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

by Forster, Rebecca

  “We didn’t get that far.” Josie strode across the room and pulled her jacket from under the bed. “I think we can probably assume that’s where Carl Newton is going to go with this. He’ll argue that Billy finished the job with his sister and took off.”

  Archer grabbed his keys. “How is he going to explain Hannah?”

  “I doubt there’s any explanation needed given the way she’s been acting. Love sick teenager, doing anything for Billy,” Josie took her purse off the hall table.

  “That’s easy to discount.” Archer opened the front door.

  “Not in front of a jury,” Josie said. “No need to worry about it now.”

  “You go on to the hospital,” Archer said. “I’ll get to your place and see what I can put together.”

  Josie kissed him. There was nothing more to say. Both of them knew Billy Zuni was in very big trouble.

  ***

  Mike Montoya kissed his wife good-bye. She murmured to be careful but the warning came out scattered with pops and clicks as she tried desperately to get her vocal chords to work properly. Beneath his lips her head shook on a neck that could barely hold it up any longer.

  “You wait for Sarah before you try to get out of bed,” Mike said and then whispered, “I love you.”

  Even with the dark, even though the rest of her being trembled uncontrollably, her smile was steady and beautiful.

  “Get the bad guys,” she said.

  “Always.”

  Mike smoothed her hair and left the house wondering if he was ever going to find out who the bad guys were.

  ***

  The sky had opened up and Archer dashed through a sheet of rain to unlock the door to Josie’s house. He held it wide so Max could go out, but one look outside and the old dog decided to stay where he was. Archer didn’t push it. Above him, the tarp billowed and he made a mental note to finish the skylight before the wedding. He wanted a picture there with Josie in her wedding dress, Hannah, and Max. The light would be beautiful – if it ever stopped raining.

  Pocketing his key, he gave the living room a once over, poked his head into the kitchen, and then headed to Hannah’s room. The door was closed. He walked in and flipped open the plantation shutters. The bed was made perfectly and that was unusual for Hannah. Her paints were still there. That was worrisome.

  Archer opened the closet. One section of the hanging garments had been pushed aside. Hannah had left what Archer considered her ‘fancy’ clothes: diaphanous, embellished, and embroidered blouses and dresses. On the floor, her high heels, extreme wedges, and thigh-high boots were still there. Gone were her jeans, sweaters, hoodies, t-shirts. Not all of them, but enough for Archer to know that Hannah wasn’t planning on going clubbing.

  The question was what had she planned? More than likely, she hadn’t planned at all. Archer hoped she had been impulsive because people would remember a girl without a plan. They would especially remember a girl like Hannah.

  At the dressing table, Archer sat on the small chair and planted his feet solidly on the floor with his hands on his knees. He didn’t like what he saw. Blood had dropped on the glass top. Hannah had tried to clean it up but she had been in a hurry because Archer could still see a telltale trail. Then he saw something else: a scattering of hair. They were just little bits but they had clung to the glass. He pushed back the chair and bent down to follow the trail of hair to the trashcan. He picked out paper: homework assignments, drawings that had been discarded, receipts. At the bottom of the can Archer found a nest of beautiful, black hair.

  “Damn, Hannah,” Archer breathed.

  He was about to dial Josie when he saw the little lacquer box, the gold handled scissors and the bloodied razor blades. And there was one thing Archer didn’t see. He dialed Josie. She answered. He said:

  “She took the keys, babe.”

  ***

  Mike Montoya parked in a red zone outside the hospital, got out of the car and buttoned his coat as he passed through the big doors, and then something made him turn around and pause. Sam Lumina and Gjergy Isai were coming toward him. Lumina’s head was down but it kept swinging left and right. Isai walked straight on, his step quick.

  “Hello.” Mike greeted them. Gjergy Isai registered no surprise, but Sam Lumina stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Good morning,” Gjergy said.

  “I’m surprised to see you here? Who called you?”

  “Nobody called us. We just came to see Billy,” Sam said. “We just, you know, wanted to see him. My uncle insisted.”

