Приносящая детей матушка. Народное творчество

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СКАЧАТЬ that’s why you’re here—the Kramer case.”

      For the next hour Johnna argued, cursed and conceded points of law with Chet. She came away from the meeting knowing that Erin would be charged with first-degree murder and that Chet intended to ask the judge for no bail.

      He promised to have his secretary personally deliver copies of all pertinent paperwork to her office in the next couple of hours.

      Johnna left his office and walked the three blocks to her own law office. She unlocked the door and entered the small office that comprised two rooms—the reception/lobby area and her private office. Her receptionist worked on a part-time basis and didn’t work on Saturdays.

      Johnna headed to the private office and sat down behind her desk, her thoughts tumbling turbulently in her head. Her father had never seen her office. He’d never shown any interest in the fact that she’d passed the bar, leased an office or begun a practice. But then, he’d never shown any interest in her other than to tell her how utterly worthless she was.

      In retrospect, Johnna realized her relationship with Jerrod had begun as a rebellion and it had been the first time she’d achieved her goal, resulting in her finally gaining her father’s attention. They’d had the biggest row of their lives over her seeing Jerrod.

      But it hadn’t taken long for rebellion to become something deeper, more profound, and the love she’d felt for Jerrod had been the first good thing in her life.

      And then he’d destroyed it.

      Funny, most of her anger had never been directed at Erin. Erin hadn’t broken promises, destroyed faith or betrayed trust by sleeping with Jerrod. No, Jerrod had done all those things by sleeping with Erin.

      Pain ripped through her as she remembered the night of his confession. She’d waited for him as usual at the end of the lane leading to her family ranch, her heart singing with the knowledge that soon she’d be in his arms. But when he’d arrived, he hadn’t taken her in his arms; instead, he’d told her that the night before he’d had sex with Erin. And that was the night Johnna’s world crashed down around her.

      She’d been so sure he’d deny it, that he’d tell her he’d never so much as kissed Erin McCall. But he hadn’t denied it, and the memory of that moment of truth still had the power to make her ache inside.

      Shoving aside those thoughts, she picked up the telephone and dialed the long-distance number that would connect her to Harriet Smith. She didn’t want to think any more about Jerrod McCain. She had to focus on Erin’s case.

      She was grateful to hear the raspy deep voice that picked up on the second ring. “Harry, it’s me.”

      “Johnna! What a pleasure to hear your voice.”

      “And yours,” Johnna replied, warmth flooding through her as she thought of the older lawyer who had played an integral role in Johnna’s pursuit of a law degree. Without Harriet’s support and friendship during the grueling years of law school, Johnna might have given up.

      “What’s up?” Harriet asked.

      “I need your help. How would you like to second-chair a murder trial?”

      “Tell me where and when and I’m there.”

      Johnna smiled. “Here and yesterday.” For the next few minutes the two women finalized things, then hung up.

      It would be good to see Harriet again, although she’d refused to consider being a houseguest of Johnna’s and instead, had asked Johnna to get her a room at the local bed-and-breakfast.

      Ninety minutes later Chet Maxwell’s secretary knocked on the door of the office and handed Johnna a manila envelope. Johnna thanked her, then went back to her desk and began reading and making notes.

      She didn’t realize how long she’d been working until she stopped to stretch and realized the room was growing dark with the approach of night.

      Checking her watch, she was shocked to see it was almost nine. She’d worked through dinner and the lonely evening hours. Now night shadows deepened to possess the tiny town and Johnna was exhausted.

      Her exhaustion was physical. Her shoulders ached and her back was sore from sitting for so many hours. But her mind whirled with all the information the reports had contained.

      Sheriff Broder and a couple of his deputies had responded to a disturbance call and had arrived at the Kramer home at eleven-thirteen Thursday night. Erin answered the door, dazed and obviously beaten and led them into the living room where Richard Kramer lay sprawled on the floor, dead from several blows to the back of the head. Nothing had been found at the scene that appeared to be the object used to hit the victim.

      The report had described Erin as “nearly incoherent” and “hysterical.” The statement she had given the sheriff later that night was the same as what she’d told Johnna.

      Johnna packed the files and reports into her briefcase, then shut off the office light and locked the place up tight for the night.

      Although she only lived a few blocks from her office, she’d driven her car that morning because she’d intended to drive out to the ranch and put in a couple of hours work there. But now it was too late to go to the ranch.

      Main Street had shut down for the night and the street was deserted. Inferno wasn’t the place to live if you liked nightlife. There was only one bar, at the edge of town, that remained open after 8:30 p.m. The rest of the town folded up at that time.

      She approached her car and frowned as she saw that something appeared to be smeared across the dark blue paint of the hood. As she walked closer she realized it was white spray paint.

      “Terrific,” she muttered. Apparently some of the bored youth of Inferno had run amuck. Then she spied the note tucked beneath her windshield wiper.

      She plucked out the note and opened it.

      DROP THE KRAMER CASE OR DIE.

      The words were handwritten in block letters, and Johnna stared at them for a long moment as a shiver of apprehension crawled up her spine. She tucked the note into her purse, then drove her damaged car down the street to the police station. As she drove, she contemplated exactly what the note meant.

      Perhaps somebody thought Erin was guilty as hell and resented the fact that anyone intended to defend her. This possibility determined that whoever had painted her car and written the note was probably a moron who didn’t understand the way the judicial system worked and didn’t realize that somebody would defend Erin no matter what.

      Or her initial reaction might have been right—kids out for a night of mischief who’d heard she was Erin’s lawyer. In either case, whoever was responsible apparently didn’t know Johnna very well. They certainly didn’t realize that when she was pushed, she didn’t quit. She pushed back.

      It had become habit for Jerrod, after tucking his father into bed, to pour himself a glass of iced tea and sit out on the porch and relax as the night shadows cooled the day’s heat.

      After he’d left the diner earlier in the day, he’d met with Shirley Swabb, a real-estate agent, and she’d taken him to see several houses that were for sale in town.

      The trailer park was dying, СКАЧАТЬ