City of Angels (The Trials of Kit Shannon #1) Read online

  She remembered the day she had gone to see her. The butler thought she had come from Sloate's office. That meant a connection between her and Sloate, but just how much or what relevance it had she was not sure.

  All she knew was that she had only a few questions with which to find out.

  "Miss Wynn," said Kit, "you know my client well, do you not?"

  "I know him, yes." Elinor said.

  "You were, in fact, engaged to be married."

  "Yes, that is true."

  "What happened to the engagement?"

  "I broke it off."

  Kit nodded. "You loved Ted Fox, did you not?"

  After a pause, Elinor said, "Yes, of course."

  "Then why did you break off the engagement?"

  "Well, I . . . I did not feel that Mr. Fox was willing to do the things a proper husband should do."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as earn a decent wage so as to take care of his family."

  "Is that the only reason?"

  Seemingly caught off guard, Elinor stammered her next words. "What other reasons are there? People fall out of love. It happens."

  "Or perhaps they fall in love with another?"

  "What are you insinuating?"

  "Miss Wynn," said Kit, "did you in fact break off your engagement to Ted Fox because of your involvement with another man?"

  "Objection!" Sloate was on his feet, storming to the middle of the courtroom.

  Judge Ganges paused, his face scrunched in thought. Kit looked at Elinor and saw that her face was twitching and her eyes . . . Once, as a girl, Kit had seen the eyes of a doe caught in a net as hunters closed in around it. Those were the eyes Elinor Wynn had now. Kit was closing in, she knew, but how far would the judge allow her to go?

  "Miss Shannon," said Judge Ganges finally, "is this line of questioning relevant? Because if it is not, I must stop it now."

  "Your Honor, if you will allow me just a few more questions, I will show the relevance."

  "I object!" said Sloate.

  "Overruled!" Ganges said with a firmness that surprised Kit.

  For a long moment Heath Sloate stood there, unmoving. It was as if he were trying to will the judge to change his order.

  "Resume your seat," said the judge. "You may continue, Miss Shannon."

  After Sloate stonily sat down, Kit turned back to the witness and took another leap without wings. "Miss Wynn, how well do you know the prosecuting attorney?"

  Elinor Wynn's expression could not have been more telling. The exact nature of her relationship with Sloate was a mystery, but knowing Sloate, Kit was sure it was something indecent. And deeper mysteries were bubbling to the surface of Elinor Wynn's face.

  "Your Honor!" Sloate pleaded. "That is an improper question!"

  "I believe the witness can answer it," said the judge.

  "Would you like me to repeat the question?" Kit asked.

  Eyes beginning to dart, Elinor said, "Yes."

  "I asked you how well you know the prosecuting attorney."

  "I have known him socially. He is a prominent member of our community."

  "Has he ever been to your house?"

  "Of course. I have had many people of importance at my social gatherings."

  "Has he ever come to your house alone?"

  "Objection!" Sloate was on his feet and two steps toward Kit. "The insinuation is outrageous!" He pointed a bony finger at Kit. "This woman is dragging our great system of justice through the mud!"

  The sight of Sloate's finger was almost more than Kit could stand. "Your Honor," she said, "it is Mr. Sloate who needs a hose."

  The courtroom burst into laughter. Even a few of the jurors laughed, some hiding their mouths with their hands. Sloate himself seemed shocked to the core, but he quickly said, "Do you see the disrespect, Your Honor?"

  Judge Ganges put up his hand. "Now, now. Let us all settle down. What are you driving at, Miss Shannon?"

  Kit was not entirely sure, but there was, in the far reaches of her mind, a picture forming. It was not yet clear, but it had order and logic to it. And if she was right, it explained everything about this case. Absolutely everything.

  "I want to ask this witness about her relationship with the prosecutor, Mr. Sloate."

  "No, Your Honor," Sloate protested. "That is strictly out of bounds."

  "Why, Mr. Sloate?" the judge said.

  "Because . . ." Sloate looked as if he were searching for the answer. "Well, it is just improper."

  "That's not good enough," said Judge Ganges. "Go ahead, Miss Shannon."

  "Miss Wynn," said Kit, "isn't it a fact that Mr. Fox is the one who broke the engagement?"

