Character Witness Page 6

  He drove through the trees, down the windy road that led away from their house. He drove to the intersection that red-flagged civilization and finally to the freeways that took him to his good job thirty miles away. That job paid for the small, neat house off the beaten path in a canyon in the Santa Monica Mountains. It paid for the gardening tools that helped them raise their organic food, the bunnies who were their children, the short trips to Yosemite to commune with a different kind of nature.

  That job paid for his past mistakes, too. He never complained about that. She adored his sense of responsibility, his ability to look behind and see what had gone wrong then look ahead to make things right. He was a man of exceptional sensitivity. He was such a good man. Gone now, he left behind an empty place in the little house and her heart. He also left behind some unfinished business she didn't understand.. She would have to take care of that business in order to keep his memory pure and to save herself. Though she was afraid to go below, she was more afraid not to. Today she would break the last corporeal tie with him and hang on to the spiritual ones.

  Turning from the big window, she went to the smaller window by the fireplace and lifted the lace curtain. For a moment she looked beyond the clearing toward the rabbit hutch, even though there was no way she could see it. Perhaps a moment with them would give her courage. She bowed her head and decided not to walk in to the forest and visit with her friends. To do so would mean defeat. Her courage was ephemeral and if she didn't try it out now, this instant, she would lose it. Turning on her heel she went back toward the big window and the door beside it.

  Carefully, she snuffed out the incense burning in the holder he'd made from a pine cone. It sat on the table he'd hewn out of a tree trunk. Taking another moment she closed her eyes, laid her hands across her chest and breathed in the woody scent. Tears came to her eyes though she wasn't standing close to the spiral of smoke. Perhaps it was the flash of his gentle loving expression she remembered that brought the tears. It would be wonderful to see him once more, to have him here to hold, now that she was afraid.

  Shrugging into her sweater, she opened the door a crack. She peeked outside and scanned the land she knew so well; the land that now seemed so alien. It was quiet enough. Then again it had seemed quiet the day her husband died, too. Death could come stalking in the dark, the light, when you least expected it. Death came from strangers, and it came for reasons she didn't understand.

  Knowing this, she slid out onto the porch, lay against the rough wood of the house and waited. When nothing happened, she put her head down and hurried to her vintage Beetle. She started the engine with a prayer on her lips.

  That's when she began to shake.

  She was actually going below. To the city where people moved too fast and made decisions about her life when they didn't even know her. The thought of driving the freeways, negotiating the downtown streets, finding the room she wanted and standing up to the people she didn't want to see made her feel sick. But the sounds in the night, the voices she heard through the darkness, were more frightening still. And, most terrifying of all, was the sense that somehow, if she didn't do something fast, someone might make sure she joined her husband sooner than the Goddess wanted. Much as she cared for him, much as she would love to lie next to him again, she didn't want her new bed to be cold and dark and six feet under.

  So she drove away without knowing that company was coming to her house in the woods. This time it wasn't coming through the front door, it was moving through the trees and brush behind her cottage.

  ''She's gone,'' the first guy called to the second. The second stood up, his knees cracking under his great weight. He took a man sized breath of fresh mountain air.

  ''Thank God. I got bit sitting here. I hate bugs. I hate nature. Can't believe it. Something bit me. Look.'' He pulled down his dress sock to show that, indeed, he had been bitten.

  ''Looks like a spider.'' The other huge man peered closely at the wound. ''It's real round. Probably a spider.''

  The other one shuddered, ''That's disgusting. Think it's gone up my pants?''

  ''I don't know.''

  His friend moved forward, branches crackling and breaking as he pushed through the trees instead of seeking out a path. He didn't like the outdoors anymore than his cohort, but he wasn't going to be sissy about it. Behind him he heard his friend hurrying to catch up. They were almost at the clearing when he was called. Turning, a reprimand on the tip of his tongue, the man looked at his partner who was grinning from ear-to-ear.

  ''Look. Look what I found. Bunnies!''

