Eyewitness (Thriller/Legal Thriller - #5 The Witness Series) (The Witness Series #5)

by Forster, Rebecca

  Archer was with her a second later, sent outside as the sheriff's investigators and cops secured the scene. Those were things he used to do and things he didn’t miss. Neither Archer nor Josie speculated about the woman’s survival, what Billy knew, or who the victims were. It would be the height of stupidity for an investigator or lawyer to do that, but that didn’t stop them from thinking about it.

  It was five minutes before Billy’s mom was rushed past them to the waiting ambulance, an oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth, an IV started. Upstairs, Josie only had an impression of the woman. Cocooned under the sheet, strapped to the gurney, she looked to be the size of a child.

  Archer and Josie were interviewed separately, gave their statements coherently, offered contact information, and were released before the bodies of the two men were removed. Archer took Josie home. They kissed one another. Josie grabbed her keys and headed for the hospital. Archer was off to the beach to wait for the town to wake-up, to watch for the man who had banged on Josie’s door, to begin doing everything a cop would do but with more speed and greater latitude. Then he would try to piece together the mystery of Billy Zuni’s close call with death in a raging ocean. It was eight in the morning when he and Josie parted and eight-thirty when she reached Torrance Memorial Hospital. She was thinking that it was ironic that it took a tragedy to get Billy and his mother under the same roof when she sidestepped an aid, passed the nurses’ station, and found room 217.

  ***

  The bed nearest the door was made up and empty; the one near the window was half-hidden behind a grey curtain strung on an elliptical rod. Josie assumed that the sheriff’s investigator had arranged this. She couldn’t remember his name, but she remembered him. The man had been efficient, unflappable and smart enough to cover his investigatory ass by isolating Billy until he could be interviewed. Thankfully, he hadn’t isolated Billy completely. No one had stopped Josie from going in and no one had put Hannah out.

  Hannah was curled up in the chair, knees to her chin, a thin blanket pulled up to her shoulders. Her head was turned and her riot of curls covered part of her face, fell over the back of the chair, and cascaded across her shoulders. Her shoes were tucked under the chair, and her bare feet peeked out from under the blanket. A gold toe-ring sparkled even in the flat, filtered light. Josie could just glimpse the black and red ink of the tattoo that snaked from one shoulder and tipped out on the curve of her neck. Of late Hannah had taken to wearing her gold nose ring again. She looked like a warrior woman, a Nubian princess, a fierce young fighter at rest.

  Billy, on the other hand, was almost unrecognizable.

  He lay still as death in the narrow bed, his face swollen, and his bruises spreading like the rainbow atop an oil slick. His skin was scraped and speckled with dried blood where the rough concrete of the pier pilings had flayed him. An IV dripped into his left arm and his right was in a cast. Machines monitored his heartbeat, his pulse, and his blood pressure. There was a bandage on one side of his head where his hair had been shaved and his head stitched.

  Josie looked past the bed and out the window. A child hurt always hit her gut hard. A wounded child never truly healed, and she was living proof. Perhaps if she could see her mother once more, and ask why she had left her only child, Josie might stop hurting. Then again, she might not.

  Her lips tipped. She almost laughed at the irony of this situation. All hurtful things began with a mother and all thoughts of mothers led back to her own. But this wasn’t about Josie, so she hunkered down next to Hannah and touched her shoulder.

  The girl’s eyes opened: not lazily because her slumber had been disturbed, not gently because she was drawn out of a pleasant dream, but narrowly and warily. Josie could only imagine what Hannah saw in that millisecond before recognition: dark houses, Fritz Rayburn's sadistic face, her own mother’s resentful one, Daniel Young’s psychotic visage, a gun, a knife, the flame that would maim her, wound her, kill her. Then it didn’t matter because in the next second she recognized a friend and those flint edged eyes softened.

  “Hey,” Josie whispered.

  “Hi.” Hannah pushed herself upright, pulling the blanket with her. It was always too cold in a hospital room. “You went home.”