  "Why . . . no."

  "And isn't it a fact that you were so outraged that you sought advice from Mr. Heath Sloate on what you might do to exact revenge?"

  "No!"

  But the answer was yes. Kit saw it in Elinor's eyes. But could the jury see it?

  Now was the time to switch subjects. Kit sensed it. Her mind flashed to what Rogers had told her about cross-examining the lying witness, about misdirecting her until the right moment, then suddenly changing course. It was a matter of instinct, he'd said. Well, that is what she was depending on now. In a distant region of her mind she uttered a silent prayer, then faced Elinor Wynn once more.

  "Miss Wynn, do you remember my coming to see you two days ago?"

  Elinor Wynn tried to square her shoulders. "I most certainly do, and I did not like your manner one bit."

  A few people laughed in the audience. Kit could not tell to whom it was directed—the imperious Elinor Wynn or herself, an object of social scorn.

  "Besides my manner," Kit said, "do you recall that I asked you to tell me the last time you saw Mr. Fox face-to-face?"

  "I recall that, yes."

  "And what did you tell me?"

  "I told you it was sometime in July."

  "Was it?"

  "Yes. That is what I told you."

  "Miss Wynn, do you know what perjury is?"

  "Of course . . . I do."

  "You swore an oath to tell the truth, did you not?"

  Elinor Wynn nodded her head affirmatively.

  "And do you know there are criminal penalties for perjury, for lying under oath?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you still have a chance."

  "Chance?"

  "In fact, Miss Wynn, you saw my client on the evening of August eleventh, didn't you?"

  The startled look on Elinor's face was almost as clear as an audible response.

  "Didn't you, Miss Wynn?"

  "I . . ."

  "Didn't you go to the home of Ted Fox on the evening of August eleventh?"

  "No."

  "The day after the murder of Millie Ryan?"

  "I don't know about Millie Ryan."

  "Miss Wynn, isn't it true that on the night of August eleventh you went to Ted Fox's house and secretly placed a locket there?"

  "Objection!" Sloate said.

  "Who put you up to it, Miss Wynn?" Kit said quickly.

  "Objection!" Sloate cried again. "Your Honor, stop this immediately!"

  "Let the witness answer!" Kit said.

  "No," Sloate said. "You must call a halt to these proceedings immediately!"

  Judge Ganges banged for silence in the courtroom. It took almost a full minute for the noise to subside. In that span Kit felt suspended in the air, as if by some invisible rope. The rope was on a limb that thrust out over a cliff. Everything would depend on what the judge did next. She studied his face and saw deep rumination there. What was he thinking?

  Finally, stroking his mustache, Judge Ganges' eyes turned toward Heath Sloate. "I will allow Miss Shannon to continue."

  "No!" Sloate said. "The prosecution objects!"

  "Overruled!"

  Feeling all the eyes in the courtroom trained on her, Kit slowly walked to the counsel table. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a single file folder. She opened it and scanned the page th
at was inserted there. Then she looked up at Elinor Wynn.

  "This is your last chance to answer truthfully, Miss Wynn. There are others who will be questioned about this, under oath." Kit raised the file folder for all to see, especially Elinor Wynn. "Did you or did you not place Millie Ryan's locket in Ted Fox's house?"

  Elinor began to shudder. And then the dam burst. Tears streamed out of her eyes as she muttered, "Yes, yes, yes."

  "Who put you up to it, Miss Wynn?"

  "If the court please!" Sloate shouted.

  "Who, Miss Wynn?"

  The brim of Elinor's hat shook with her sobs. She lifted a quivering finger and pointed at the prosecutor. "Heath Sloate."

  The courtroom erupted in a chaos of voices.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  EARL ROGERS SLAPPED HIS HAND to his head, which felt as though it was filled with anvils. On each anvil a sadistic blacksmith was pounding, pounding. He heard himself groan.

  He had no idea where he was. He knew he was on his back in a bed of some kind, in a white room that smelled of antiseptic. But beyond that he was lost.

  The trial! Vague inklings of reality came to him now. The trial was on, yet he was here. What had happened?

