Prelude

Ice Storm

Marketing, I had been told, was the key to a successful law practice. It was important to stay in touch with your clients, to wine and dine them so they wouldn't forget you when they got rear-ended or someone sued them. Rebekah wasn't crazy about the idea of having an annual Christmas party but I convinced her it was a great way to solidify the client's allegiance to the firm. I even suggested it might be fun. She said it might be fun for me but not for her since she had to arrange the whole affair. She reminded me it would be particularly difficult for her since we didn't have a large budget to work with and she'd have to do much of the work herself.

At ten minutes to eight I went out on the front porch to see how bad the weather was getting. I shivered as the cold wind pelted my face. A light mist was falling and icicles were forming on the trees and bushes in front of the house. As I proudly gazed at the elaborate display of lights that adorned the house, I thought back to when my father used to take the family to Beverly Hills every year to see the elaborate decorations of some of the Hollywood Stars of that era. It was something I looked forward to and how I had become a decoration addict.

The cold wind finally drove me back into the house. I went directly to the fireplace to warm up. Staring into the flickering flames I was in a momentary trance when Rebekah came up from behind and put her arms around me. I turned around and we embraced. She was wearing a red knit Christmas dress that she had painstakingly procured several weeks earlier. Looking as sexy as ever, she looked up at me with her big brown eyes.

"I hope the lights don’t go out during our party." she said.

Our home was equipped with the latest safety device to prevent electrocution. I’m not sure exactly how it worked, but whenever it rained and we had the Christmas lights on, the circuit breaker would blow. Needless to say it was very annoying.

"Well, so far so good. Maybe we’ll get lucky."

The door bell rang and Rebekah rushed to answer it. It was Tex and his wife, Toni. He was a short, robust man in his late fifties. Tex was one of my most fortuitous contacts. A fellow agent at Cosmopolitan Life, Tex Weller had referred me dozens of clients over the past two years. He was a rambunctious character who always cheered me up.

"Wonderful night for a party," Tex said as they stepped inside and wiped their feet. "The roads are terrible."

A blast of cold air sent a shiver through me. I quickly closed the door. "No ice, I hope."

"No, not yet, but the bridges and overpasses are supposed to ice over tonight."

"Wouldn't you know this would happen on the night of our party," Rebekah said shaking her head in disgust. She took their coats and went off toward the bedroom.

Tex shook his head. "Well...I can't believe you've been practicing law nearly two years now, Stan. It just seems like yesterday you were in the bullpen selling insurance."

The mention of selling insurance made me shudder. The "bullpen" was the large room that housed the 24 debit agents who serviced the Dallas region. Each agent had a desk, a chair and a telephone from which to operate. The company didn’t want the agents to get too comfortable since they were supposed to be out beating the bushes for new insureds. It was a time in my life I wanted to forget. "It seems like an eternity to me. So much has happened these past two years."

"Yeah, you have had your hands full, haven't you?" Tex laughed.

"Just slightly," I said thinking back to how close we had come to losing everything. In fact, it was a miracle that we were having this party at all. A miracle indeed that I was still practicing law after that first tumultuous year. Starting with nothing and barely surviving financially we hadn’t had the wherewithal to buy a big fancy house. That was another reason Rebekah was against the party. She was a little embarrassed at our modest abode, but I had assured her people would understand and wouldn’t hold it against us.

Rebekah alternated from greeting newly arrived guests to supervising the maid and bartender we had hired for the evening. I was mingling with my clients and friends trying to make sure everyone was having a good time. After awhile I decided it was time to address the gathering and propose a toast. I alerted the bartender to start passing out the champagne.

"Ladies and Gentleman," I said as I began tapping my fork on the champagne glass. "I'd like to say a few words and propose a toast."

It took awhile but the noise from the crowd finally subsided enough for me to speak. "I just wanted to thank all of you for coming tonight. I apologize for the bad weather. This isn't what I ordered."

Somebody said, "You don't have much clout upstairs, do you?"

"I guess not," I laughed. "Anyway, one reason Rebekah and I decided to throw this party was to give us an opportunity to thank each and every one of you for your support over these last two years. As you know we've been through some tough times but with your encouragement and prayers we've managed to survive. In fact, this last year has been great. As you know we moved to a new location on Central Expressway and I was lucky enough to find a wonderful secretary, Jodie Marshall."

Jodie stood up, smiled and nodded to the crowd. "Let me just say it is so great to come to work every morning and smell coffee brewing." We all laughed. "Anyway, I think it's time to propose a toast." I lifted my glass, smiled and said, "To all my wonderful clients and friends, may all of you have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year."

"Here, here," someone said.

"Before I let you go, there will be some carolers coming by later on to entertain you, so relax, eat and drink all you want and have a good time. Thanks again for coming."

After consuming the rest of my champagne I went and got a plate full of food. I figured I’d better eat something before all the booze I'd been drinking got the best of me. As I was eating my niece, Alice, approached me. An attractive brunette, sharp as a pick, she was a clone of her mother.

"Hi, Uncle Stan," she said. "Great party."

"I'm glad you could come. Where's your mother?"

"She wasn't feeling well. She said to tell you she was sorry she couldn’t make it."

"Oh, that's too bad," I said.

"So where did you hide my cousins tonight?" Alice asked.

"They're with Rebekah's mom. I didn't figure they could sleep with all the noise. Besides, Rebekah didn't need any distractions."