  Josie looked down at her clothes. She forgot that the last time Hannah had seen her she was half-naked on the beach. So much had happened since then, clothes were the last things Josie noticed. Hannah, though, made noting change a high art. She knew a safe harbor when she saw it, and a corner when she was boxed into it. This room was neither.

  Josie twisted a lock of the girl’s hair, more to have something to do so she wouldn’t stare at the blanket that was jumping rhythmically as Hannah fidgeted beneath it. The girl’s eyes darted to the doorway.

  “I’m alone,” Josie assured her.

  “I thought Archer would come at least.”

  “He had some things to take care of.”

  “You talked to Billy’s mom, didn’t you? Does she care at all?” Hannah’s chin quivered. “He could have died out there.”

  “But he didn’t.” Josie wanted to choose the right time to tell her what they found in Billy’s house, so she gestured toward the bed and dodged Hannah’s question. “How’s he doing?”

  Hannah eyed Billy. “He seems okay. He stopped talking.”

  “What was he saying?”

  “Nothing I could make out.” Hannah took a deep breath, hesitated, and finally confessed: “I told them I was his sister. Otherwise they wouldn’t let me in. Just so you know.”

  Josie bit her lip as she tried to decide whether to congratulate Hannah on her inventiveness or take her to task for lying. She decided congratulations were in order. Hannah’s lie kept her close to Billy and a relationship wasn’t that farfetched. There were markers for every other genetic helix in Hannah’s DNA, so why not a little Viking or whatever Billy was.

  “They can’t wake him up, Josie.”

  "It's shock. It may be a few days before he comes to." Josie put her hand on Hannah’s arm but her touch didn’t stop the drumming of Hannah’s fingers as her agitation grew.

  One. . .two. . .three.

  Obsessive. Compulsive. Poor Hannah. She had almost healed - until now.

  “Please, say his mom is coming.” The girl pleaded, keeping her eyes on the unconscious boy.

  “No, she isn’t.”

  Hannah unclasped her hands. One snaked from under the covers just long enough to flip her hair over her shoulder. Her jaw angled into a hard angry line and then relaxed. She was trying so hard to control her instincts.

  “I knew she wouldn't, but we’re here. So it’s okay.”

  “It’s not what you think, Hannah-”

  Josie stopped talking. Her radar was up. They were not alone. Keeping her hand on the girl’s shoulder, she stood and faced the person hovering in the doorway. He smiled. He said:

  “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  CHAPTER 5

  1991

  Teuta smiled at her little girl who smiled back at her mother. Though she was but one year, she was old in her soul so it was nice to see her smile. She was a beautiful little thing with dark hair and full cheeks. But the man who was to take the picture of the little girl was not happy. No Shqiptare smiled for a picture, not even a little girl. This would be the first Teuta’s parents had seen of their grandchild, so it must be perfect.

  Teuta wagged a finger, and the little girl’s lips closed, and her big serious eyes looked even more somber. Pleased, the photographer took the picture and the little girl raised her hands to her mother. Teuta swooped in to pick her up. She and her handsome young husband had made a good girl who would grow beautiful and she would marry well. She would have beautiful children to be Teuta’s grandchildren. That is how life would go, Teuta was sure.

  She paid the photographer but counted her lek carefully. Her husband had invested as everyone had and soon they would be rich. Until then, she must be cautious. That, the bankers and the government to
ld them all, was how things worked when there was freedom.

  2013

  The detective walked into the room like a visiting relative reluctant to disturb the family but having no intention of leaving after making the effort to get there. He nodded to Josie and asked how she was holding up. She had barely answered when he turned his attention to Hannah. She was a beautiful and interesting girl, and it hadn’t escaped his notice that she had tracked him as if he was a hunter and she his prey.

  “I’m Detective Montoya. I’m here to help Billy.”

  Mike’s introduction was accompanied by a smile so genuine it usually disarmed victims and criminals alike. Hannah was neither, and she was cautious. She looked him square in the eye, considered the hand he offered, and decided to take it. Then Mike Montoya made a mistake. He put his other hand on top of hers. She snatched hers back and drew the blanket over her arms.

  “I’m surprised you’re here.” Josie caught his attention before he could say anything more. He turned smoothly.

