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

by Forster, Rebecca

“I guess,” he agreed.

  “So, if we concur on that point, then we have to ask ourselves, what is the prime objective?”

  Chris looked at her, waiting to be told what the prime objective was.

  “The prime objective is not to end up with any more dead bodies, right? And, to mitigate the circumstances under which a dead body might appear. Concurrently, one must protect an excellent judicial career. If something goes wrong, the public must see that you have given weight to all options in terms of protecting both the kid and the public, erring on the side of protecting the public. Greater good and all that.” She waved a well-manicured hand. “If there is one chance in hell that kid is a killer, you’ve got to put him where there’s the least chance he can cause anymore problems while keeping him safe until the cops and the D.A. get their act together.”

  “That’s the point, Gayle. Where?”

  “Oh Chris. Chris,” she chuckled. “It’s so obvious?”

  Healy was feeling like a dolt. He looked at her again. Looked hard. It took about thirty seconds for the light to dawn. When it did, Chris Healy knew what he had to do. On top of that, it was a decision he could live with.

  When she left, Gayle Lynds figured she had earned her chocolate covered almonds: Chris Healy was pleased, county counsel would be pleased, the public would be pleased. The only one who might not be so happy was the kid, but that’s why judges got the big bucks. They had to make the tough calls.

  ***

  Just as Judge Healy was walking back into the courtroom, Wendy Sterling was tooling toward Mike Montoya’s desk. Just as Judge Healy was about to deliver a ruling that would surprise everyone in the courtroom, Wendy Sterling was about to deliver news that really surprised no one once they thought about it.

  “Mike. I’ve got the registration on the gun.”

  Mike stood up and went to the white board. He wouldn’t choose the color of marker to use until she gave him the news.

  “It belonged to Oi.”

  Mike picked up the green marker and wrote GUN with an arrow back to Oi’s name.

  “He couldn’t shoot himself in the back.” Mike turned toward Wendy. Her grin broadened. “I’ve got the lab on it. Stand by.”

  She turned on her heel but before she was more than a few steps away, Mike called after her.

  “Good work, Wendy.”

  “Thanks, Montoya.”

  CHAPTER 27

  “Are you about ready?”

  Josie knocked on Hannah’s bedroom door, heard an affirmative, and figured that meant five more minutes. Josie waited on the patio with Max, arms crossed, as much for warmth as reassurance. She was still shaken by Judge Healy’s ruling. The only saving grace was that Rita Potter had agreed Josie could tell Billy in the morning – which meant she’d have to tell Hannah tonight.

  “I’m ready.”

  Josie turned. Hannah was standing on the patio looking like she belonged on Fifth Avenue instead of in Hermosa Beach. The front of her hair was braided and wrapped turban-like over the crown of her head while the rest of it fell almost to her waist in a cascade of curls and kinks. Chandelier earrings with stones the color of her eyes skimmed her shoulders. An oversized turtleneck framed her face and the winter white wool offset her dark skin. Her leggings and boots were tar black and shiny.

  “I should have dressed up.” Josie looked down at her jeans, her cowboy boots, and her purple sweater that covered her to the fingertips

  “Archer won’t kick you out of bed for eating crackers,” Hannah said as she walked to the gate while Josie put the dog inside and locked the door.

  “Sometimes you could just pretend to be a kid,” Josie said.

  “Compared to what most say, that was pretty mild,” Hannah answered as they started to walk.

  Heavy clouds hung over the shore and the surf was kicking up. Josie’s hair ruffled in the wind and Hannah’s swirled over her shoulders and back again.

  “It feels like a storm is coming again. But it won’t be as bad as the last one.” Josie stuck her hands into her pockets while she made small talk.

  “Nothing could be as bad as the last one.”

  Hannah made small talk, too, knowing that what happened in court wasn’t good. Josie had come home and immediately taken Max off without bothering to check on her. When she didn’t come back right away, Hannah ventured out and saw Josie standing at the end of the street, keeping watch as if hoping something good would sail in from the horizon. Now, walking with Josie, Hannah knew there was no ship coming in.

