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

by Forster, Rebecca

  “You’ll continue to get your salary as a member of the board of course, but-”

  “But what?” Kat sat forward. Fred mirrored her, but the desk was too big for them to be nose-to-nose.

  “But I’m afraid you may not be the primary beneficiary of Greg’s will. It seems there was a child.”

  Kat shot out of her chair and landed so hard on those Loubitons that the heels nearly punctured the floor. She put her little hands flat on the lawyer’s desk.

  “You’re telling me that Greg had a freakin’ kid?”

  “It appears to be a possibility.”

  “Tough,” she growled. “Pay him off. I’m his wife.”

  Fred tried not to smile when he said:

  “Actually, Kat, you may not be.”

  CHAPTER 13

  2001

  Teuta smoothed the lace her mother had made, arranging it in the center of the table. The beds were in place. The children would share a room that was smaller than the one they used to share, and yet the apartment looked nice and she would make it a fine home.

  Her husband had found work with a man who had a store in a real building, not a stall in the street. They sold things for the house and already he had brought home a chair that could not be sold because the fabric was torn. Teuta had fixed it and her husband rested in it. Of course, being a shop man was not the kind of work that would make her husband happy, but he was a good man and soon he would figure out a better way.

  The children were in school. She, Teuta, had been to the marketplace to let the townspeople see her. It would be lonely for a while, but soon that would change. Life always changed. Hopefully, this time it would be for the better because it felt like they had been through the worst.

  2013

  “Ten minutes, Jo. Come on”

  Josie looked over her shoulder in time to see Archer raise the sheet and beckon her back to the warm bed.

  “Not this time. It’s going to be a big day, and I don’t want any distractions.”

  Archer accepted that and took what he could get. What he got was a few more minutes to admire the amazing figure his woman cut. Slim hipped, long legged, a tremendous ridge of spine that was straight and strong and led to one of the finest behinds he had ever seen. Josie leaned over and pulled on a pair of French cut panties, snapped on a matching bra, stepped into her trousers, and pulled a blouse out of the closet. She put it on, letting it hang loose as she went in again for a blazer. She pitched that toward Archer. He caught it and smoothed it.

  “If this thing gets ugly, the next time we’re going to be lounging in bed won’t be until our honeymoon.” She buttoned her blouse, tugged on the collar and stepped back, checking herself out in the mirror. Archer didn’t see the nod that signaled she was ready for the battle of the day. That was not a good sign.

  “Maybe I should just cancel Hawaii,” Archer suggested, but Josie was lost in her thoughts and a honeymoon wasn’t part of them. She ruffled her hair, decided to open the top button on her blouse, reached out for her blazer, put it on, and shot her cuffs.

  “Christ, Jo, you look good,” Archer said. “Scary, but good.”

  She picked up her briefcase, sat on the edge of the bed, and rifled through it. Archer turned on his side and rested his head on his upturned palm.

  “Did you get anyone on the phone last night?” she asked.

  “No one answered. Their night is our morning. We don’t know how old that number is. I didn’t even know where Albania was until now.”

  “At least we both got the same number. That’s huge,” Josie muttered. “And the other number you got at Undies was Greg Oi’s?”

  “Yep. I don’t think you should share that with Judge Healy.”

  “Agreed.”

  Both of them knew this would be the wrong time to suggest any connection between Billy and a dead man, not to mention a more intimate relationship between the dead man and Billy’s mother.

  Josie paused, closed her briefcase, put it on the floor, and draped her body over Archer’s. He enfolded her in his arms without asking any questions. There was something marvelous about a clothed body lying over a naked one. The possibilities were so clear-cut. Either the clothed person would end up naked or the naked person would end up disappointed and dressed. But in this case it wasn’t about sex or desire. Archer felt something else radiating off Josie.

  “I’m afraid. I’m not the same as I was,” she whispered.

  “You are where it counts, babe.”