  “My team is still working.” He looked over his shoulder at Billy. “I understand he dodged a bullet. No major internal injuries. A concussion, but so far no swelling on the brain.”

  “Then you know more than we do.” Josie’s eyes flicked to Hannah. “This is Hannah Sheraton, my ward. She goes to school with Billy. She came with him in the ambulance."

  "And I assume you just got here?” Mike asked.

  Josie picked up on the prompt. "I did. Hannah and I haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened."

  Mike nodded. He would let Josie Bates break the news of what happened in Billy’s house to Hannah. There were other things he wanted to know, but Hannah had her own agenda.

  “Billy didn’t do anything. What happened was an accident.” She was spoiling for a fight. She snapped those big, green eyes of hers at Mike and then Josie. “I know how this goes. You think Billy did something wrong or else you wouldn’t be here. But sometimes shit just happens and it isn’t against the law. It happens because -”

  “Hannah, that’s enough,” Josie warned.

  “That’s all right. I have three girls of my own.” Mike’s comment indicated that he could understand Hannah Sheraton because he had daughters, but his girls would never be as old as this one if they lived a hundred years. He tried again now that he had some idea of what he was up against. “I’m glad Billy has someone with him who cares. He must mean a lot for you to stay with him all this time.”

  “He’s just my friend.” Hannah muttered.

  “May I?” Before Hannah could object, Mike pulled a chair up and sat down.

  “It’s been a very long night for all of us. Maybe this isn’t the best time.” Josie didn’t want him to get too comfortable, but there seemed to be no stopping him.

  “Just a few questions.” He turned his face like a priest in the confessional and shut Josie out. This was between him and Hannah.

  “Do you know what happened to Billy? Do you know why he was in the ocean last night?”

  “None of us knows why,” Josie responded.

  Montoya smiled slightly. Josie Bates’ concern for Hannah and what she might say was telling, indeed. Montoya knew that she was concerned about the girl, but he also knew Josie Bates, the lawyer, was trying to control the flow of information.

  He had known who she was the minute she gave her name at the crime scene. She was a fearless advocate, a headline maker, a woman who might not seek the limelight but found herself in it nonetheless. Josie Bates could be a brick wall or a conduit to the people he needed to talk to. Mike had never been a fan of brick walls and was not fond of running headlong into one.

  "Hannah was with him in the ambulance,” he reminded her. “She's been with him since he got into this room. Isn't that right, Hannah?"

  “He almost drowned. You shouldn’t be coming here to harass him,” Hannah objected.

  If there had been a confession in that ambulance, Hannah Sheraton gave no indication she heard it. That meant there hadn’t been one, or she was a darn good little actress. He said:

  “I came because I want to help. The way I can do that is by understanding what kind of person Billy is.”

  “He’s a good person. A happy person,” Hannah answered.

  “It’s hard to be happy all the time. Was he happy at school?”

  “He managed,” Hannah mumbled.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Mike nudged.

  Josie moved into his peripheral vision. Hannah paid no attention to her.

  “Sometimes people made fun of him, but that happens. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “And at home? How was that?” Mike pressed on.

  “We all know about his mother - ” she began, but Josie interrupted.

  “None of us ever met the woman, detective. Whatever Hannah might tell you would only be hearsay.” The tone of Josie’s voice told Mike this interview was going to be over sooner than later.

  Mike swiveled toward Josie. “This isn’t an interrogation.”

  “Billy and Hannah are minors,” Josie reminded him. “And this is a sick room. If you’d like to talk to us somewhere else, we can do that after I’ve had a chance to speak with Hannah.”

  Mike’s bottom lip pulled up, his chin crinkled as if he was thinking about her suggestion. The fingers on his right hand drummed once on his knee. He considered Hannah, let his gaze linger on Billy, and then he stood up.

  “No one needs protecting from me,” he assured them.

  “Caution is ingrained,” Josie answered.

  “Curiosity is my handicap,” he countered. "I find it more productive."

  “I’ll walk you out.” Josie started for the door. Before Mike followed, he held out his card to Hannah.

  “If you think of anything that might help, I hope you’ll call.”