  “Then you don’t know what happened?”

  The two men shook their heads. “Come on then, I’ll tell you on our way upstairs. Ms. Bates should be waiting for us.”

  ***

  Wendy Sterling got into work just before the rain started and just after the morning mail was distributed. She ran through it before she took her coat off. Still standing at her desk, she found what she had hoped for but hadn’t really expected.

  She sat down, opened the envelope, read through the contents and then read through them again.

  “My, my,” she whispered as she dialed Mike. She waited and when he answered Wendy Sterling said: “Mike, it’s me. I just got the prints back on the gun.”

  ***

  Mike Montoya noted the placement of everyone on the second floor. Josie Bates was standing in the doorway of what had been Billy Zuni’s room. She was talking to a nurse. There were three people behind the long desk. A patient was being wheeled out of a room at the far end of the hall and one of the hospital’s religious volunteers was going into another room. Gjergy Isai and Sam Lumina stood with their backs to the wall, waiting.

  Mike Montoya walked past Josie Bates. She must have sensed something, because she looked up and then stepped into the hallway to watch him. He walked past the nursing station and up to the two men. Gjergy Isai met his gaze but Mike ignored him. It was Sam he wanted to talk to.

  “Sam Lumina? You are under arrest for the murders of Jac Duka and Greg Oi. You have the right to remain silent. . .”

  CHAPTER 31

  2013

  It had taken the young English teacher two hours to get back to Bajram Curri from the mountains. It wasn’t very late in Albania, but by his calculations it was very early in America; too early to call the man whose number he had been given by the furgon driver. So the young man crawled into his bed fully dressed because there was no heat in his apartment and the steel door made the whole place as cold as a freezer. He would sleep for a few hours and then call the number. But an hour passed, and then two, and he could not sleep because of what he knew.

  He crawled out of his bed and saw that it would be a respectable hour in the states. He dialed his phone. Thousands of miles away, the phone that belonged to the man named Archer rang. Before they connected, though, the signal went out and the call was cut off.

  The young man tried again and again. Each time the connection was missed, his heart beat faster. This was not good. What he knew was not good at all. Finally, he was talking to a man named Archer. He told him what he had found out from Teuta Zogaj.

  ***

  Hannah and Billy sat inside the little Volkswagen. Rain drummed on the roof. Outside was gray and cold; inside the car was warm and close. They had never sat this way before, side-by-side, silent, equally frightened, neither wanting to admit it.

  “How are you feeling?” Hannah asked.

  “I’m okay,” Billy mumbled, but she could see he was pale and trembling. Their flight and the sight of Rosa had shaken him. He didn’t look at her when he asked: “What do we do now?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Hannah said.

  “Do you think we should call Josie?”

  Hannah shook her head, “Not yet.”

  “What about Archer? Maybe we should call him, just to let him know we’re okay.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe in a few days. Maybe in a few days they will have figured out who killed those people and who hurt
Rosa. Then we can go back. If they put you in the psyche ward, you’ll never get back to normal.”

  “Okay,” Billy said but it wasn’t clear if he agreed with her or if he was just tired. He blinked and looked around. “Where are we?”

  “I used to live here.”

  Hannah took a deep breath. The big house was still impressive. It was a seemingly simple construct, but closer inspection revealed a marvelous origami box of a home: glass butted stucco, stucco melted into copper, copper ran into tile, and that tile surrounded a pool of water that welcomed visitors with a serenity that masked the sickness of the people inside. Only now there weren’t any people inside. A discrete For Sale sign was stuck into what had once been a bed of extravagantly exotic plants. The sign was weathered, the words faded, as forgotten as what had gone on behind the walls. Hannah reached into the back. She pulled her duffle and Billy’s backpack over the seat.

  “Can you handle this?”

  She held up the backpack. He nodded and she gave it to him. She reached back and grabbed another bag. She had enough food to last them a few days. If they needed more, she knew where there was a little store where only the locals went. Right now they just needed some rest.