"I guess not."

"So how's school?" I asked. Alice was attending ASU, a small but prestigious liberal arts college in Sherman, Texas. She was majoring in education hoping to become a grammar school teacher.

"Not too bad, I guess. Once I get through finals and have a little time off."

The doorbell interrupted our conversation. Rebekah opened the door and Bobby Wiggins stepped in with his wife, Marleen, at his heals. He let out a big "HO HO HO, it’s Santa Claus." Everyone turned and smiled at the two familiar faces. I excused myself to greet them.

Bobby Wiggins, a local CPA, was one of my best friends. Although he was not Santa Claus, he had a heart as big as old St. Nick's and everybody loved him. I had met him at an estate planning seminar a year earlier and was amazed when he told me about all the charitable activities in which he was involved. He put me to shame as I found little time to do anything but work.

"Hi, Bobby. . . . Marleen. Glad you could make it," I said.

"Wouldn't of missed it for the world," he said as he surveyed the crowded room. "Look at all these people. I didn’t think you had this many clients."

"Well, they’re not all clients. Some are family and friends."

"I just hope they didn’t drink up all the good liquor."

I laughed. "No, I don’t think so. You know where the bar is. Help yourself."

As Bobby and Marleen headed for the bar, a parade of carolers filed in and formed a half circle in front of the fireplace. They began to sing and before long many in the crowd had joined in. While everyone was being entertained I succumbed to the lure of the luscious deserts Rebekah had prepared. I loaded my plate with Christmas cookies, tarts, strawberry bread and fudge. I heard laughter in the den so I headed that way to see what was happening. Bobby Wiggins was seated in a captain's chair with a mutual client, a stripper named Joanna Winburn, sitting in his lap. He was pretending to be Santa Claus and Joanna was telling him what she wanted for Christmas. It was an amusing sight but not one I thought Marleen would appreciate. I scanned the room and was relieved that she wasn’t watching.

Several other women were lined up to tell the would-be Santa what they wanted for Christmas too. I hadn't told Rebekah about Joanna as it would have upset her to no end. I got the feeling Bobby hadn't told Marleen about our mutual client either. Later on, when the women had left, I went to see if Bobby was having a good time.

"You're a popular guy," I said.

"Yes, it seems so. You know woman, they love a man who can make their dreams come true," he said shaking his head. He had that dreamy look in his eyes that women loved. "If only I were Santa Claus. Think of the possibilities."

"Think of the mayhem had Marleen seen you with a stripper in your lap. What were you thinking? You better slow down on the booze. It was a good thing she was occupied with the carolers."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "Ah, yes. Thanks for providing the diversion."

"No problem." I said shaking my head and smiling. "Now behave yourself."

"I will."

As I turned to leave Bobby put his hand on my shoulder. I looked back at him. His demeanor had changed. He looked worried.

"What?" I said.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure, you want to go somewhere private?"

He shook his head. "No. No. Not now. I'll call you Monday and set up an appointment."

"You sure, I don’t mind taking a minute now."

"No, you’ve got guests. We’ll do it later."

As we were talking Marleen walked up with a fresh drink for Bobby. We talked a minute longer and then I excused myself to go mingle with the other guests. About twenty minutes later I was talking to Tex when there was a loud crackling sound and the lights on one side of the house went out. The singing came to an abrupt halt and people began talking excitedly.

"Oh, God," I said. "Not again."

"Didn’t you pay your light bill?" Tex joked.

I laughed. "I don't know, maybe not."

In the nightstand by my bed I kept a flashlight so I immediately went there to retrieve it. With the flashlight in hand I headed for the garage to check the circuit breakers. Rebekah had already located several candles and was placing them strategically throughout the darkened portion of the house. The garage was pitch black. With the flashlight I found the circuit breaker box. One of the switches had been thrown but not the usual one. That surprised me. I flipped it and the lights came back on to cheers and laughter. Just as I was about to close the box I heard a scream in the house.

Quickly I ran back inside, through the kitchen and into the dining room where I believed the sound had emanated. A crowd of people was standing at the front door which was wide open. After squeezing through to the front of the crowd I was stunned by the sight of Bobby flat on his back in the flowerbed with Marleen slapping his cheeks frantically trying to get him to wake up. He was lying on a string of broken Christmas lights in a puddle of water. The pungent odor of burnt flesh hung in the air.

"Oh my, God!" I said and ran over to her. "What happened?"

"He slipped on the ice and fell into the bushes! You've got to do something, Stan."

Bobby's face was blue and he wasn't breathing. "Rebekah!" I yelled. She was a nurse, she'd know what to do.

Rebekah came running out the door and gasped at the sight of Bobby lying lifeless on the icy ground. Without hesitating she started barking orders. "Stand clear, get some blankets, I'll need a pillow, . . . somebody call an ambulance."

She immediately began trying to revive him, pressing firmly on his chest trying to get his heart to beat, breathing into his mouth to force air into his lungs. But there was no response.

The wailing sound of an ambulance could be heard from the fire station less than a mile away. Rebekah kept pounding on his chest and breathing into his mouth. We all stood by and watched, praying for a miracle. The sirens grew louder and louder and finally an ambulance made its turn into the cul de sac. A fire truck followed closely behind.