  His arms tightened and she stayed still in his embrace, listening to the beat of his heart. He cradled her short hair with his big hand and kissed her brow. He couldn’t distract her nor could he say anything more. To give her permission to fail or retreat would change who they both were. She had to work this out her way.

  “What if I make a mistake? What if I panic, and I don’t remember how this is done? Sometimes I think of that hut and the reason why that man wanted to kill me. I think about what I did to him in court. I did it so easily, without thinking. There are consequences to what I do, Archer.”

  “Apples and oranges, Jo.” He touched the bare skin just below the razor cut of her hair and the sharp crease of her collar.

  “Maybe,” she whispered. “Usually, these things are decisive. You talk the law, manipulate the law, use it to your advantage, and the person who does it better wins. But this is different. I can’t really win. There are ten outcomes for every argument I can make and none of them are good for Billy. I don’t want to screw up his life.”

  “You won’t.”

  Josie raised her head. She searched his face, looking for any doubt he had about her and this situation. He lifted his own just far enough to kiss her lightly again.

  “If you need a little extra courage, I can help.”

  Archer put his hands on her jacket and pulled aside the lapels. Josie chuckled. He had broken the spell, called a halt to her self-doubt with a move she was all too familiar with. In another second the jacket would be off and after that naked and hot was a given. She sat up, took his hands, crossed them over his bare chest, and held them down.

  “We’ll leave it at the pep talk for now.” She kissed both his hands. “I appreciate the offer, though.”

  “When we’re married you’ll have to make love anytime I say. It’s a husband’s right.”

  Josie laughed and stood up. “Someday we’ll debate that point.”

  “How am I ever going to live with you? I’ll never win an argument.”

  “I don’t ever intend to argue.”

  “I might as well get going then.” Archer threw aside the covers, reassured by her laugh. Josie swore a contrail of warmth followed him as he headed to the bathroom. She called after.

  “I’m thinking the first thing is to find a birth certificate for Billy. If he doesn’t have that, we won’t have to worry about Child Protective Services because immigration will be after him. I can’t help if it comes to that.”

  “Unless the DA decides he wants to see him in prison,” Archer called back.

  “Not going to happen,” she murmured and then raised her voice, too. “That is not going to happen.”

  “I believe you.” Archer turned on the shower.

  “I’m glad you do,” she muttered as the bathroom door closed.

  Even if Billy wasn’t a murderer, the D.A. could charge him as a conspirator, an accessory. Maybe he brought Trey into the house and allowed the attack to happen. Maybe. Maybe. Perhaps. Josie shook her head to clear it, and took one last look in the mirror then picked up her briefcase and headed out. In the living room, she petted Max and gave herself a mental pep talk.

  “An unforced error, Max, that’s all I need them to do,” she whispered.

  Josie righted herself, smiled at the dog, hesitated, and then opened the door to Hannah’s room. It was early but she was already up and painting. The minute the door opened, the sheet came down over her canvas. Josie’s eyes flicked toward it. Hannah was stone-faced. For all Josie kne
w she was painting her as the devil, but that kind of rebellion was preferable to cutting herself or smashing someone’s fingers in a locker door.

  “You do understand you are here for the day, correct?” Josie said.

  “Yes.” Hannah’s answer was brittle.

  “I’ll call you later on the land line,” Josie warned.

  “Okay.”

  With a last look around the room to see if anything was out of place, she closed the door and resisted the urge to once again engage in debate about Hannah’s behavior or attempt to elicit an apology. Then Josie realized she didn’t want a discussion at all. Josie Bates wanted what any real parent would: she wanted Hannah to show some remorse for putting her, Josie, in this situation.

  ***

  Hannah listened to the sound of Josie’s heels on the wood floor, listened for the bubble of silence that would indicate she was whispering to Max to have a good day, and listened to the front door open and close. She waited a while longer in case Josie came back because she forgot something: a directive, a piece of advice, another lecture.

