Anything You Can Do - By Sally Berneathy Page 0,13

for the knob to close the door behind Mark, jumped as static electricity sparked to his hand. For a brief, illogical moment, he blamed—credited—Bailey.

"How nice to see you, Mr. Travers." Her voice was deceptive, a soothing cello in the supercharged atmosphere.

"Ms. Russell. I didn't expect to see you here." She smiled sweetly, savagely. What on earth was she up to? From what he had observed and Mark had told him, the case involved no special circumstances. Yet Bailey had brought it up when she'd met Gordon and him at Reilly's, had called it important, and now she'd come to the deposition and so intimidated Mark that he'd felt it necessary to seek Austin's advice.

Austin took over. Mark had briefed him on the situation prior to Candy Miller's deposition, and he knew that the testimony of Harold Graham, the investigator, should put an end to her claims. He put the witness through his paces, established the fact that Graham had been observing her periodically for several weeks, cited inconsequential activities such as working in her yard or taking out the trash. Then he moved in for the kill. "You are aware that the plaintiff is claiming loss of income in her profession of cocktail waitress due to this injury."

"Yes."

"Please tell us what happened on the evening of June twelfth."

"That'd be Friday week ago?"

"Right."

"Well, she gets all dolled up and goes down to this bar where she used to work. She's been there several times already, so I follow her, like I've done before. Friday nights are real crowded, and next thing I know, she's up hustling drinks."

"You actually saw her serve drinks to customers?"

"Hell, she served me."

"What kind of shoes was she wearing?"

"Red sandals with real high heels."

"Did she exhibit any signs of difficulty in walking, such as limping, clutching her back, moving slowly?"

"Nope. She was whipping around pretty good."

"Did she grimace, groan, give any evidence of being in pain?"

"Nope. In fact, she was laughing and having a big time."

Austin stole a look in Bailey's direction and made a mental note never to play poker with her. She was observing dispassionately, not even bothering to take written notes.

"May we have a couple of minutes to confer with our client before cross-examination?" she asked smoothly when Austin passed the witness.

The three of them were out of the room less than five minutes during which time Candy, wearing thick glasses, stuck her head back in the door once, peered at Harold, then retreated. When they returned, Bailey, rather than Margaret, took charge, as he'd expected she would. Standing directly across the table from the witness, she began to question him in a quiet voice.

"Did you actually see Candy Miller accept drinks from the bartender and serve them to customers?" she asked after a few preliminary innocuous questions.

Austin watched Harold's complacent expression. The man was too macho to be frightened of a woman. Austin tried to catch his eye, to warn him to be on his guard, but Harold was smiling stupidly at Bailey.

"She served me," he drawled.

"What kind of a drink? Big? Little?" The volume and speed of her words increased, and she somehow gave the impression of becoming taller.

"Seven and Seven. Big glass." He seemed hypnotized by her steady gaze, unable to look away from her.

"How many other tables did she serve?"

"A couple."

"You saw no visible signs of any ill effects from this stint of working?" Her voice was rising and speeding up again.

"Nope."

"Not at any time during the evening?"

"Nope."

"How many times did you follow Candy to this club?"

"A couple."

"More than one."

"Sure."

"More than two."

"Yeah, probably."

"Three? Four?"

"I guess."

"How long did she usually stay?"

"Until midnight, two o'clock."

"And you only saw her wait tables the one time?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"Of course," Bailey agreed, her voice suddenly soothing again. Harold grinned proudly. Austin groaned silently.

The air in the room seemed so charged with trapped electricity, Austin half expected to see lightning flash over the table. Watch out, he wanted to warn Graham.

"So you went to the same bar as the plaintiff on three or four occasions, stayed until she left, and watched her carefully the entire time." She looked down at the table, shuffled through some papers, released Harold from her gaze.

"Sure did."

Austin watched in fascination. She was moving in for the kill.

She abandoned the papers and fixed her attention on Graham again. "What time did she arrive at the club on the night in question?"

"Four minutes till nine."

"You're a very precise man, Mr. Graham."

Harold shrugged happily at the compliment. "Just part of the job."

"And what time