The paramedics attempted unsuccessfully to revive Bobby on the spot. Getting no response they loaded him on a stretcher and put him in the ambulance. Marleen climbed in and the ambulance rushed off to the hospital.

Several of the firemen were milling around in front of the house talking to our guests. By this time Rebekah had latched onto my arm and was crying. I put my arm around her and tried to comfort her but there was little I could say. One of the firemen approached us.

"Is this your home?" he said.

"Yes, we were just having a Christmas Party," I said. "I can't believe this happened."

"What exactly did happen?"

After telling him everything we knew he went back to his truck and called in on his radio. In a few minutes a police car and a fire investigator arrived. We repeated our story to them and then called the hospital to see if there was any word on Bobby. They didn't have any information but Tex called a few minutes later.

"He didn't make it," Tex said. "I followed the ambulance to the hospital and waited in the emergency room. They tried like hell to revive him but it was no use."

"Oh God, I can't believe this," I said. "Poor Bobby. Why did this have to happen?"

"I don't know, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, does it?"

"I’ll never put up Christmas lights again. I never dreamed something like this could happen."

Rebekah was crying incessantly so I took her into the bedroom where she could lie down. After getting her settled I went back into the den. Most of our guests had left by that time but a few of them had stayed to see if we needed anything. One of them was General Burton.

"Stan, you've got the worst luck of any man I know. This was bizarre."

"I know. I'm just sick. Poor Rebekah worked so hard to make this party a success and look what happened."

The door opened and the fire inspector walked in followed by a police detective named Paul Delacroix. They conferred a few moments and then the investigator approached us. The detective went back outside.

"Mr. Turner," the investigator said.

"Yes."

"The Coroner's office has just completed a preliminary inspection of the body. It appears that Mr. Wiggins died of a massive coronary."

"He wasn’t electrocuted?"

"No, the circuit breaker prevented that."

"Huh. . . . A coronary? I didn't know he had heart problems." I said.

"He didn't but apparently the trauma of the fall induced the heart attack."

"Oh Jesus," I said. "What a horrible thing to happen."

"I notice there isn’t any sand on the sidewalk?"

"Sand?"

"Yes, sand or rock salt."

"No, I didn’t realize it had iced over. It never occurred to me. . . . Oh, God. I feel so terrible."

Terrible wasn’t the half of it. My stomach felt like I’d ridden a roller coaster one too many times. The door opened and Detective Delacroix came back in and walked over to us.

"Well, we've done all we can here. We've interviewed most of your guests. You better call your insurance agent tomorrow," he said. "I'm sure they'll be a claim."

"How's that?" General Burton asked.

"Negligence. Mr. Turner had all these guests here and he never even bothered to sand his walkway. Some hot shot attorney's gonna have a field day with this one."

He was right. I hadn't anticipated an ice storm. They were rare in Texas. We had no sand to put down over the ice or salt crystals to melt it off. I just never gave it any thought.

"I just didn’t realize the walkway had iced over. Damn it!"

Detective Delacroix shrugged and walked away. Fortunately, I did have insurance. My homeowners policy plus a million dollar general liability policy at the office. So if a judge or jury tried to blame me for Bobby’s death the insurance company would have to defend me. Then I wondered, had I paid the premiums? The homeowners policy wasn’t a problem. The mortgage company paid that bill every year. The general liability policy was another story. I tried to rack my brain to remember. It seemed eons since I had paid the bill last.

The next morning I went to the office early and pulled the insurance file. The policy in the file was expired but that didn't necessarily mean anything. It should have automatically renewed. Sometimes new policies don't come in for weeks after their issue date. I searched through the checkbook but found nothing to North Texas Insurance Agency within the last year. At 9 o'clock I called their offices. A lady put me on hold as she went to fetch my file.

"I'm sorry Mr. Turner but that policy has lapsed."

"Lapsed! But I don't remember getting a premium statement."

"Well I have a copy of the certified letter advising you of the policy’s termination. . . . Oh, my word."

"What?"

"No one picked up the certified mail. You should always pickup your certified mail."

"I always do. . . . Oh, shit. You don't have my new address, do you?"

"Well, not if you didn't give it to us."

The law is a jealous mistress. I heard that a lot in law school but I didn't fully appreciate what it meant until I started my own law practice. It seemed every week I was working a little harder and, even though I was getting more efficient all the time, there were never enough hours in the day to get done all that I felt needed to be accomplished.

Even if it were eight or nine o'clock, I never felt good about going home. There was always that nagging feeling that I should complete one more task before I left. Often times the only way I could drag myself away from the office was to fill my briefcase full of files with the intention of working on them at home. I thought by being a sole practitioner I could set my own hours and have a life away from the office. Boy was I wrong about that. Responsibility is a merciless task master. Rebekah hated me to work at home and would try diligently to keep me from opening my briefcase. Between her and four attention-craving children she was usually successful. As the night wore on I would usually forget about work as I became absorbed in my second job as a husband and a father.

It was nearly eight-thirty when I arrived home from the office. Rebekah was in the family room watching TV. She had learned to accept the fact that I was a workaholic but she made it abundantly clear she didn't like it.

"Well, who are you? I don't recognize you," she said.

"Very funny."

"What in the hell have you been doing? Do you have a girlfriend or something? I never see you anymore."

