Hostile Witness

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

"That someone would take the life of a man like Fritz Rayburn . . .What can I say to that? I can only hope whoever did this feels the full wrath of our justice system - regardless of who they are. I promise, the person I appoint to fill Justice Rayburn's seat will have the same commitment to law and order; perhaps feel even more strongly about it than I do." - Governor Joe Davidson, Good Day LA Interview

"Hannah Sheraton." Josie tattooed her name on the jail log as she stated her business.

"Room three, counselor. It'll be a few minutes."

The officer behind the window flicked her head to the left as she finished searching Josie's portfolio and purse, and then pushed them toward her. Josie nodded her thanks and dodged the guy behind her as she turned to leave.

"Bitch of a place to be on a hot day," he muttered as he pulled the log toward him and signed in.

"Bitch of a place to be any day." Josie answered back, but she was the only one who heard it.

Josie was already standing in front of the door that led to the interview rooms at Sybil Brand. Pushing through the first of two doors when the buzzer sounded she paused, waited for the second buzzer, and then went through. The door locked behind her while she was still wondering if she shouldn't just forget the whole thing. In room number three, Josie tossed her briefcase on the table, sat down, and looked through the glass at the LA County women's jail.

The place was a sprawling complex of old buildings that housed women who committed real crimes: murder, arson, burglary, assault. Hannah Sheraton would be a 'keep away', cut off from the general population for her own protection because of her age. If she were convicted, though, this could be home; this prison with the pastel butterflies painted on the walls to inspire the inmates to come out of the cocoon of Sybil Brand bigger, better, and smarter. But this was also the prison where yellow footprints were stenciled on the floor and each prisoner stepped on them, as if they were balancing on the razor's edge. Forbidden to veer away. Forbidden to look back.

Josie shifted, trying to get comfortable on the wooden chair. It had been a long time since she'd been in this place. It could be twenty minutes before they fetched Hannah. Josie closed her eyes and rested her head against the cold, concrete wall and replayed the conversation with Linda Rayburn.

Linda wove her own story in with her daughter's. Josie had directed, but Linda knew how she wanted the tale to go. One thing was clear; Linda and Hannah did not exist without the other.

Hannah Sheraton. Sixteen. She had been carted around the world with Linda and her lovers, gone through puberty with a bang, and started acting out when she was twelve. Nothing big. Nothing Linda hadn't done. Nothing Linda couldn't handle. Skip classes, smoke a little weed. Try cigarettes. Hang out with guys too old to have good intentions. Chip off the old block. Really a good kid though, just a little wild. Grew up too fast.

Linda went through the scotch like water. She didn't so much as slur a word. She was a hell of a drinker. And always it was back to Hannah.

Smart kid when she was in school. There had been so many schools, but everyone said the same thing. Talented, talented kid. Painter. Oils mostly. Some acrylics. She experimented with other mediums. Hannah had a future if she could just settle down. A big future. Bigger than Picasso.

Josie raised a brow. Linda caught it but didn't back off far.

Okay, maybe not Picasso, but big. Linda took Hannah's paintings to a guy in Beverly Hills. He bought a painting for five hundred bucks. Five hundred was big stuff before Linda met Kip, when Linda was between friends. Hannah was so happy when her painting helped out. That kid was so selfless. But then, it wasn't hard work for her. Hannah was only happy with a brush in her hand.