Her Best Defense

“Mom, it’s ten minutes after six. You never call this early unless something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong. I just saw your picture in the morning paper. Front page, no less.”

“Oh, that.”

“I take it this is a new case for you? When did you get this one? I thought you’d just finished up on another.”

“Mom, I’m usually juggling half a dozen cases and so is every other lawyer in the place. I did just finish up another, but Mr. Ludlow asked me personally to take this one. You just don’t refuse a senior partner. I do think one of the reasons he asked me to handle this was because he didn’t think it would go this far.”

“What do you mean? Mrs. Witherington is being accused of murder, isn’t she? Why wouldn’t it go to trial?”

“That’s just it. Mrs. Witherington didn’t do it. Someone else did. We were hoping to clear her name before it got that far. Actually, even before her arrest.”

“Well, honey, I’m no attorney, but it seems to me that if the police have enough evidence to arrest a person for murder, then they must know something.”

“The police can arrest anyone for anything, Mom. So far, all they have on Mrs. Witherington is circumstantial evidence and a coroner’s report. Look, Mom, I don’t mean to cut you short but I really need to get into the office early this morning. I’ll call you tonight. Okay?”

“Sure, honey. I’ll talk to you later. Have a good day.”

The next time the phone rang, Lisa was in the shower. Was it going to be like this all day? Was this what life was like for those attorneys who specialized in the biggest and most notorious high-profile cases?

“Maybe I’ll move over to penny-ante crimes and divorce cases,” she grumbled as the hot water from the shower ran down her face and body.

The phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Whoever was calling was persistent; maybe the call was from one of the firm’s partners. With a sudden sinking sensation, Lisa turned off the water, wrapped a towel around herself and ran for the phone.

“Lisa Jensen,” she said, striving to sound all business in case it was John Ludlow or one of the other partners.

“You been running?”

“What?”

“You’re out of breath.”

“What I am is wet. You got me out of the shower.” Kurt Sandoval was calling this early? What on earth for? Possibly to badger her about the headlines? “Shit,” she whispered.

“What was that?”

It suddenly occurred to her that the police could have released the story to the press, and she became stiff with righteous indignation.

“Did the department release the Witherington story?” she asked without answering his question.

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, somebody did it.”

“That seems rather apparent, doesn’t it?” Kurt drawled. “Actually, I called to find out if you might be the mouth that roared. Publicity is sometimes good for defense counsel.”

“I hardly think premature publicity is going to help Glory’s case,” she said with some sarcasm. “Besides, the entire article is slanted against her.”

“Oh, now I think that’s an exaggeration.”

“What I’d really like to know is why the reporter interviewed the prosecution attorneys and didn’t even try to make contact with me so I could present something positive about my client.”

“Do you have something positive to present?”

“Did you call at this most inconvenient time to insult my intelligence? Look, I’m dripping on the carpet. If you still feel the need to add insult to injury later on, call me at work.” Lisa slammed down the phone and ran back to the bathroom. She was seething on the inside and shivering on the outside.

Damn Sandoval and all married men who thought they were so damned cute that they could get away with anything, she thought resentfully as she turned on the hot water again.

Because it was a Saturday and everyone who had to go in to the firm on a weekend dressed casually, Lisa put on a pair of freshly cleaned and pressed jeans and an ivory-colored cotton sweater. High-heeled light tan leather boots, for which she’d paid a small fortune, and a luscious pink suede jacket completed her ensemble for the day.

But she didn’t waste time in admiring herself, and she gathered her purse and briefcase—in which she’d stashed the newspaper—and left the house to hurry to the nearest bus stop to catch a downtown bus.

The ride was about thirty minutes long and she noticed at least a dozen newspapers in the hands of wide-eyed passengers. Wishing she’d thought to put on a hat with a brim she could pull down over her face, she settled for her dark glasses and dug them out of her purse.

Then she thought of the case and the discomfort of unwanted publicity. Why in God’s name would anyone deliberately seek the public’s eye, she wondered uneasily. Obviously Sandoval had believed that was precisely what she’d done. He might flirt with her and even leer at her at times, but he sure as hell didn’t know her!

“And he never will,” she vowed, renewing her postdivorce pledge to never take up with a married man because of the pain it would cause his wife, which she’d felt firsthand with Bobby’s sexual escapades.

Lisa was at her desk, trying to better organize the notes she was amassing on Glory’s case. She also had a copy of the coroner’s autopsy report, and she studied again the few lines citing the cause of death. A .32 caliber slug had been removed from the body. The bullet had lodged in the upper torso and entered through the victim’s back.

Sitting there pondering the coroner’s learned opinion, it was clear that if Glory was as innocent as she proclaimed, then someone else had been at the Witherington home that night. It was time she visited the crime scene and met the household staff.

She pushed away from her desk and began returning items to her briefcase. Her intercom line buzzed and she picked up the phone. “Lisa here.”

“Larry here. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Larry, just miles away when the phone rang. Did you call for a reason? Oh, I just realized that you’re here at work.”

“Saturday is just another workday in this business, Lisa.”

“How true. So, are you on the trail of something interesting?”

“If you’ve got a few minutes, come on by Research, okay?”

“Will do. I have a phone call to make then I’ll be along. See ya.”

Lisa pushed Larry—along with his “questionable history” remarks about the Witheringtons, plus her avid curiosity about what gains he might have made—to the back burner and dialed the Witherington home. Waiting for someone to answer her call, she thought of how much more she would rather talk to Larry than to Glory. Oh, well.

A woman answered; Lisa identified herself and asked for Mrs. Witherington. In a minute, Glory’s voice said, “So, what’s up, kiddo?”

“Well, you sound in a good mood,” Lisa said.

“And you sound as though you disapprove.”

“Sorry, that wasn’t my intention. Glory, I’m leaving in a minute or two to pay you a visit. I would like to interview your household staff, view the crime scene and clear up a few more details with you.”

“Not today, Lisa. I have a tennis afternoon all planned for the country club.”