"Hey, I had a tough day. Give me a break. I had to get ready for a hearing first thing tomorrow morning. Some asshole attorney served me with a motion to dissolve a writ of garnishment at 4:55 p.m. I've got a hearing on it at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. Can you believe that shit?"

"Can they do that?"

"They're supposed to give me three days notice, but some attorneys are so damn arrogant they don't give a shit about ethics, let alone common decency."

Marcia came running into the family room. Her big brown eyes lit up when she saw me.

"Daddy!"

"Hi, honey."

She ran over and jumped into my lap. I smiled and gave her a hug. I had always wanted a daughter but after our third son was born in 1975 Rebekah and I almost gave up. As I stroked her long silky black hair, I thanked God we hadn't.

"What did you do today, baby doll?" I asked.

"I colored and played with my dolls."

Rebekah gave Marcia a stern look and said, "What else did you do, little girl?"

Marcia looked at her mother and then lowered her head. "Nothing," she said.

"Un huh," Rebekah said. "I found her playing with Mark's train set."

"Really. Hmm," I said. "You know you're not supposed to do that. You're too young to be playing with something electrical. It's very dangerous."

The thought of another accident in our home was horrifying. Within days of Bobby's death we had purchased every safety gadget we could find to protect our children from the numerous hazards existing around the house. We spent hours instructing them on each of these perils and how to deal with any emergency that might arise. We weren't about to have another death at the Turner house.

"Not to mention the train doesn't belong to her," Rebekah said.

"I'm sorry," she said as she slid off my lap and ran off. I picked up the newspaper and began reading it. Rebekah looked at me and shook her head.

"Well, do you want to eat or did your girlfriend feed you?"

I dropped the newspaper, smiled and replied, "Yes, I'm starving. My girlfriend doesn't cook."

"Yeah, she doesn't wash clothes either. Too bad, I could use the help," Rebekah said. She got up and walked into the kitchen. I read a few minutes and then joined her. Just as I sat down at the table the telephone rang. Rebekah took a deep breath and then reluctantly got up and answered it. It was for me. She frowned, handed me the phone and then went back to warming up my dinner.

"Mr. Turner. This is Tom Winters. I was referred to you by your niece, Alice. My daughter and her are neighbors up at ASU."

"Oh, really? What can I do for you?"

"It's my daughter, she . . . she . . . well, it's a long story, but she's in serious trouble."

"What happened?"

"I don't know where to start. . . . Oh, God, I can't believe this is happening."

"Just take it slow. Start from the beginning."

"I got a call last night, after midnight. It was my daughter's boyfriend, Greg. He told me Sarah was in the hospital."

"Sarah's your daughter?"

"Right."

"Okay, what happened to her?"

"They say she had a baby. I didn't even know she was pregnant for godsakes."

"Really?"

"But that's not the problem."

"Oh."

"No, they found a baby in a dumpster a mile or so from her apartment. They say it belonged to Sarah. I'm afraid they're going to arrest her."

A chill radiated down my spine. I picked up the base of the phone, put it on the kitchen table and sat down.

"Gee, Mr. Winters, I'm so sorry. What a jolt that must of been."

"You don't know what we've been going through."

"I can imagine. So what does Sarah have to say about this?"

"She doesn't remember anything."

"Really? Huh. Well, who claims she was the mother?"

"Dr. Estaban, the doctor from the emergency room."

"Do you have any reason to doubt him?"

"No. He wouldn't have any reason to lie. But I believe my daughter. I really don't think she remembers what happened. She must have amnesia or something."

"This is pretty bizarre," I said.

"I know it's going to take a while to sort this out, but right now I'm worried about the police trying to talk to her without an attorney. You know how they can intimidate people and get them to admit to just about anything."

"You're right, she does need a good criminal attorney. Unfortunately, I don't practice criminal law."

"You don't? I don't understand. Alice has told us such wonderful stories about you. She said you've already solved several murders."

"Well, that was an aberration, I'm afraid. I'll be honest with you. I don't like criminal law much and I barely passed the criminal law courses I took in law school. I'm a civil attorney."

"I just don't want my daughter to go to jail."

"I don't either. You need an experienced criminal lawyer. I'd recommend Harry Hertel. He was my criminal procedure professor at SMU. He has a private practice. All he does is criminal cases and he's really good at it, I understand."

"I don't want him, I want you."

"But why? I told you I'm not a criminal attorney. I’ve never actually tried a criminal case."

"It's just a feeling. It's not easy to explain. You see most of my life I've been a worthless drunk wandering from city to city wallowing in my own self pity. Several years ago I found Christ and my life took a drastic turn for the better. I've learned now to trust God and to look for his guidance. When this nightmare first began your niece suggested I call you. She told me all about you and all the problems you’ve overcome. You’re a street fighter, you don’t give up and that’s the kind of lawyer I need for Sarah."

"A street fighter?"

"Yeah. You’ll do whatever it takes to win. Anyway, the more she talked about you the more I knew you were the attorney Sarah needed. I believe the Lord has guided me to you, Mr. Turner."

"Well, I'm flattered, Mr. Winters, but I'm afraid Alice is prejudiced being my niece and everything. I'm not a miracle worker. Sarah's defense will not be easy. She needs a seasoned criminal attorney if she's to have any chance of getting acquitted."

"Will you at least think about it? I'd really like you to talk to her before you make a definite decision."