  “You ready?”

  Billy nodded. For a minute Hannah wasn’t sure if she was. Then she swallowed her fear. There was no one in that place who could hurt her any more.

  “Let’s go.”

  Hannah had parked deep into the long drive so that the car couldn’t be seen from the highway. Together they dashed around to the front of the house and stopped in front of a gate that was as tall as the ten-foot wall that surrounded the house. It had oxidized to the strangely pleasing blue-green of exposed copper. A relief of angles as sharp as a maze of thorns was etched onto its surface.

  “We’ll never get in.”

  Billy raised his voice so he could be heard above the rain. Hannah ignored him. She touched the gate. It opened as it always had. Another touch and it revolved. She led Billy through and touched it from behind. The gate closed. It was a brilliant collaboration of art and engineering.

  “Come on.”

  Together they hurried through a courtyard paved in buff colored tile surrounded by walls of smooth stucco. Cut through the middle of this outdoor room was an endless pool. The water flowed under a glass wall that bared the heart of the house. The glass used to sparkle; now it was muddied, streaked with dirt and dust.

  In front of it, in the middle of the pool, stood the bronze statue of a nude woman. She was contorted into a position of perpetual pain - or ecstasy - depending on one’s point of view. Hannah had once asked Josie what she saw when she looked at it. Josie saw pain of the most humiliating and personal sort. So had Hannah.

  She tore her eyes away from the statue and touched Billy’s arm as she went by.

  “Come on.”

  He followed her to the entrance. Hannah had the key to the house, but the realtor had secured it with a lock box.

  “Now what?” Billy asked.

  “Wait here.”

  Hannah dashed through the rain, through the courtyard, and back out the gate. She came back a minute later carrying a baseball bat.

  “I use this to hold up the hood on my car when I put oil in.” Hannah held the bat in one hand. Water ran down her face and sluiced off the little hair she had left.

  “Let’s go, Hannah. Let’s go somewhere else,” Billy pleaded.

  “Let’s not,” Hannah answered.

  With that, she walked into the shallow pool and under the gaze of the tortured nude, drew back, and hit the glass wall with the bat. It shattered but didn’t break. Hannah didn’t back away from the shards or flinch at the sound. She hit the glass again and again until a sheet broke away, leaving a jagged gaping hole in the wall. She felt the shards floating through the shallow pool and bouncing off her shoes. It was then, when the glass didn’t cut her, when she had broken into the house that used to be her prison, that Hannah Sheraton became truly strong and free. She put her hand out to Billy as she threw the bat into the pool.

  “Come on. I’ll help you.”

  Together they walked through the broken window and into Fritz Rayburn’s Malibu house.

  ***

  It was a well-documented fact that when rain fell, Southern Californians lost their ability to drive. When a storm hit, Southern California drivers lost their ability to think. It was raining and that’s why traffic was a snarl from the South Bay all the way to Lincoln Boulevard and beyond.

  As Josie drove in fits and starts, she waffled between believing that Hannah and Billy were safe at Fritz’s house or that she was headed in the wrong direction entirely. She didn’t bother voicing either her concern or her hopes to Gjergy Isai. He sat beside her in the car, eyes forward, wanting to get to Billy.

  She had promised Mike Montoya to take the old man back to Lumina’s house, but she didn’t say when she would get him there. First she wanted him to help her convince Billy to come back. He promised to talk to the boy about his parents and the country he had been taken from, Josie would talk to Hannah about coming home, and Archer would keep tabs on Mike Montoya and Sam Lumina. If what Montoya believed – that Sam Lumina was responsible for the deaths because of the union troubles – Archer would let Josie know it was safe for everyone to come back. It was a flimsy plan, but a plan nonetheless.

  “There.”

  Josie pointed to the house in the distance. Gjergy kept his eyes on the structure as they drew closer. When Josie pulled into the drive, he cut his gaze to the Volkswagen and then back to the house.

  “They are here,” he said.

  “I knew they would be.”

