The Cliff House Strangler by Shirley Tallman

appeared to be in her early thirties, and was becomingly slender and of average height. Her dark blue day dress was simply cut, with a very small bustle, and her thick chestnut hair had been wound into braids and tucked beneath a stylish brown hat. Her thin oval face might have been considered pretty, if it were not for several fading bruises on her forehead and cheeks. Her right eye was also discolored and slightly puffy. My temper flared at the sight of these contusions, and it was all I could do to stop myself from asking outright who had subjected her to such violence. The poor woman appeared so frightened and ill at ease, however, I decided that for the time being at least I would hold my tongue.
    “Good afternoon,” I said, rising from my chair. I had been practicing law for less than a year, yet I understood the courage it required for most women to visit an attorney, especially those who were married and used to their husbands making all the decisions in their lives. Indeed, my visitor fitted this description to a tee; she looked so nervous, I feared that at any moment she might bolt back out the door.
    Hoping to ease her anxiety, I gave her a welcoming smile. “Please, take a seat,” I said, motioning her to the chair in front of my desk. “How may I help you, Mrs. . . .”
    “Sechrest, Mrs. Luther Sechrest.” Her voice was timorous and uncertain. After a brief hesitation, she sank tentatively into the chair I had indicated. “I—that is, I came here to ask you—” The woman’s lovely face colored a pale pink. “I was here earlier today, you see, but the lady downstairs informed me you were out. I—it took me the rest of the afternoon to muster the courage to return.” Her face grew even more flushed. “You must think me a terrible coward, but—well, I had no idea consulting an attorney would prove so difficult.”
    “I understand,” I told her with genuine sympathy. “It’s an undertaking most people would prefer to avoid entirely. Unfortunately, there are times when dealing with the law cannot be avoided,and it can be a difficult road to navigate on one’s own. Now, Mrs. Sechrest, why don’t you try to relax and tell me what brought you to my office this afternoon.”
    Biting her bottom lip, Mrs. Sechrest leaned back farther in her chair and opened her reticule. Withdrawing a small white envelope, she handed it to me across the desk. “Perhaps this will help explain matters.”
    I accepted the envelope and slit it open. Inside, I discovered a brief letter written in a neat, familiar hand. Dropping my gaze to the signature, I was surprised to see that it was from my very first client at Shepard, Shepard, McNaughton and Hall, Annjenett Hanaford, the young widow I had represented when she was accused of murdering her wealthy husband, Cornelius Hanaford. She had since remarried and was now known as Mrs. Peter Fowler.
    I scanned the brief missive and was pleased to see that Annjenett, who had been shamefully ill-treated by her first husband, had used the fortune she’d inherited from him to establish a home here in San Francisco for abused women. According to Annjenett, Alexandra Sechrest had fled to the safe house, seeking shelter from her drunken and violent husband. So that is who had so cruelly mistreated the poor woman, I thought, grateful that because of Annjenett’s largesse, women such as Mrs. Sechrest now had a secure haven where they might be out of harm’s way.
    “Mrs. Fowler tells me that you’re interested in obtaining a divorce from your husband,” I said.
    “It’s not what I want,” she protested. “I never thought to bring such shame upon myself and my family. But I feel I have no other choice. It’s my boys, you see. Johnny is ten and Harry eight. If I don’t remove them from their father’s house, I’m afraid he’ll begin to mistreat them as he has mistreated me. Luther drinks and—” Her blue eyes filled with tears. “I cannot allow that to happen to them,