I took a deep breath. Why was it so difficult for people to understand English? Obviously I wasn't the right person to handle this case yet there was apparently nothing I could say to convince Tom Winters of that fact. Could it be true that the Lord had directed Mr. Winters to me? Somehow I doubted that, but what if it were true? Perhaps I shouldn't act so hastily. It wouldn't hurt to talk to Sarah.

"Well, I can't promise you anything, but I'll talk to your daughter. If she can convince me she's innocent then I might consider taking the case, if you'll let Snake be second chair."

"Snake?"

"Yeah, that's Harry's nickname, Harry Hertel. Some guys at the DA's office started calling him Snake and after awhile the name stuck. I've never actually seen him try a case but from what I understand, he's the best."

"Okay, that's fine. Can you come up right away? The cops have been trying to get in to question Sarah all day. So far the doctor has protected her but I'm afraid tomorrow she'll have to talk to them."

"What hospital is she in?"

"Bright Methodist in Sherman."

"Just tell her not to say anything to the police. She doesn't have to talk to them. I'll try to get up there tomorrow."

"Oh, thank you Mr. Turner. You don't know how much better I feel. I just know you're the right attorney for Sarah."

"Well, I haven't taken the case yet, but even if I do; it sounds like we've got one hell of a battle on our hands."

"I know, but I still feel better."

"You won't feel so good when we start talking about fees."

"What do you think it will cost?"

"You'd be extremely lucky to walk away for $25,000. It'll probably cost more than that. How much more depends on how complicated it gets and I have no way of predicting that."

"Jesus, that much," Tom said.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Your daughter is in very serious trouble and if she's innocent we've got to do everything possible to prove it. Justice doesn't come cheap."

"I don't know exactly where I'll get that kind of money, but somehow I'll raise it. Don't you worry."

"Well think about it. She could get a court appointed attorney for nothing probably, since she’s in school."

"I don't want that. I'll get the money."

"Alright, I'll drive up tomorrow afternoon and meet you at the hospital around three."

I hung up the phone, looked at Rebekah and said, "Did you hear that?"

"Well, I heard something about a baby being killed," Rebekah said.

"Yeah, this guy's daughter is suspected of killing her baby."

"Oh my God! Are you're going to defend her?"

"Well, I don't know yet."

"What if she did it?"

"What if she didn't do it?"

"I don't know, I don't like the idea of you representing a murderer."

"Wait a minute, what happened to the presumption of innocence?" I said. "This is America, remember?"

"I know, but she probably did it. Who else would do it?"

"I'm usually pretty good at reading people, so hopefully after I meet her I'll be able to tell if she's telling the truth or not."

"I don't know, honey, what if you’re wrong? Can you imagine what people will think of you if it turns out she did it?"

"I don’t care what people think. Anyway, I may not take the case. Who knows?"

The next morning I went to work at six since I was going to be in court all morning and had to go to Sherman in the afternoon. There were some things I had to handle that I felt just couldn't wait until the following day. When Jodie arrived fifteen minutes late she was shocked to see me already hard at work.

"Good morning," Jodie said. "I am sorry I'm late but Rodney was almost out of gas. We had to stop off at the filing station."

"Oh, no big deal. So how is Rodney these days?"

"A pain in the ass as usual."

"Typical male, huh?"

Jodie shook her head in disgust. "He just makes me so mad sometimes. I wish he'd grow up and act like a man instead of a teenager."

"He is a teenager," I noted.

"I know, but-"

"If you don't get along why don't you dump him? You're an attractive girl, I am sure you could find someone more mature without much trouble."

"Probably, but I've got this problem."

"What's that?'

"I love him."

"Oh, well then, I guess you better see if you can work out your problems."

"We'll work them out. We always do," Jodie said. "So what are you doing here so early?"

"I've got a nine o'clock hearing. Then I've got to go to Sherman this afternoon to talk to a client. So I thought I better get started early this morning."

"What hearing? There's nothing on your calendar."

"A delivery came in just after you left last night."

"Oh, you're kidding?"

"No, I wish I were."

"Do you need me to do anything for the hearing?"

"No, I stayed late last night to prepare for it. Rebekah wasn't too happy but I didn't have much choice."

"So why do you have to go to Sherman?"

"To talk to a potential client. A young girl who is about to be charged with murdering her baby."

"What?!"

"They found the baby in a dumpster a mile or so from her apartment."

"Oh my God. Why didn't she just get an abortion?"

"I don't know, but that's a good question. I'll ask her that this afternoon."

"Do you need some coffee?"

"Yes, I could use a cup. Thank you."

Jodie nodded and left the room. She was only nineteen years old and I had taken a chance in hiring her without any experience. After practicing law a year without a secretary I finally decided to take the plunge and hire one. Unfortunately experienced legal secretaries were demanding far more than I could afford to pay so I decided to look for talent and potential rather than experience. Jodie was smart, ambitious and wanted someday to be a paralegal. She had a great attitude and didn't cringe at the meager salary I was offering. She had turned out to be an excellent secretary and I felt fortunate to have her around. She soon returned with the coffee and sat down.

"How are you going to defend her?"

"Defend who?"

"The baby killer."

"Oh, Sarah Winters."

"Is that her name?"

"Yeah, I don't know yet. I’m not sure I’ll even take the case. I've got to find out more about what happened before I decide. If I do take it, I thought I'd get Snake to help me."

"Snake?"

