too.”