  Finally satisfied she wouldn’t be interrupted, Hannah uncovered her canvas and looked at the painting objectively. This was the best thing she had ever done. Mrs. Trani would give it an A, but Hannah knew that this painting could not be graded. There was only one person who needed to be impressed.

  Picking up her brush, Hannah began to work on the shading instead of on the eyes. Eyes were the most challenging. They were truly the windows of the soul and right now Hannah’s soul was pretty black because no one saw that she had been right to fight back against Tiffany. She would wait to tackle the eyes when her heart was open again. Hannah mixed her colors, she ran the brush in short strokes along the side of the canvas, she cleared her mind, and waited for Archer to leave.

  CHAPTER 14

  2002

  Teuta’s husband introduced the men he brought to their home. Teuta was surprised that he had done so without telling her.

  “Mirë se vini,” she greeted them properly.

  And when they sat in the room where there was a television and a couch, she brought them coffee. She brought them food on small plates. She placed a chair just inside the kitchen in case the men might need something more. She sat in such a way that she could see the two men if she looked in just the right way.

  One was a relative of her husband. He was not such a good boy, and Teuta was not happy to have him in her home, yet this was what her husband wanted so she said nothing. The other one, the big man, he was dressed in fine clothes that Teuta had never seen in a shop in her town. Nor had she seen such clothing when she had gone to the capitol. She soon found out that this man lived in America.

  Teuta’s heart almost stopped to hear the word America. Many spoke of the opportunities in that country. Not that she would want to go, learn a new language, leave her country behind, but it was a curiosity to see a person such as this.

  The big man spoke of business. Teuta’s husband’s relative spoke of wanting to work for the big man. He included Teuta’s husband in his request. This made Teuta think he was a good boy after all. The big man seemed used to such requests and he said things that made the other men happy. Teuta, though, heard empty words. He would help who he wanted to help and when he wanted to help them.

  Meanwhile, he drank their coffee and ate their food. Soon he would expect to drink their raki. That would be fine since Teuta’s husband made the raki himself. Perhaps it would loosen the rich man so that he would offer jobs.

  Perhaps not.

  While Teuta was thinking this, the door of their small house opened and her children tumbled in. They fell silent the moment they saw the men. Teuta’s husband raised his arm and motioned his children forward. He introduced them, each in turn, and to each the rich man said a greeting.

  He looked for a long while at Teuta’s oldest daughter, and that Teuta did not like.

  2013

  Judge Healy had a thing for Paris. The walls of his chambers were covered with pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the clock at the Musee d’Orsay, and the Louvre. He had bookends shaped like the Arc de Triomphe and more renditions of the Eiffel Tower on pillows, books, and notepads. He noticed Josie noticing these things as she took a seat at his conference table.

  “I’ve only been to Paris once, Ms. Bates. Mention that you would like to go back and every darn Christmas someone gives you something with the Eiffel Tower on it.”

  “I promise not to try to get into your good graces that way, Your Honor.”

  “Smart move.” He indicated the young woman sitting to his left. “Do you two know each other?”

  “Rita Potter. County Counsel.” She introduced herself.

  Josie shook her hand before nodding to deputy district attorney.

  “Mr. Newton.”

  “Ms. Bates.” He looked over her more than at her as she took her place. She looked back with interest. His presence was unexpected.

  Slight and professorish, his salt and pepper hair was worn short but without style. He looked nonthreatening, but Josie had faced off in enough courtrooms to know that you never based your chances of winning on how your opponent looked. But this wasn’t a courtroom, the proceedings were not criminal, and his mere presence had put her off the game before it began.

  “Shall we begin?” Judge Healy touched a Lucite paperweight in which a miniature Arc de Triomphe floated. “I understand we have a situation before us that is currently the focus of multiple social and law enforcement agencies. I am only concerned with the welfare of the minor, Billy Zuni. Is that clear?”

  The three people at the table nodded.

  “I have been briefed, and I see that there are still a lot of holes to fill in regarding this young man.” Judge Healy pointed the hockey-puck of a paperweight at Rita Potter. “We’re starting with you, Ms. Potter.”

