Free Hostile Witness by Rebecca Forster Page A

“Yeah.”
    Archer: “Sounds good, Jo. ‘Nite, babe.”
    Josie: “Nite, Archer.”
     
    There were no halls of justice in trailer C, department 32 of the Superior Court, the Honorable Judith Davenport presiding.  There were, in fact, no halls at all.
    Hannah was scheduled to be arraigned in Santa Monica but the actual courthouse was overcrowded. The proceedings would take place in one of the modular units the state had plopped in the middle of the parking lot in an effort to solve the problem.  Unfortunately, while that had been a practical decision it sorely undermined the dignity of the court.
    Still, it was what Hannah Sheraton drew.  Josie had no doubt that if it came to an actual trial The People v. Hannah Sheraton in the matters of arson and murder would be played out on a much finer stage.
    It was early. Half a dozen cars were scattered over the asphalt parking lot. Beyond the fence that separated court property from the West LA police station cops were changing the guard. Black and whites pulled in and out. Tired officers went home; fresh ones hit the streets.  A roach coach was doing a brisk business in breakfast burritos and bad coffee.
    Checking her watch, Josie hurried past a woman dragging a two year old behind her, a couple of attorneys conferring by a green Mercedes, and two marshals before opening the metal door to Department 32.  It closed with a thud. The walls wobbled. This was a judicial trailer park hoping for a bureaucratic tornado to wipe it out.  Still, there were things that made Department 32 feel just like every other courtroom: a Court TV camera, a jar of candy on the clerk’s desk, an empty jury box, and the seal of the state hanging behind the bench. But there was one thing missing: people.  Josie thought the place would have been packed. Instead, she tagged only the AP and the LA Times reporters. A young blond man sat in the back. He was too well-dressed to be a court watcher, and too relaxed to be the prosecutor. Linda was up front alone. If this was all the public interest the DA could muster, that was a good thing.
    Josie shrugged into her jacket then walked down the aisle toward Linda. They had been on the phone for over an hour last night discussing Hannah’s history, and what the family was willing to do to secure bail. Josie touched Linda’s shoulder and motioned her to move over.  Linda looked up, gratitude plastered on her face like an extra layer of make-up.
    “I was worried. I thought maybe I was in the wrong place.” Linda kept her voice low.
    “How long have you been here?” Josie asked.
    “Half an hour. Seems like forever.”  Self-consciously Linda touched her hair. It was pulled straight up and gathered into a sleek knot on top of her head. On her ears were diamond hoops.  She was nervous but controlled; a far cry from the woman of a few nights ago. They would have to talk about clothes if this went to trial. The last thing Josie wanted was for Hannah and Linda to look like escapees from Rodeo Drive.
    “Is your husband coming?”
    “No, he couldn’t make it.  He had a meeting. But he wanted to. He did.”
    Josie nodded, understanding it was futile to hope Kip Rayburn would stand by Hannah.  Josie shifted closer to Linda.
    “There’s a camera in the back of the courtroom. Don’t react to anything you hear during the proceedings. If you have a question, let me know about it when we’re out of here, okay?”
    Linda nodded. Josie started to get up. Linda grabbed her.
    “What about you? Are you okay? I mean, I know you didn’t want to do this.”
    Josie slipped her hand from Linda’s.
    “Everything is fine. Don’t worry,” Josie assured her.
    Just then the back door opened. Rudy Klein, Deputy District attorney had arrived.  It was time to go. Rudy and Josie passed through the bar together.
    “It’s been a long time, Rudy,” she said.
    “Not long enough,” he muttered.
    They took to their respective tables.  Things moved quickly after that.