  The big man opened the wire door on the hutch and grabbed one by the neck. His expression softened as he held it up so that they were nose-to-nose. The rabbit's little pink one twitched, the man's long hooked one did the same. Suddenly he gripped the bunny hard, whacking at the side of his neck as he did so. What happened next wasn't quite clear to the man who watched, he couldn't really understand the words that bellowed seemingly from the man's belly, but the end result of his outburst sent an amazingly clear message. The man didn't like nature.

  The big man stood in a semi-circle of white, fluffy, dead rabbits, not a one giving a twitch about anything anymore. The big guy held a hand to his neck. There were tears in his eyes.

  ''I got stung. Some goddamn thing stung me. Check for the stinger. I'm not going any further 'till you check to see if I'm swelling. I could die from a bee sting. They say you can die from a bee sting. Come on, take a look.''

  The other man, just as big, just as mean, checked out the dead rabbits, realized that six necks had been broken in a blink of an eye, and decided he would not be the seventh to get on the big guy's bad side. Dutifully he checked the man's size eighteen neck, confirmed there was no stinger and asked politely:

  ''Can we go on now? Please?''

  ''Yeah. Let's do it this time. Let's get the hell out of here.''

  His friend nodded and led the way to the front door of the cottage where he jimmied the flimsy lock. They went inside and he thanked his lucky stars that the little rabbit lady had gone before they walked in.

  ''Tony, good to see you.''

  ''You too, Bob.''

  They met with a clasp of hands, centurions holding one another's metal clad forearms in a fleeting bond of brotherhood before the bloodshed. Bob let go first. Tony's grin faltered. It was just another day after all. Bob opened the door to Judge Kelley's courtroom, Tony pushed open the bar. They both turned left to the defense table and settled their briefcases before they settled themselves.

  ''Whaddaya figure? Ten minutes on this thing?'' Bob snapped gold hasps on a burgundy colored portfolio and withdrew a manila folder of insignificant proportions.

  ''For you maybe. I'm guessing I'll have a go at it with a trial. You're probably in and out.'' Tony pulled at the tasteful brass buckled belts that kept his huge case intact. It yawned wide but he had no more paperwork than his cohort.

  They sat down, checked their watches and completed the ritual with toothless smiles.

  ''Two minutes and the other team forfeits. Kelley runs this courtroom to the wire.'' Tony passed the time.

  ''No cameras around to play to so he might as well get on with things,'' Bob noted dryly. Tony snickered.

  ''Judge just can't think of anything to say without a script, right?'' Tony poked his pal.

  ''I hear he went to the Springs for a tan. It's tough for him to get dressed in the morning without make-up,'' Bob chortled. Both of them were just bored enough to revert to nine year old humor as they waited for the day to start.

  Tony twirled in his chair just to be sure there wasn't anyone interested in their conversation. He gave a nod to his client sitting quietly behind him and noted a group of school children further back. One could never be too careful. An out of favor judge might somehow make a come back. Then their asses would be grasses if he got word they'd been a tad disrespectful. Tony chuckled, thinking that was mighty creative. Asses. Grasses. Whoever said lawyers had no sense of humor
was dead wrong.

  His eyes flicked over the spectator pews one last time. Only the bag lady from 6th Street had come in recently. Nothing to worry about there. He checked his watch again. The opposition was late. The day was theirs. Judge Kelley's bailiff was out and singing.

  ''Everyone please rise, Department 33 of the Los Angeles Superior Court is again in session. The Honorable Donald Kelley, presiding.''

  Tony and Bob stood. This time their hands were clasped in front of their most private parts, their legs splayed as if ready for the games to begin. They were fearless in the arena and the emperor was taking his seat.

  Judge Kelley looked up from under well formed brows, touched the edges of his carefully tended mustache, spied the two and checked out the empty counsel table. Bob and Tony had to admit he looked good. A Palm Springs tan was a man's best accessory. The judge's blue eyes sparkled behind the tasteful gold rimmed glasses. The tie that peeked out from the top of the robe was taupe knit, a color he favored, one that set off his excellently groomed silver gray hair. When he spoke it was with a casualness that belied the sharp mind that had been called into question of late.