"Harry Hertel, my criminal law professor. I’ve told you about him."

She nodded. "Right. Why do you need him?"

"Just an insurance policy in case I get over my head."

"You've never worked with him before, have you?"

"No, not really," I said.

"I don't know if I would want to work with a guy named Snake."

"That's a good point, but as long as he's on my side it should be okay."

"Man who plays with snakes may get bit," Jodie said.

I laughed. "Where did you hear that?"

"I think it was from a fortune cookie I got one time."

I shook my head. "Oh well, thank you for that little bit of wisdom. I'll be careful."

"Have you called him yet?"

Before I could answer her the phone rang. Jodie picked it up and had a brief conversation with the caller.

"That was Rebekah. She said you needed to turn on Channel 12. There's a report on your client coming up."

"Possible client," I said. "Let's go to the conference room and see what Channel 12 has to say about Sarah." Once in the conference room, Jodie turned on the television set and we waited for the commercial to end.

"This is Beverly Blake with a special Channel 12 Report. Everyday we read about atrocities that are occurring all over the globe. Whether it's terrorism in the middle east, religious warfare in Ireland, mass murders in Cambodia or guerilla warfare in Latin America we are often outraged by the heinous acts that are committed by our fellow human beings in distant lands. Well tonight I'm sad to report that right here in Sherman, Texas we have our own local atrocities.

"Police early this morning found a newborn girl in a grocery store dumpster and the charred remains of a second child in a shallow grave near Baker Road in southeast Sherman. The first baby girl was wrapped in a plastic garbage bag and discarded with common trash. The killer of the other infant apparently tried unsuccessfully to burn the child to get rid of its remains but ended up burying it in a wooded area. The body was found when local dogs were attracted to the scent of the decaying body. There is no apparent connection between the murders other than the common motive behind the killings, the resolution an untimely pregnancy.

"The alleged mother of the first child, Sarah Winters, claims she has no memory of the delivery. Doctors at Bright Methodist Hospital who examined Miss Winters early this morning advised the media today that she had definitely delivered a child within the last 24 hours. Blood tests have been ordered to determine if Sarah Winters is indeed the mother of the child. Doctors at the hospital say that the baby girl was born premature and weighed only about three pounds. They estimate that the mother was about eight months along when she delivered the baby Tuesday night.

"Lt. Bernie Meadows of the Sherman Police, when asked if Sarah Winters was a suspect in the killing, stated that she headed the list of several suspects. He would not comment on when an arrest would be made or if he the DA was planning to take the case to the Grand Jury.

"Police have no suspects in the death of the second baby but are hopeful they will get some clues when the autopsy is finished later today. Anyone who might have seen anything unusual in the last twenty-four hours in the Baker Street area are urged to contact police.

"Lt. Meadows told me privately that he was appalled by these ruthless murders. He vowed not to rest until the killers have been brought to justice.

"We'll have more on these two investigations on the noon news later today. For Channel 12 News this is Beverly Blake reporting."

Jodie shut off the TV and looked at me. She shuddered. "I can't believe somebody tried to incinerate their child."

"I'm sure glad I'm not defending that mother," I said.

"I can't believe you're considering defending Sarah Winters. Don't you think she must be guilty?"

"Well, she doesn't remember anything. That's not good."

"How could she not remember anything?" Jodie asked.

"Post traumatic amnesia. It's not unusual at all."

Jodie shook her head. "Still, who else could have done it?

"Well, I don't know but the story said there were other suspects, right?"

"Right. I wonder why she didn't call an ambulance and go to the hospital."

"I don't know. She was hiding her pregnancy from her parents apparently. I'm sure that was part of the problem. She hadn't seen a doctor so she may not have known the symptoms of labor."

"I don’t buy that," Jodie said.

"I know, but there must be some explanation. I doubt Sarah's a complete idiot. She must of had a plan to deal with the situation. I just hope she'll tell me what it was."

That afternoon I drove up Highway 75 to Sherman. At the information desk at Bright Methodist Hospital I said, "I'm here to see Sarah Winters, I'm supposed to meet with her and her father, Tom Winters."

"Oh yes, he's in the waiting room. Just go down the hall, it's the last door on the right."

I went down the hall and entered the waiting room. A tall, dark headed man got up immediately and extended his hand.

"You must be Stan Turner."

"Yes, and you must be Tom Winters."

"Right, I want to thank you for driving up here to see Sarah."

"No problem."

Tom pointed to Joyce and said, "This is my wife, Joyce, and Sarah's stepmother."

"Nice to meet you. How is Sarah doing today?" I asked.

"She seems fine, however, she won't talk about the baby. She still doesn't remember anything."

"Have the police tried to talk to her?"

"Yes, and we did what you said. We told them she wouldn't talk to them without her attorney present."

"Good, can I go see her now?"

"Yes, I told her you would be in to see her at 1:30," Tom said.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Stan, Joyce and Tom got up and walked down the hallway to Sarah's room. They knocked on the door several times. Getting no response, they entered. Sarah was staring out the window.

"Sarah," Tom said. "Stan Turner, the attorney I told you about, is here to see you."

Sarah looked over at me without changing her somber expression. She had a pretty face with dark brown cautious eyes. Her dirty blond hair had lost most of its curl and a lock hung down partially covering one eye. Her face was a little pudgy like you often see with pregnant women and her stomach was still swollen from the recent childbirth.