  Josie pulled on the emergency brake just as the first roll of thunder sounded.

  ***

  Wendy slipped into the room where Mike Montoya was talking to Sam Lumina. More correctly, Mike was talking and Sam Lumina was acting like he could care less. Wendy gave Mike the information he was waiting for. Mike glanced at it.

  “I see a green Toyota is registered to you, Sam,” he said.

  “What of it?”

  “A green Toyota was seen parked on Rosa Zuni’s street the night of the murders.”

  “Like there aren’t a thousand green Toyota’s all over the place?”

  “Not many with the specific body damage yours has.” Mike set aside the DMV report. “But what really concerns me, is the gun, Sam. The gun that killed Jac Duka and Greg Oi was registered to Greg Oi. Ballistics confirmed that. And, they also confirmed that your fingerprints were all over it. We just find that a little odd.”

  “I’ve seen the gun before,” Sam drawled. “Yeah, I saw it at the plant. Mr. Oi let me hold it. That’s how my fingerprints got there.”

  “And could you tell me how this gun got into your home? That is the real curiosity here. Your wife found it in the heater closet in your home. It seems as if someone was trying to hide it.”

  “Stupid bitch,” Sam muttered.

  “Concerned wife and mother,” Mike answered. Wendy took a step back and leaned against the wall next to the door. It never ceased to amaze her how easily people blamed others when the truth of their crime was staring them right in the face. “Your wife thought Mr. Isai had something to do with the murders, but his fingerprints aren’t on the gun. Only yours are. And your prints aren’t just on the butt. We have a partial on the trigger. I just don’t see how you can explain that away.”

  “How do you know his aren’t on that gun?” Sam challenged.

  “Because your wife provided us with a glass he used so that we could match them. There was no match. But we had your prints from your previous arrest.” Mike leaned forward. “Yours and Mr. Oi’s Sam. Come on, we know that Jac Duka was playing both sides of the fence, feeding information to Oi about you guys and votes on the upcoming contract. The whole thing has been heated. We won’t press for murder one if you level with us now. Manslaughter? You could get off with-”

  Mike stopped talking, interrupted by a kno
ck on the door. He looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a deputy and Archer as Wendy opened the door and stepped into the hall. She came back a minute later, went up to Mike and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

  Mike cocked his head. He raised an eyebrow.

  “When did the call come in?”

  “Just now,” she said. “He’s trying to call Josie Bates. He thought you should know. I called the Lumina’s house. The wife says Isai isn’t there and she doesn’t know where he is.”

  Mike stood up and turned his back on Sam Lumina.

  “Did you corroborate?”

  “You’re kidding, right? Archer said the conversation was sketchy. He got the basics.” Wendy looked at Sam. “It makes as much sense as anything else. Ask him.”

  Mike pivoted. Sam looked away, bored with the whole thing until Mike asked:

  “Mr. Lumina, what do you know about blood feuds?”

  CHAPTER 32

  Josie Bates had not forgotten anything about Fritz Rayburn’s house: not how impressed she’d been the first time she’d seen it, not the lavish furnishings, not the lengths Linda, Hannah’s mother, would go to protect her claim to it. This time all Josie felt was sad because this was where Hannah thought she would be safe.

  The hood of Josie’s parka was raised and she kept her head down as she walked quickly toward the gate. Beyond the house was the stormy sea, behind her Gjergy waited in the Jeep. He would come when she called him in. Josie gave no more than a passing glance at the For Sale sign. She didn’t hesitate when she reached the gate. She touched it, it swung open, she walked through, but she didn’t bother to close it. Hopefully, they would all be walking back through it sooner than later.

  She saw the padlock on the front door, the jagged hole in the towering glass wall and the baseball bat lying at the bottom of the shallow pool. Her eyes played over the statue. Raindrops pockmarked the water in the pool. Broken glass sparkled against the sand that had blown into the water and settled on the bottom tile. She stepped into the cold water, waded through it, and went into Fritz Rayburn’s house.