  Mike didn’t wait for an answer. This girl would never call him if Josie Bates had anything to say about it, and she made that clear in the hall.

  “If you need to question Hannah, call me and we’ll make arrangements. She likes to think she’s tough, but she’s only sixteen.”

  “She’s an old soul,” Mike noted.

  “Let’s not dance around anything where these kids are concerned. You didn’t ask, but I can tell you that Hannah was home with me last night. She woke me up when she heard the man at the front door. She saw what happened on the beach and rode to the hospital with Billy. That’s it.”

  “So noted,” Mike said.

  “And set aside,” Josie suggested.

  “Can’t do it, Ms. Bates. Those two young people might not even know what information would be helpful. You should encourage Hannah to talk to me now.”

  “Billy is the one with information. It might be days before you can talk to him and days more before he can piece things together. ”

  “Minutes concern me. Better that I rule out any involvement on his part."

  "Isn't it a little early to finger Billy as your perp?” Josie scoffed.

  Mike smiled. “Interesting that should be your first thought. I was thinking witness.”

  “Since this discussion is moot until he’s coherent, let’s not assume either,” Josie answered, embarrassed by her amateur mistake.

  “Agreed. I’d like to have your clothes made available to us so our lab can rule out any evidence you two left in the house. We already have what was left of Billy’s.”

  “Sure. We’ll get it to you.”

  “Thanks.” Mike lingered. “By the way, why didn’t you ride to the hospital with Billy? I would have thought you’d want to stay with him to make sure he was alright.”

  “I wanted to talk to his mother,” Josie said.

  “This was your own idea?” he pressed.

  “Yes. Who else’s would it be?”

  “I’m curious about the urgency. You let a sixteen-year-old girl accompany Billy to the hospital when you weren’t sure of his condition, when the hospital might have needed an adult to consult with. You could have talked to
his mother after you knew more.”

  “But I didn’t do that, did I?”

  “No. I suppose the real question is, did Billy say anything on the beach that made you think you needed to go to that house immediately?” Mike asked.

  “You mean like telling me he just killed two people and attempted to kill his mother?” Josie smiled. “No, detective. No seaside confession.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  “Have you talked to anyone about Billy?” she asked. “I mean have you notified child services?”

  “We informed the district attorney,” Mike said.

  “Who caught it?” Josie asked.

  “Carl Newton.” Josie nodded as Mike went on. “He’ll confer with the county counsel regarding Billy’s placement unless there’s a clear alternative for the boy’s care."

  “Billy is seventeen,” Josie said.

  “The law says he’s a child until he’s eighteen,” Mike reminded her.

  “I’ll see what I can do about finding his people,” Josie answered.

  “I think that would be best under the circumstances. No matter what happens, that boy is going to need a lot of support.”

  Mike didn’t have to say more. The standard no matter what happens implication spoke volumes. Josie had known from the minute she saw the carnage in that house that Billy would be the investigator’s top priority.

  “True. Just remember, you only talk to him if I’m present,” Josie reiterated.

  “Unless a relative is located,” Montoya responded.

  “Or his mother is able to assign permissions,” Josie went on. “Did the doctors say when you will be able to talk with her?”

  Josie turned back to look at Hannah who had not taken her eyes off Billy. Mike looked back at the teenagers, too.

  “I doubt they would know, Ms. Bates.” He turned his gaze on her. “We’re not sure we’ve found Billy’s mother yet.”

  CHAPTER 6

  1996

  Teuta pulled her shawl tighter and looked down at the little girl on one side of her and then the baby nestled in her arms. Her children had slept well given the cold and the bad roads and the hard seats of the wagon. Teuta hadn’t slept soundly since she learned her father was ill. She loved him, and as the years went by she was sad that her marriage had taken her so far away. Perhaps if she lived closer things would have been different. Yilli had become so reclusive that it was all her mother could do to get him to the hospital. Teuta finally knew why. It seemed everyone had known except for her. Such an old sin. But now Yilli was a sick old man who would soon die. Who would care about him except those who loved him? Besides, there were other things to worry about in these changing days. She worried about why they all still lived like peasants.