"Hi, Miss Winters. How are you feeling?" I asked.

Sarah replied, "Okay."

"I understand you've had a tough couple of days. I'm very sorry to hear about your baby.

She turned toward the window and began to stare again.

"I know it must be very difficult to talk about this, but it's important that I know everything that happened the other night. The District Attorney may try to bring charges against you because of the death of your child. If he does, I need to know what happened so I can defend you.

Sarah continued to stare out the window showing no emotion. I looked at Tom and Joyce and said, "Why don't you let Sarah and me talk alone. Whatever she tells me is protected by the attorney-client privilege but if you're there it might be waived."

"Sure," Tom said. "Come on Joyce, let's go back to the waiting room."

After Tom and Joyce were gone, I tried again to strike up a conversation.

"So what's your major here as ASU?"

Sarah turned and looked at me intently. Then she scanned the room. I guess she wanted to be sure no one was listening.

"Journalism."

"Oh really, that sounds pretty interesting," I said. "Do you want to be a reporter?"

"I'd like to get into television. I'm not sure exactly what I want to do yet, but I think that would a good career."

"How did you get interested in television?"

"My dad took me to the NBC studios in LA one time. It was really a cool place. We got to watch several shows being taped. Ever since that time I've wanted to go into television."

"I see. Well, the way the television industry is growing you shouldn't have any problem finding a job."

"I hope not."

"I understand you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes, Greg Peterson. He lives in Richardson."

"How did you and Greg meet?"

"Mutual friends introduced us."

"Oh, I see. Are you serious?"

"We like each other a lot."

"It must be tough with Greg in Richardson and you up here in Sherman."

"Uh huh, but we call each other almost every day. On the weekend Greg usually comes up and stays with me in my apartment."

"You understand that everything you tell me is confidential, don't you?"

"Uh huh."

"I know you'd rather not talk about it, but I've got to find out what happened Tuesday night. Can we talk about that?"

"You can't tell anyone what I tell you, right, not even my dad and stepmother?"

"No, everything you tell me is strictly confidential."

"Well, I don't remember very much, I wish I did. I'll tell you what I do remember, but I don't think it will help."

"That's okay, just tell me what you know."

"Where should I start?"

"Your Dad tells me you didn't tell them you were pregnant. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you want them to know?"

She sighed. "My stepmother would have gone ballistic. I just didn't want to deal with that. I thought I'd have the baby and then give it up for adoption without anyone knowing that I had even been pregnant."

"That would have been a little difficult to pull off don't you think? Don't your parents come to visit you?"

"No, they're too busy with Nathan."

"Nathan?"

"My step-brother. He's a big football jock at Arizona."

"I see. What about your mother? Do you ever see her?"

"My Mom died when I was a baby. I've had three stepmothers since then and none of them have cared much about me."

Sarah’s motherless life brought back the haunting memory of Rebekah’s arrest and how close my own children came to losing their mother. "I’m sorry. . . . How did you find out you were pregnant?"

"I felt the baby kicking."

"You didn't go to a doctor?"

"My Dad is a Christian Scientist now. He doesn't believe in doctors. I'm not allowed to go to them, or learn about health or anything."

I shook my head. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, in high school whenever the class studied health all the Christian Scientists were excused."

"How long have you and Greg been together?"

"Four months now."

"The doctors say you were eight months pregnant when the baby was born, did you know that?"

"No, I wasn't sure when it was due."

"What were you planning to do when the baby came?" I asked.

"Deliver it myself."

"You're kidding?"

"No, women have been doing that for centuries. I have a book."

"You were going to do it by yourself?"

"Greg was gonna help."

"What happened? Why didn't you call him."

"I don't know. I didn't realize I was in labor. It was too early."

"But you said you didn’t know when it was due?"

"Well, not exactly, but I had an idea."

I wondered if Sarah was telling me the truth. Her story seemed a little rehearsed. "So what happened?"

"I was feeling horrible. I thought I had eaten something bad. After Michelle left I went to sleep and that's all I remember."

"You don't remember the delivery?"

"No. I was sick, . . . but that's all I remember."

"So if you knew Greg for only four months he couldn't be the father, right?"

"Right."

"So who do you think was the father?"

"Ricky, I guess."

"Who is Ricky?"

"Richard Stein, he was my boyfriend before Greg."

"Is he the only other man you've had sex with in the last year?"

Sarah thought a moment."Uh huh."

"You’re sure?" I said.

"Yes, that's all."

By this time an unsettled feeling had come over me. I had so many tough questions to ask Sarah but I knew if I wasn't very delicate and tactful she'd clam up on me.

"What made you end your relationship with Ricky?"

"He was into drugs and had a hot temper. One night he was stoned and beat me up."

"Is that right?"

"Uh huh."

"I don't suppose you reported it to the police, did you?"

"No. I didn't want anyone to know."

"Did you ever do drugs?"

"Once or twice, but nothing heavy."

"When's the last time you've been on any drugs?"

"I haven't taken any since Ricky left. I wouldn't know where to get them."

"Does Greg do drugs?"

"No, he's straight as an arrow. He even goes to church."

"You know, not too many people are going to believe that you can't remember delivering your baby. You understand it's kind of hard to swallow."

Sarah began to choke up. "I'm telling the truth. I don't remember anything! I wish I could remember something, believe me. Michelle shouldn't have taken me to the hospital, damn her! This whole thing has been a nightmare."