  ''In the matter of Louise Booker vs. the Estate of Lionel Booker, et al. Counsel, please make your appearance for the record.''

  He looked up and smiled pleasingly.

  ''Tony Maglio for the estate of Lionel Booker, Your Honor.''

  ''Bob Morton representing All Life Insurance, Your Honor.''

  ''Gentlemen.'' the judge nodded. ''I see that the offended party has seen fit not to make an appear. . .''

  Just as Judge Kelley was about to pronounce a mistrial the courtroom door banged open. The bailiff's hand was on the butt of her gun, her attention arrested by the commotion caused by the two women who hurried in.

  The one in the brown suit figured it out first. They had not exactly been subtle and court was in session. She stopped and checked out the people checking her out. Her eyes rested on the judge and she blushed. He raised a brow. The nip and tuck of her suit conjured up visions of The Thin Man, long cigarette holders and longer legs; black and white nights where the curtains were drawn and everything was left to the imagination. Kelley should have held himself in contempt because he could see the lady in brown was only concerned with the lateness of the hour.

  She stumbled then righted herself. She mouthed 'sorry' before resuming her step and giving the woman behind her an opening. When he got an eyeful of that one Kelley had a few other thoughts about contempt. The lady was resplendent in turquoise. Her dress ended just south of the flattest rear end he'd ever seen and stretched across the most amazing set of hooters to cross his threshold. Her hair was teased up into a shape that reminded him of a mushroom cloud. Her lips shimmered deathly white, lined with a color he could only describe as clay. She seemed to be pushing the other woman forward but the blond in brown pushed back slightly. She glanced over her shoulder with barely hidden disdain and came up the aisle like she was headed to a wedding - with a shotgun at her back.

  ''Ladies. You have arrived.'' Kelley retrieved his smile. After all those months in front of the cameras, little could faze him. He turned to the lady with the briefcase.

  ''Kathleen Cotter? Counsel for,'' he consulted his notes, ''Louise Booker, ex-wife of the deceased?''

  Louise moved as if she would speak, but it was Kathleen who got the words out first. After all these weeks she'd learned to talk fast.

  ''Yes, Your Honor.'' The judge smiled at the sound of her voice. She would never have made it in talkies but in a place like this where strident was the norm her inflection was a welcome change. ''I apologize to the court for our lateness. I'm new to the area

  ''And I assume, madam, that you are Louise Booker?'' Kelley pinned Louise with a graceful turn of his head. This wasn't grammar school, he didn't want an excuse. Kathleen caught Louise out of the corner of her eye. Louise was radiating toward the bench. Kathleen prayed she wouldn't wink.

  ''You got it, judge.'' They pushed through the bar as one unit, Louise scooting tightly after Kathleen.

  ''We apologize, Your Honor. Kathleen Cotter for Louise Booker, for the record.''

  Kelley referred back to his papers. He let his eyes slide toward Louise once more as if to make sure she did indeed exist.

  ''Kathleen didn't want to pay five dollars an hour for parking, judge,'' Louise piped in, taking his eye contact to mean he'd like her input. ''She's new in town so cut her some slack.''

  Kelley raised a brow and digested that incredible piece of information. ''Let the record so reflect that Ms. Cotter is the attorney of record. You may strike the editorial on our parking fees.''

  With that, the proceedings began.

  The lawyers took their seats; Kathleen after her two opponents. With a sidelong glance she checked them out. Expensive clothes and briefcases. That was odd since Lionel Booker's estate was not wealthy. Interesting it had such a classy advocate. The two looked right back at her, arrogantly composed.

  Kathleen took a deep breath, focused on the judge and prayed she could dispose of this matter quickly, erase whatever sense of duty she felt toward Gerry and run for the hills before he found some other oddball client to throw at her. At this rate she'd make a name for herself in the Los Angeles legal community, but it wouldn't be the one she'd hoped for.

  ''Mr. Morton, we'll start with you, if you please.''