  All eyes turned toward the county counsel, the one person in the room personally charged by the state with making sure Billy Zuni’s best interests were served. Thirty if she was a day, Rita Potter was a no-nonsense advocate. Her porcelain skin was unmarred even by make-up. There were no rings on her fingers and only tiny gold dots in her ears. A fine figure was hidden under uninspired clothes. Her doe eyes were pale and her nose a tad short. Her hair was long and lank but naturally blond. The tools of her trade were laid out neatly in front of her, her briefcase set precisely by her side.

  Josie looked at Rita Potter and smiled, but the one the county counsel returned was watery and less than inclusive. Okay, so they weren’t going to be best friends. That was fine with Josie just as long as she didn’t prove to be the enemy. Rita opened a folder, snipped the top page from inside and handed it to the judge.

  “We’re all fact finding at the moment and the sheriff’s department is being very cooperative, advising me as they continue their investigation.”

  Josie’s eyes flicked to Carl Newton. Ms. Potter may think Montoya was fact finding in Billy’s best interest, but that was naive. The sheriff’s personnel were working with Newton to get a perpetrator locked down fast. The press wanted that, the D.A. wanted that, and the sheriff wanted it off the books. Still, Josie let it go and listened.

  “Right now we know that Billy is improving but is still under careful watch at the hospital. His injuries – physical and psychological – make this placement delicate.”

  “Do we know if he was present in the house at any time during the night?” the judge asked.

  “We do not have concrete evidence, Your Honor,” Newton chimed in. “We are trying to establish the time frame of his movements.”

  Josie broke in, not sharing the fact that Billy had admitted to being in the house. “It would take an eyewitness to establish that he was there at the time of the assault. If Mr. Newton doesn’t have that, I object to the innuendo. It is beneath him and has no place in these proceedings.”

  “This isn’t a trial, Ms. Bates. No need to be confrontational.” Judge Healy reprimanded her. “However, I will not ig
nore the fact that Billy Zuni is pivotal to Mr. Newton’s investigation. Unless and until Mr. Newton tells me that the boy is a suspect in these murders, I will give weight to county counsel’s recommendations not the D.A.s insinuations. Ms. Potter?”

  Rita Potter’s tiny nose twitched, the only sign she was delighted by the import the judge gave her position.

  “My office believes a foster family placement is appropriate, but we must inform the parents of the circumstances of the need. So, Mr. Newton is correct to the point that the perception of criminal complicity would raise questions about safety of the foster family. This will limit our choices.”

  “I can provide any number of character witnesses for Billy,” Josie began, but Healy’s finger went up again. Josie fell silent knowing she had sounded clumsy, too eager, and off point.

  “Other options?” the judge asked.

  “We could put him in a halfway house that handles juveniles coming out of Youth Authority,” Rita suggested. “Security is higher and that might satisfy Mr. Newton.”

  “And those are the kids who have served out sentences for murder and assault,” Josie objected. “Billy couldn’t defend himself physically or psychologically. That placement would be a death sentence.”

  “That’s a bit melodramatic, Ms. Bates,” Carl Newton chided.

  “It’s a sad fact, Mr. Newton,” Judge Healy noted. “Even though I wish we could argue the point, Ms. Bates is right. But we may not have a choice if Ms. Potter can’t secure a home situation.”

  “I’ve identified three group homes, Your Honor.” Rita took the opening and made it hers. “One in Westgate, one in East Los Angeles and another-”

  Josie interrupted again. “Billy’s best interest would be served by keeping him in his home area with access to friends.”

  “Ms. Bates, please.” Healy admonished.

  “Your Honor, if I may.” Carl Newton slid into the opening. “The District Attorney wants to make sure that Billy Zuni is well discharged, but under very close watch. One of the victims is quite prominent internationally. It would reflect badly on all of us if there was the perception we were not taking his death extremely seriously.”