Scott Pratt - An Innocent Client

The sound of my hand on the table startled her, and I could tell the tone of my voice was beginning to unnerve her.

“No. I think she was driving the same car.”

“You think? You think she was driving the same car? That’s not good enough, Angel. That’s an evasive answer. Juries don’t like evasive answers.”

“What should I say?”

“How about the truth? This is just between you and me. If you tell me Erlene was driving a different car the next day, I’m not going to run out and tell the police, and I’m not going to tell Erlene that you told me.”

She folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs — the classic defensive position — and started rocking back and forth in her seat. She was obviously struggling with herself, trying to make some kind of decision.

“Miss Erlene didn’t kill anybody,” she said finally.

“I didn’t say she did.”

“That’s what you’re thinking. I can tell.” She was right. I was beginning to believe that Angel was protecting Erlene. If she was, it was a mistake that could cost her her life.

“Julie says Erlene switched cars the day after Tester was murdered. Julie says you and Erlene left the club right after Tester left. Now either Julie’s lying, or you and Erlene are lying. If Julie’s lying, I need to know why. If you’re lying, I need to know why. Now, who’s lying?”

“Julie’s lying.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then tell me about Erlene’s car. Did she switch cars the day after Tester was killed or not?”

“No.”

I was back to square one. Julie was lying and the only explanation I could offer a jury was that she was a drug addict, perhaps bitter, or perhaps jealous of the relationship between Erlene and Angel. I didn’t know whether a jury would buy it.

“You can uncross your arms now.”

“What?”

“People cross their arms when they feel like they’re being threatened or attacked, Angel. It’s a sign of defensiveness, and I don’t want you to do it if you ever get up on a witness stand. Now tell me about the bruise on your face. The one the police took a picture of.”

She hesitated again and unconsciously raised her fingers to her cheek. Her eyes began to blink quickly.

“I got hit by a door,” she said.

“When?”

“The day after, I think.”

“Where?”

“At the club. I was about to walk through the door and someone opened it from the other side. It hit me in the face.”

“Erlene told me you didn’t go back to the club after Tester was killed.”

“Oh, right, well, it must have been the day before, then.”

“The same day Tester was killed?”

She nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who was on the other side of the door?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You don’t remember who hit you with a door so hard it put a bruise on your face?”

“It was Heather. I remember now.”

Small beads of perspiration were forming on her forehead, and I decided to ease off. I wondered whether Heather would confirm that Angel had run into a door, and I made a note to have Diane Frye speak with her. Angel had self-consciously unfolded her arms and placed her hands on the table. I noticed they were discolored — not severely, but they were both slightly pale to about an inch above her wrist. I remembered Erlene telling me to ask Angel about her hands. Very gently, I touched one of them.

“Did something happen here?” I said.

“I burned them when I was little.” The words were flat, monotone, and the expression on her face went completely blank.

“How?”

“I was making oatmeal for my brothers and sisters.” She paused for a long moment. “And I…I dropped the spoon into the pot…by accident.” She paused again.

“And?” I said.

“Mother Betty. She pushed my hands down into the oatmeal and made me get the spoon out.”

“And your hands look like that from the burns?”

She nodded.

“How old were you?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe five. Or six.”

I shuddered. She’d described the event as if she were describing a walk down an empty hall in a burned out building. She’d become distant, disconnected, as though she’d suddenly been unplugged.

“What about your adopted father? Did he do bad things to you too?”

Another nod.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Tears were forming in her eyes. She didn’t answer the question. She didn’t have to.

“Did it happen a lot?”

She nodded again as a tear slid down her cheek.

“Angel, is there something you’re not telling me?”

She started to speak but stopped herself. I suddenly realized I was in a tug of war, and Angel was the rope. Someone else was pulling on the other end, and I suspected it was Erlene. She broke into tears and stood up, leaning against the table. Her shoulders began to shudder and her lips were quivering. The intensity of the sobs increased with each passing second, and before I knew it, she was hysterical.

“Please,” I said when she paused for breath after a high-pitched wail, “try to stay calm, Angel. All I want is the truth.”

She gave me a look that told me I’d gone too far and gathered her breath.

“ Why won’t you believe me? ” she shrieked. “I told you I didn’t kill him! Why are you asking me all these questions? I thought you were on my side! I thought you were my friend!”

She turned and started to pound on the door with her fist.

“Wait, please. Please calm down, Angel. I am on your side.” I got up from the table and reached out to touch her arm.

“Don’t touch me! Stay away from me!”

The door opened and she nearly fell into one of the two guards’ arms. I started out the door toward her, but the second guard stuck his finger in my chest.

“Step back,” he said. He meant it, he was armed, and I had a feeling he would do anything to protect this particular prisoner.

I raised my hands and stepped backward into the interview room as he slammed the door in my face.

June 28

1:30 p.m.

Ronnie came into the back office on Saturday afternoon while Erlene was catching up on her paperwork. She could see right away that something was bothering him. Ronnie had this cute little cleft in his chin, and when he was upset he set his mouth a certain way and the sides of the cleft swelled up like little knots on a birch branch. The cleft reminded Erlene of Gus, which was only natural since Ronnie was Gus’s nephew. He wasn’t as handsome as Gus, but he was still a looker, tall and well built, with dark blond hair and sky blue eyes. Erlene just wished he didn’t have those icky tattoos all over him. They came out of his shirt up his neck and ran clear down his arms to his hands. They made him look like a thug.

“What’s the matter, sugar?” Erlene said. “You look like somebody just shot your dog.”

“They shorted us again.”

Erlene cursed under her breath. She hated that he was bringing up such unpleasantness, especially after the visit she’d had with her sweet Angel down at the jail. Angel was as torn up as Erlene had ever seen her, poor thing. She said Mr. Dillard had come down and asked her all sorts of embarrassing questions. She even asked Erlene if she thought they needed a different lawyer, but Erlene set her straight real quick on that. Mr. Dillard was exactly what they needed. Erlene talked to Angel for as long as they let her stay, and by the time she left, she could tell Angel was feeling a whole lot better. Erlene even managed to make her smile a couple of times. But she still felt so bad for Angel. She’d already been through so much. It hurt Erlene’s heart to see her suffer more.