  Had somebody jumped him? Smashed him over the head? Tried to kill him? Maybe . . .

  No. He had been in a restaurant . . . a drink! A reporter had offered him a drink, and he had taken it. He must have taken many more, too. He'd gone over the edge.

  Moaning, he put his hands over his eyes. What would happen to him now? To his reputation? And what would happen to his client? To Kit?

  He tried to sit up, but the blacksmiths hit their anvils with even greater force. He moaned again.

  Then he heard a voice. A woman's voice. "Now, don't you try moving just yet, Mr. Rogers."

  He strived to focus and saw a white-smocked nurse standing over him, her severe features a warning in and of themselves. "Where am I?" he managed to say.

  "Sisters' Hospital."

  "Who brought me here?"

  "I am sure I don't know."

  "What day is it?"

  "Now see here, you rest."

  "But my trial!" He attempted to raise himself, but was met with two strong, resistant hands.

  "You are a very sick man, Mr. Rogers," the severe nurse said. "You are not going anywhere. And may I say that your consumption of alcohol is doing you no earthly good."

  And a moralist! Rogers closed his eyes, resigned to his imprisonment. And like any inmate in a penitentiary, he would be forced to confront his guilt. The bottle! It had mocked him, knocked him down to a place where he might never recover. No doubt there were already stories circulating. The papers would be full of it. The great Earl Rogers defeated, not by any prosecuting attorney, but by John Barleycorn!

  He thought of Kit, imagined her look of disappointment. The imagined visage cut him like a knife. His thoughts turned to God. His father's God, Kit's God—did He have any deliverance left for him?

  "Please," said Rogers, his head beginning to reclaim some notion of clarity. "I must get out of here."

  The nurse had no sympathy. "You have to rest, Mr. Rogers, there's no two ways—"

  He heard a commotion outside his door. A familiar voice shouted, "We have to see him!" Luther Brown's voice.

  This was met by a woman's voice saying, "He is not to be disturbed!"

  Then Rogers saw Luther step into the room, his right arm held by a desperate nurse.

  Rogers forced himself up on one elbow. "Let him in."

  "But, Mr. Rogers—"

  "Hang it all, just let him in!"

  At least his voice was coming back. The force of it brought everyone to a standstill. Luther Brown jerked his arm away from the nurse and made a motion to someone outside the room. Then into the room came Kit Shannon and Bill Jory.

  "Please," the desperate nurse said. "Everyone must leave."

  "No," said Rogers. "I want these people here."

  "Then I'll go get a doctor."

  "Good," said Rogers. "And take her with you." He jerked a thumb at the nurse by his bed. With a loud harrumph the desperate nurse left, followed quickly by the other.

  "Tell me what is going on," Rogers said.

  "It's over," Jory said.

  "What is?"

  "The trial," Jory said. "Ganges dismissed the charges. And he ordered the arrest of Heath Sloate."

  "Arrest? Sloate?" Rogers rubbed his head. "What on earth happened in that courtroom?"

  Jory told him. He recounted everything in dramatic detail, spinning it like a yarn that would be told for years to come. "Elinor Wynn is spilling her insides to the police right now. And you should have heard old Sloate squeal when they took him away," Jory said. "Like a stuck pig, he was. But old Ganges, I don't know, he seemed pretty happy about it."

  Rogers shook his head in amazement. "Kit," he said, "how did you find Hoover's son?"

  Kit stepped forward and told him of her trip to the asylum. "I went to talk to Thomas Ryan about Ted's mother," she said. "I was almost attacked by an immate with a disfigured hand. As I spoke to Thomas, that kept playing in my mind. It was a right hand. I asked Thomas who it was. He knew him only as Billy."

  "Short for William," Rogers said. "William Hoover."

  "I met him briefly at a party at my aunt's," Kit said. "I remember it was curious how he kept his hands in his pockets. Now we know why."

  "But tell me," Rogers said, "how did you figure Elinor Wynn as the one who planted the locket?"

  "Process of elimination," Kit said. "The police went to search Ted's house in a group, and it would have been difficult to sustain a group conspiracy, especially if Earl Rogers was the one asking the questions. That left only someone who had access to Ted's house. His mother is bedridden. Only Elinor Wynn comes to mind. Added to that, she lied about when she had last seen Ted. And you know the rules of evidence—a witness who is willfully false in one material part of her testimony is to be distrusted in others."

