Ellie shuffled into the room on crutches, her leg and foot in a cast still. She wore paper jail slippers and a baggy orange jumpsuit with large white letters that read “Inmate.”
Maggie looked away as Ellie’s father grabbed her in a bear hug. She stuck a piece of spearmint gum in her mouth, hoping the taste would overpower the smell of sweat and dirty feet that permeated the jail. A judge had bound the girls over for trial and had held them without bail. Ellie was going to be in jail for a long time. The trial wasn’t for another six months.
A jail guard cleared his throat. “Sir, no touching the inmates. No contact is allowed.”
“She’s my daughter, goddamn it,” Hatton growled.
Hatton’s attorney touched his elbow. The defense attorney was an older man with silver hair and a suit and tie that matched his hair. He’d flown in from Los Angeles that morning.
The men sat down on either side of Ellie.
This was an informal meeting at the jail. From what Maggie understood it was a scare tactic, a way to try to convince the Hatton’s to plead guilty before the trial. Jordan didn’t want to have to put Charlie on the stand.
Maggie and Jordan waited until everyone was seated before they pulled up chairs opposite Hatton and Ellie.
Maggie studied the girl. Her hair was greasy. Her chin and nose were covered with angry pimples. She wore big black glasses instead of contacts. Her skin looked sallow, like she had jaundice.
Orange was not her color.
They’d had to borrow the orange jumpsuits from juvenile hall in Delano, a city nearly thirty minutes away. They’d cleared out an entire section of the jail just for the two girls.
Hatton cleared his throat. “This is a mistake. A waste of time. You will all regret every single thing you’ve done. There’s no case against my daughter. Circumstantial evidence. She didn’t do it and there is no evidence suggesting otherwise.”
“If she doesn’t want to plead guilty, we are prepared to let a jury decide that,” Jordan said.
The word “jury” made Hatton shake his head. The case would be the first time in California that a twelve-year-old was tried as an adult. The law had only been passed six months ago.
Hatton shot a look at his attorney. “I thought we were meeting to discuss a plea agreement. Ellie’s testimony against Sienna Clarke in exchange for immunity.”
Jordan raised his eyebrows. “Not sure where you got that impression, or that information. So, no, we are not here to offer a new plea agreement. The one we’ve offered stands. Ellie pleads guilty to attempted murder, serves out three years in the youth authority and then is on probation for the next seven years.”
Steve Hatton scowled. “That’s not a bargain. That’s blackmail. I don’t want my daughter to spend a day in youth authority custody. I want her out now.”
The defense attorney tugged at his collar. “I thought …”
“You thought wrong,” Jordan cut him off. “In addition, we are going to bring additional charges against your client—conspiracy to commit murder.”
Hatton’s face grew red. Ellie looked at her dad with wide eyes. She seemed to be trying awfully hard to squeeze out a few tears and kept shooting glances at her father to see if he was looking. He had barely looked at her since he walked in the room.
“What about the Clamper?” Hatton sputtered. “Ellie can testify about him. Right, honey?”
Ellie nodded.
“That’s off the table now,” Jordan said. “Charlie Dawson’s memory is returning. Another reason you might want to take that plea agreement sooner than later. She’s going to testify that she remembers Len Zimmerman. He carried her to the road from the trail. He told her a car was coming and she’d be fine. He ran away just before Timothy McDonald pulled up. It looks like he may have saved her life. You can read all about it in tomorrow’s Sanctuary City Post. They are talking about honoring him at the next city council meeting.
He shuffled some papers and cleared his throat.
“What? He did it. If Sienna didn’t do it, he did,” Hatton said. His attorney placed his arms on Hatton’s sleeve, but the judge shook it off.
“He’s alibied,” Jordan said.
The timeline showed that Charlie was stabbed sometime after Janet talked to the girls at two in the morning and when the next-door neighbor, Darla Kennedy, saw the other two girls come home at five in the morning, Jordan said.
“He was at the Sanctuary Bar until it closed at five. He got kicked out so the bartender remembers. But we have more. He hitchhiked his way from Skyline to Old Courtemanche Road. That’s where Timothy McDonald saw him—on Skyline hitchhiking. Then Mr. McDonald stopped to get gas for about fifteen minutes. He filled his tank and then chatted with Judy Rochester for a few minutes. During that time, a Mr. Gordon Smith picked Zimmerman up and dropped him off at the trailhead to Whiskey Flats at 5:50 a.m., which is the spot where Charlie Dawson was found by Timothy McDonald exactly ten minutes later. While McDonald was gassing up, Mr. Zimmerman had made his way down the canyon and found the girl.”
Hatton stood. His face spread in a wide grin. “Am I the only sane person here? We have Mr. Zimmerman on the record saying he was asleep in the canyon until Charlie Dawson’s moans woke him up. He’s contradicting his entire story. He did it. It’s clear as day.”
The defense attorney shook his head.
Jordan continued. “Mr. Zimmerman has since testified that he was on his way down the trail to the Feather River, found the girl, picked her up and brought her up to the road. He heard Timothy McDonald’s vehicle coming and ran back down into the woods, worried because, as he has admitted, he had some drugs on him that prevented him from wanting to have any dealings with police or medical personnel. Although he says if he hadn’t heard the truck coming, he would’ve taken that chance to save the girl.”
Hatton stood up. “I can’t predict what a jury will do,” he said. “God knows that. But if you do happen by some fluke to get a conviction, you can bet your ass we’ll appeal.”
Maggie waited. The district attorney took a minute shuffling his papers.
“I think we’re done here,” Jon Jordan stood, gathering his papers. Hatton looked incredulous.
“That’s it?” He shot a distraught look at his attorney before turning to Jordan. “You’re going to be sunk in this town. All of you. You’re all ruined in this county.”
Although his lawyer put an arm out to stop him, Steve Hatton stood up and leaned on the table, yelling at Jordan.
“Ellie already told you what happened. It was Sienna. She was hiding the knife for Sienna. Ellie was only trying to protect her friend. She made a mistake to try to help Sienna. Now, she realizes that was wrong. You can’t prove Ellie did anything except try to help her friend. She’s agreed to testify against Sienna. What else do you need? Sienna Clarke’s fingerprints are on the knife.”
Jordan looked at Hatton calmly.
“So are your daughter’s prints.”
Hatton’s face turned white.
“She had to pick it up to go hide it. Of course, her prints are on it. She’s twelve. She didn’t even think about things like fingerprints. She was just trying to protect her friend, God damn it. You’re not even going to consider a plea in exchange for her testimony? Sienna Clarke stabbed Charlie. My daughter is innocent.”
Ellie turned toward her dad. “Daddy, it’s okay. Relax. Nobody can harm me. Shadow Man said he’s going to come get me. These bars,” she said and gestured around her. “They mean nothing to him. He’s more powerful than any jail or prison.”
For a second, Maggie caught a glimpse of the real Steve Hatton—a defeated man. He looked down and closed his eyes for a second, pressing his lips together. His daughter was very, very ill. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Maggie with steely eyes. The moment was gone.