Sarah began to cry harder. I looked around awkwardly and then went over to her and put my arm around her.

"Okay, okay. Calm down. I don't think you killed her. I'm not sure why, but I believe you."

"I'm telling the truth, Mr. Turner. I don't remember anything."

"Okay, Don't worry, we'll get you through this somehow. I don't know how exactly, but we'll figure something out. Just don't cry. It will be alright."

Sarah looked up, then she put her arms around me and wept on my shoulder. After she had regained her composure I left and went back to the waiting room. Tom was sitting on the sofa waiting anxiously. Joyce was on the telephone talking to someone.

"Stan, how did it go?" Tom asked.

"Okay, I guess. She says she’s sticking to her story that she doesn't remember anything. After talking with her I don't feel like she's the type who would murder her own child. But, I don't know. Just conveniently forgetting what happened is not going to hold water very long. If she does remember but doesn't want to admit it, we're going to have a tough time defending her. She's going to have to level with me. I need to know the truth. If she really doesn't remember, then we may never know what happened."

"She would never kill her own child. She's a wonderful girl, Stan. You've got to believe me," Tom said.

"Did she tell you why she didn't tell us she was pregnant?" Joyce asked.

"I can't really go into anything she said."

"I understand. Will you take the case?" Tom asked.

I hesitated and then replied. "Well, I do believe she's innocent. I don't have any evidence to prove it, but my gut feeling tells me she is." I looked at Joyce and continued, "Judging from the look on your wife's face, you and I may be the only two people in North Texas who feel that way. Despite what the law says, there's going to be a presumption of guilt here, Mr. Winters. I'm sorry to tell you, but that's the way it's going to be."

"You didn't answer my question. Will you take the case?"

I hesitated again wanting so desperately to say no, no way would I touch this case. The words, however, wouldn't come out. I kept seeing Sarah's sad, desperate face. How could I refuse her pleas for help. A motherless child with a drunk of a father, how she had made it to college was a miracle in itself. She deserved a break.

"I suppose I will, I guess, if you still want me to after what I've told you. I hope she's telling the truth, though." God, I hope she's telling the truth!

"I understand you don't have a lot of experience, but you believe Sarah's innocent and that's what's important," Tom said.

"How much will it cost?" Joyce asked.

"A lot," I replied as I began to contemplate what kind of retainer I would need. With Snake involved I knew I'd have to get a substantial retainer or he wouldn't want to get involved. "This is going to be a pretty complicated case and there are a lot of unanswered questions. I'll only take on the case if you all are prepared to do whatever it takes to win. I hate to lose."

"That's what we want," Tom said.

"Good then you'll need to come by my office tomorrow to sign a fee agreement and bring me a $10,000 retainer."

"You need $10,000 tomorrow?" Tom gasped.

"Yes, because it's easy to say you're committed to the cost of the lawsuit, but I can't pay my bills with commitment, my creditors only take cash."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do," Tom said.

"Good, I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Right."

I got up and walked out of the waiting room. As I started down the long corridor I realized I hadn't given Tom my card so he'd know where my office was located. Quickly I did an about face and walked back to the waiting room. As I approached, I heard voices arguing so I stopped at the door not wanting to intrude. I couldn't help but overhear the heated discussion.

"Where do you think you're going to find $10,000?" Joyce said. "We can't afford that kind of money to defend Sarah. Just let the state appoint her an attorney. We don't have any obligation to pay for one."

"No, the Lord led me to Mr. Turner for a reason. I know he's the right man to protect Sarah."

"I’m sure the attorneys in the public defender's office are quite competent. It's just plain stupid for us to spend our life savings and maybe go into debt to hire an attorney when Sarah could get one free."

"I'm not arguing with you," Tom said. I'm hiring Stan Turner whether you like it or not. Somehow we'll find the money to pay him. I'll go to the bank tomorrow and get a loan. We've just got to know the truth. God will help us through this somehow."

"This is so stupid. We could spend $50,000 on this trial. We’re already paying a mint for Sarah to go to college."

"Okay, just shut up! Shut the hell up! I don't want to talk about it anymore. If it was Nate facing a murder charge you wouldn't mind coughing up fifty grand."

"That's different," Joyce replied.

Tom looked at Joyce. "How is it different?"

"Nate’s got a future. He's going to the NFL. Someday he'll be a superstar."

"So, Sarah might end up being the damn President."

"Yeah right, Sarah has always been a loser, I mean she's got to be pretty damn sick to kill her own baby!"

Tom glared at Joyce. His face began to turn red with rage. "If you would have been a decent mother, you'd of taught her a few things about sex and being a woman so this wouldn't have happened!"

"Oh. Don't you dare blame this on me!" Joyce said as she began to cry.

Joyce and Tom's argument was becoming so loud the charge nurse had taken notice and was walking toward the waiting room. I decided it was time to make my exit. Jodie could call Tom and give him the office address in the morning.

A sudden rush of guilt overcame me as I walked down the corridor contemplating the argument I had inadvertently overheard. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money and I knew from experience how difficult it was to fund a murder defense. Perhaps I shouldn't have insisted on such a big retainer. I knew if Snake hadn't of been involved I would have settled for a lot less. Sure, that would have been risky but I wouldn't have felt so much like a vulture feeding on my client's misfortune.