  Morton obliged. His suit was gray, his shirt white, his tie striped in shades of blue. He seemed rather handsome until you looked closely. His carefully coifed hair was receding, his chin multiplying, his eyes creased from long hours spent over paperwork and short intense hours in the sun pretending he was relaxed. She bet he didn't look so great naked. Kathleen held onto that thought and opened her briefcase, wincing as the latches opened with a resounding snap.

  ''Your Honor,'' Morton began apologetically. ''I hesitate to even take the court's time by pointing out the obvious. In the last month since we were served with papers regarding this matter, we have done nothing. We have not offered to settle, nor have we spent our time preparing for a court battle. Quite simply, there can be no battle when there is no basis for confrontation. Ms. Booker will not be paid benefits to which she is not entitled.''

  He cleared his throat as a matter of course and continued.

  ''There has been no discovery, no witness's to depose. Why? Because the facts are not contested. I cite section 4801 subdivision B of the Civil Code for the proposition that support obligations terminate with the death of the obliger spouse. I would also like to point out that our policy stands in its own defense. It is a basic policy that in no way veers from industry standards in language or intent. Regulations, rules and policies are clear for all to see and understand. This, in our estimation, is a frivolous law suit brought by Ms. Cotter on Ms. Booker's behalf and we would request a Summary Judgment in this matter and a dismissal of this suit against All Life.'' It was a poignant moment. He looked Kathleen's way as if she was the one who hadn't read the fine print before signing on the dotted line. ''If there are any questions regarding the language of the policy, I would be happy to go into it chapter and verse. I would even be happy to draw a diagram should Ms. Cotter be inclined to spend her time trying to figure it out visually.''

  ''I doubt that will be necessary,'' Kelley commented cheerfully, oblivious to the insult. He'd heard them all and this was rather mild as affronts went. Kathleen, on the other hand, shot Bob Morton a look. It wasn't as good as the one her mother used to put her in her place, though, and Morton remained cocky and confident.

  ''Ms. Cotter?'' Kelley turned his judicial klieg light on her.

  ''Your Honor.''

  She stood up slowly, her knees weak now that the moment had come for her to speak. She was in Los Angeles, not Riverside. She was far from home and alone, tackling this appearance under emotional duress.

  ''Your Honor,'' she cleared her throat, too, but it didn't seem to have the same calming affect on her as it did on Bob Morton. ''It's not fair.''


  Kathleen had Judge Kelley's attention. In fact, she had everyone's attention, including the pod of school children in for an afternoon outing. This was an argument they could understand. They were disappointed when there wasn't more.

  ''Excuse me, Your Honor.'' Kathleen swallowed. Her mouth was dry. ''I meant it isn't fair, in this instance, to decide upon settlement based strictly upon the letter of the agreement between Lionel Booker and All Life Insurance. As in many instances with this great law of ours, there is often the spirit to consider. And, if ever there was a case where spirit counted, it's this one. In the case of Mr. Booker, the spirit was definitely willing but the flesh was weak. Please note the decision for the plaintiff in Tintocalis v. Tintocalis where the defendant had neglected to pay the premiums in a similar situation. The court ruled that the death benefit was to be paid because no one should suffer by the act of another.''

  ''And we agree, Your Honor,'' Bob Morton crowed. ''All Life should not suffer because of Mr. Booker's intentional demise. I point to Tintocalis also, and say that the obligation to sustain support falls directly on the estate. And, I can cite Lucas v. Elliot.''

  Tony moved in his chair and whipped out a pen. Furiously, he made notes. The first was to kill Bob Morton.

  Kathleen went on.

  ''We must consider Mr. Booker's intent to care for his ex-wife, Louise Booker, when we discuss this matter. It is the spirit of that intent that I ask Your Honor to rule upon. Tintocalis specifically states that intent could be taken into consideration.''

  ''Your Honor,'' Bob Morton stood up slowly, raising a finger, though the gesture was unnecessary to gain attention. ''While I can think of no one seemingly more capable of weaving an intriguing fairytale than Ms. Cotter, we are not here to wax poetic about intent and love and the spirit of anything. Tintocalis never ruled on intent and 'could be' is not a legal concept. We are here to determine whether, under the law, the agreement made between Lionel Booker and All Life Insurance is binding.''