  Rogers nodded. "Good, Kit. Very good. Now, what I really want to know is what was on that piece of paper you waved in front of Elinor Wynn when you asked about planting the locket."

  "Yes, me too," said Jory. "Whatever it was, a list of witnesses or some sworn statement, it did the trick."

  "Come clean," Rogers said.

  Kit cleared her throat. "Just something I had written once."

  "Well, what?"

  "A verse from the Bible. 'I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.' "

  Rogers shook his head incredulously.

  "It was the only thing I could find to hold in my hands," Kit said.

  "Because you wanted Elinor Wynn to be thinking you held dynamite."

  Kit smiled sheepishly.

  "Ah, Kit Shannon," Earl said, "if you weren't a woman, I would swear you were me."

  Everyone in the room laughed.

  "I want that paper," Rogers said. "I have a feeling it will be famous someday." As he looked into Kit's eyes, Rogers endured a throb of remorse. "Kit," he said, holding up his hand to her. "I'm sorry."

  "No," she said, taking his hand. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

  "But I do. I got stinking drunk."

  "No, you had a drink."

  He shook his head, uncomprehending.

  Kit looked to the door. "Bring him in, Tom."

  A moment later Tom Phelps walked into the room. In his fist he held the collar of a young man who looked dazed, like someone had pummeled him angrily. Rogers recognized him. It was that reporter from the restaurant!

  "Evening, Mr. Rogers," said Phelps.

  "What's going on?" Rogers said.

  "This is Hector Bloomfield," Phelps said. "Tell him, Hector."

  The young man hesitated. Phelps slapped his ear.

  "Ow!" Bloomfield cried. "Okay, okay. I slipped something in your beer."

  "You what?"

  Phelps said, "Chloral hydrate, Mr. Rogers. Knocks you out like a jug of hard liquor. Now, wh
y would someone do such a thing?"

  "Don't tell me," Rogers said. "Heath Sloate was behind it."

  Bloomfield hung motionless, like meat on a hook. Phelps slapped his ear again. Then Bloomfield nodded.

  "And he's ready to tell the whole story," Phelps added. "Aren't you, Hector?"

  This time the young man nodded without prodding.

  "You're gonna be okay, boss," Bill Jory said. "But Heath Sloate is in a heap of trouble."

  "Unless he gets a good defense lawyer," Earl Rogers said. Then he added, "Can anybody think of one?"

  Everyone, with the exception of Hector Bloomfield, erupted into laughter.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  "MISS SHANNON," said Judge Wiley Ganges, "can you tell me what a Writ of Error Coram Nobis is?"

  "Yes, Your Honor," Kit said. She was sitting in Judge Ganges' chambers. Earl Rogers sat next to her but said not a word. "A Writ of Error Coram Nobis is a common law writ, to correct a judgment in the same court in which it was entered, upon the ground of error of fact."

  Ganges smiled. His eyes twinkled. "Quite correct, Miss Shannon. How about Res Ipsa Loquitur?"

  "A rebuttable presumption that the defendant was negligent, based upon proof that the instrumentality causing injury was in the defendant's exclusive control, and such accident is one that does not ordinarily happen in the absence of negligence."

  "Right again. And what is the lawyer's responsibility in our system of justice?"

  "To represent the client with competence, loyalty, and zeal, but always with an obligation to the law, justice, honesty, and the avoidance of obstructive conduct."

  Ganges looked at Rogers. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

  Rogers smiled.

  "All right, then, Miss Shannon. This concludes my bar examination. You passed. Please stand up and raise your right hand."

  Kit stood and raised her hand proudly.

  The judge said, "Kathleen Shannon, having satisfactorily passed my examination on your fitness for the bar, and having been sponsored by a member in good standing and, may I add, having impressed the skeptic right out of me, I am now going to swear you in as a full member of the California Bar. Do you, Miss Shannon, solemnly swear to uphold the Constitutions of the United States and the State of California and to honor the standards of the legal profession, so help you God?"