  “Billy’s going to be placed, isn’t he?” Hannah asked.

  “I was going to tell you over dinner.”

  “Is he at least going with a family?”

  “No,” Josie answered.

  Hannah stopped walking. Josie turned to face her. They were in front of one of the original beach houses. It was painted green, and a fisherman’s net full of dried starfish was hung from the patio wall. Three surfboards were propped in one corner. Inside, a man was fixing dinner while a big screen TV flickered and flashed. He had long ago stopped worrying about who might be looking in. A handful of people ran and biked on the path. In the distance they could hear music from Hennessy’s. Billy should have been with them on a night like this. That’s what Josie was thinking when she faced Hannah.

  “He’s going to jail,” Hannah whispered.

  Josie shook her head. “The judge ordered him held on psychiatric watch.”

  Hannah whispered: “Where?”

  “County.”

  “That’s a criminal psyche hold.”

  “I’m sorry.” Josie turned and started to walk. Hannah came along side of her and touched her arm.

  One…

  Three…

  Five….

  Then she took Josie’s sweater in her fingertips and drew close.

  “He’s not crazy, Josie.”

  “I know.” Josie’s hand covered Hannah’s. “The judge didn’t want to take any chances.”

  “It’s because he thinks Billy hurt Rosa. That’s it, isn’t it? The judge doesn’t want to be the one to let him free, just in case.”

  “That’s part of it. But it’s not jail, Hannah. It could have been jail.”

  “It’s worse,” she muttered, letting go of Josie. “So what happens now?”

  “We wait. We see. It’s a safe place.”

  “Safe for who?” Hannah snapped.

  “Everyone. Even Billy,” Josie assured her.

  “Does he know yet?”

  Josie shook her head. “I’m going to tell him in the morning. I don’t think you should see him. It will just make things harder.”

  “How could it be any harder?” she demanded.

  “It couldn’t,” Josie admitted. “I am so sorry. This ruling came out of left field. But he’s a minor. All the records will be sealed. This isn’t going to affect his future.”

  “He’ll know someone thought he was crazy,” Hannah muttered.

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “The way I got over people thinking I’m a murderer?” Hannah challenged.

  “I can’t help what people think, and I can only do my best.”

  Josie blessed the dark. She didn’t want Hannah to see that she was ashamed she had failed Billy. She walked on, wishing she hadn’t promised to meet Archer for dinner. Then again, a down hour or two might be the best for all of them.

  Josie hadn’t gone more than three feet when she felt Hannah’s hand again. This time she wasn’t touching or pulling; this time her arm laced through Josie’s.

  “It will be okay,” Hannah assured her. Josie nodded, reached for the door, and opened it.

  “We won’t stay long. We can talk when we get ho-”

  “Surprise!”

  Josie stopped so suddenly that Hannah ran into her. Fifty people grinned at them, laughed, and waved at Josie. The ceiling was strung with white crepe paper and gold colored cardboard stars and wedding rings. Faye was clapping hardest of all, calling out her congr
atulations. Archer stood beside her but broke away to take Josie in his arms.

  “We thought you’d never get here, babe.” He held her close and whispered in her ear. “Faye’s been planning this forever. You okay with it?”

  Cheek to cheek, he felt her nod and when he held her away he saw that her eyes glistened. The last few days had been hard on her, but this minute the hardship was forgotten.

  “A bridal shower? Really?”

  Archer nodded. It was so un-Josie and yet …

  And yet it wasn’t.

  She pulled him with her as she waded into the crowd, accepting congratulations, leaning down to hug the old lady who ran the hat store, giving a kiss to the mayor who was the worst volleyball player on the beach. She exclaimed over the table filled with gifts wrapped every which way from fancy gold paper to plastic shopping bags. On top of the pile was a volleyball inscribed with a Hawaiian wish for happiness and Josie and Archer’s names. She picked it up, twirled it on one finger while the bartender worked furiously and servers laid a spread on the banquet table.

  Billy was forgotten. Even Hannah was forgotten. This time belonged to Josie and Archer and that was just the way of the world. No human being could live forever in the shadowy land of worry or carry the burden of righteousness every waking moment – not even Josie.

  “Hey, Hannah!” Burt limped her way with a glass in his hand. “You need to have something to toast with.”

  “Thanks.” She took the plastic wine glass filled with pomegranate juice and sat on a stool near the bar. He swung up and sat beside her.

  “You’re not mad we didn’t tell you, are you?”

  “No.”

  “You are,” Burt teased. “Don’t be. Archer didn’t know until yesterday because we had to ask him if he thought it was okay to go ahead without Billy.”

  “It’s okay, really. Billy would have wanted you to. He was pretty excited about Archer and Josie getting married,” Hannah said as her eyes followed Josie.

  “How about you?” Burt gave her a nudge.

  “Yeah, I’m happy.”

  Hannah meant it because she was in awe of what she was witnessing: soul mates, a true partnership, love, and respect. Despite all the people in it, the world really did revolve around those two people.

  “Everyone needs someone who’s there just for them.” Burt put his elbows back on the bar and beamed. “Yep, that’s what everyone needs. Know what I mean?”

  “I do, Burt.”

  Hannah barely heard him wax poetic about love while she waited for Josie to look her way. When that finally happened, Josie’s eyes sparked brighter, her smile widened, her chin lifted, and Hannah was warmed by the attention. She made a move to get off the barstool, but in the next second the tall woman bent down to hear yet another well-wisher’s story. Josie threw her head back and laughed. She looked at Archer who was the center of his own group. Josie mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Faye, and the older woman mouthed back ‘you’re welcome’. Then Josie Bates raised her hand to motion Hannah over to celebrate with them only to see that the barstool was empty.

  Hannah was gone.

  CHAPTER 28

  2013

  The furgon got a late start from Kosovo. Not that there was a schedule to meet since each small bus waited until it was filled before leaving. That morning there had only been three people wanting to make the journey into Albania, and the driver was not going to waste time on three people. But then, God be praised, so many rushed to his furgon that an hour later he had to find boxes to set in the aisle to make extra seats. The last to come was a young man. His hair was too long and his shoes too dirty, so the driver knew he was no Shqiptare. Praise God again, he could make this boy pay the foreign rate. It would be a good day.

  But the boy spoke the old language. He was, he said, from the United States and he worked to bring peace to Albania - which was where he needed to go. The furgon driver was surprised. He had heard of these Americans who came and went. There was as much peace as there ever had been in Albania, so what more peace could a boy bring? But foreigners had strange ideas that mostly made no difference one way or another.

  The boy sat on the box at the driver’s feet for the long ride into Bajram Curri and they talked of many things because the boy was curious, and he spoke the language, and he understood the ways, and the driver was pleased to pass the time pleasantly. He asked the boy if he knew a man in America named Archer. The boy said, no, America was a very large country. There might be millions of men with such a name.

  “Me të vërtetë? Miliona?”

  The boy shook his head, a sign that he agreed with the furgon driver’s statement. He said again:

  “Yes, millions.”

  The furgon driver considered this. Suddenly, he swerved, and the boy sitting on the box was thrown back into the old woman who held a chicken on the box behind him. There, in the middle of the road, a little car had stopped to let out a passenger. The furgon skidded on the stones that littered the road. The driver righted the little bus, the boy said soothing words to the woman and her chicken, and they began to speak again. The furgon driver said that in Albania there were many people with the same names also but not millions. The boy shook his head again, agreeing with this wisdom. Then the furgon driver asked if he knew of Gjergy Isai who, the driver believed, was from Bajram Curri, or a family named Zogaj who, perhaps, did not live there he believed. The boy did not, but he was bright and full of energy. He offered to ask around for such a man and for such a family.

  The furgon driver smiled at this good boy. While he drove, he told him the story of how all the way in America, a high judge was waiting to hear about Gjergy Isai and the Zogaj family and the history of their clans. It was a most important thing, and all of the whole United States needed to know this information. When he stopped the furgon and the people got off to go to their homes and businesses, the sky already looked threatening and the furgon driver knew that much snow was coming. The boy was the last to leave the little bus, and the driver imparted the information of the phone number of the man named Archer should the boy come across news of Gjergy Isai or the Zogaj family. If the boy were to find such information, he would be a hero in his homeland. The furgon driver did not say that he, himself, preferred not to get out in the cold to inquire after these people even though he had promised to do so. Since the boy seemed not to be suspicious of this strange request, he said he would do what he could, and that he would tell the driver when next he saw him, and he would call the man named Archer and speak in English to him.

  They said their goodbyes. The boy who was to bring peace threw his backpack over his shoulder and walked off, happy with whatever brought him to this place. In his cell phone was the number in America. The furgon driver called blessings to the good boy. He had done what had been asked of him as best he could. It was out of his hands. He would have coffee. He might have raki to warm himself, and he would wait until people came to fill up his furgon so he could drive back once more to Kosovo.

  ***

  The old men sat in a circle in Sam Lumina’s house. Mary had gone to see Jac Duka’s widow. Sam wasn’t happy that his wife spent so much time at Sharon’s house because those visits were starting to make her jittery. Tonight, though, it was probably good that she had gone and taken Sammy with her. Sam poured drinks. His Albanian was good, but the language came so fast from the old men that sometimes it was hard to follow. Gjergy stayed mostly silent, listening to advice, to the thoughts of these old men who still understood the old ways but who also knew how America worked.

  “I had a call from Ante,” said a man so old his skin looked like parchment. “They have sent home to ask about you, Gjergy.”

  “And what will they find? That Gjergy is who he says he is?” another scoffed. “It is nothing. What is needed is a decision. The judge has made things very difficult. It is your honor, Gjergy, and that of your family. But you will not get the boy if there are jailers. You will not even be able to see him.”

&
nbsp; Gjergy nodded. He drank coffee from a small cup. Sam had made the thick coffee hoping for praise. Praise enough, he supposed, that Gjergy did not dislike it.

  A man with a broad face said: “This is complicated Gjergy. Perhaps, you should go home. Perhaps, you should-”

  “Ndaluar. Ju flisni si një grua.”

  Gjergy’s head swung toward the man. His small eyes glittered. He insulted the man by saying he talked like a woman, advising that Gjergy should go back home, runaway. That Gjergy whispered this insult was all the more injurious and the man colored, but he was right. Gjergy did not understand that this was America. Some things could not be accomplished in the way in which they should be accomplished.

  “The girl will wake, and she will tell them about you and the boy and her. She will tell them about Oi,” parchment man said.

  Gjergy agreed. Indeed, she would tell them, and the judge would have to think on what to do, and that would take a long time. Gjergy would do his business and be gone before the judge decided what to do. Everyone in that room should have known that Gjergy was not afraid. These men had lived too long in this country where things came easily.

  “Unë do të merrni djalë.”

  The decision was made. He, Gjergy, told them he would not return home this way. The girl was too sick and of no consequence any longer. He would take the boy. He almost laughed when he saw the look in the eyes of these old men. He, Gjergy, had never needed their counsel and asked for it only out of respect. He needed only Sam.

  “We will go tomorrow. Sam and me. Then I will leave.”

  He saw Sam waver, but knew the younger man did not have the courage to defy him. Sam showed the others out and Gjergy went to his room, closed the door, packed his things, lay on his bed, and waited for the morning. Since he did not sleep, he thought about this country and tried to think what was wrong with it. Then it came to him.

  These men had forgotten how to walk on stone.

  ***

  Hannah sat on the little red stool, looking at the lacquer box. She had brought both these things from Fritz Rayburn’s Malibu house and they reminded her of two things: the last place she had lived with her mother and the last time she had been afraid. Hannah unwound the braids and let her hair fall free. She gathered it up and pulled it over one shoulder and then buried her hands in her face. She was not despairing; she was simply exhausted by the ever-changing landscape of her life. Her heart was a hundred years old, and she knew what she had seen at Burt’s. It was life moving on. How could she celebrate a beginning while Billy’s life was ending?