“Perhaps it was the same thing that he used to hit you,” Mike suggested.
“Gjergy hit me. He was a strong man.”
“Did he break that window with his fist?” Mike probed.
“I don’t know,” Josie answered. “I don’t remember much.”
Mike nodded and drummed his fingers on his knee just once. He knew Josie was lying and so did Archer, but there would never be any proof that anyone had assaulted Gjergy Isai. Montoya had no doubt that whatever weapon was used against him was now on the ocean floor, deep in the water off a private beach in Malibu. He tried once more. All he wanted was the truth; all he wanted was for everything to be tidy.
“You didn’t see Hannah or Billy attack him with anything, did you? If they did, I doubt even Carl Newton would file against them. Clearly, there’s an argument to be made for self-defense on their part.”
Josie shook her head, “No. They were long gone. I sent them away like I told you. Look, Montoya, they didn’t do anything that would interest you or the courts.”
“You mean other than Hannah interfering with an open investigation?” Mike chuckled.
“She’s a kid helping another kid. Teenagers run away all the time. At most that’s a misdemeanor under these circumstances. There’s no money in the budget to prosecute them,” she answered.
“Hannah and Billy wouldn’t know that. And you’re forgetting Billy’s immigration status,” Mike countered. “He’s in this country illegally.”
“That’s a federal concern.” Josie waved him off.
“It boils down to what those two believe, doesn’t it?” Mike challenged her. “Right now they probably think we’re hunting them and not in a good way. In fact, unless they were around to see Mr. Isai slip on that pier, they may think they have to hide from him, too. I’d like them to know Isai is dead and I’d like to know what they saw in that house or on that pier.”
Josie’s heart beat a little faster, but her expression remained composed. All she had thought about since that afternoon was finding Hannah and Billy, but now she was thinking it might not be bad if they laid low until something bigger came along to distract Mike Montoya and Carl Newton. Eventually, Gjergy Isai would be a footnote on a crime log and the teenagers’ return to Hermosa would not be worth mentioning. Now, though, the condition of Isai’s body made the circumstances of his death suspicious.
“Jo?” Archer gave her shoulders a squeeze. “You zoning out on us?”
“No, I’m good,” she answered. “You were saying, Montoya?”
“I was just saying that the DEA checked out the story the American volunteer told Archer. The blood feud was confirmed. It’s hard to imagine this kind of thing still goes on.”
“Italy has vendetta,” Archer pointed out. “Gangs keep scorecards. The cartels just take out two for every one of theirs. This one was pretty radical, though, given that Isai was avenging a killing that took place almost fifty years ago. What I don’t get is why he didn’t go after Billy when he lived overseas?”
“The feud rules are pretty specific. The male relative has to be at least nine years old. Billy’s mother made the deal with Oi when Billy was eight. Arranged marriage was normal, Rosa was a beautiful young girl and there wasn’t much time to get Billy out of the country. It seemed a win/win.”
“So what happened? Why didn’t everyone live happily ever after?” Josie curled her legs under her and leaned against Archer.
“Albania culture is steeped in a tradition where men are warriors. Oi’s cross-dressing was too much for Rosa. She used her P.O. box like a safe deposit box. We found years of letters between her and her mother. It was pretty clear that the girl would rather die than live with Oi. It was also Rosa’s job to protect her brother from everything. She couldn’t allow him to live in Oi’s house under those circumstances.
“Oi probably never expected her to raise a fuss, but when Rosa ran away he felt guilty. He had failed family and in his culture that was not acceptable. His wife has receipts from a firm he hired to find Rosa and Billy. They found them, but they couldn’t force her to go back to Oi. He let her live in one of the houses he owned, but she insisted on paying rent. He found her a couple of jobs, but finally she found her own job at Undies. There wasn’t much more she could do without an education.”
“But how come Oi was in that house dressed up if Rosa didn’t want anything to do with him?” Archer asked.
“We can only speculate, but I assume Rosa was smart enough to know she needed a lifeline. When Oi told her Gjergy was here, he probably didn’t know what to do. Kat Oi told us the dressing up was a comfort thing for him. Maybe Rosa was willing to let him act out because he was the only one who stood between Billy and Gjergy. If Oi hadn’t been dressed the way he was, maybe things would have been different. Maybe he would have reached his gun and been able to fend off Lumina.”
“And Jac Duka?” Josie asked.
“Ah, Duka.” Mike was happy to tie up loose ends for his audience. “He told a friend that he thought Oi was going to make the shop non-union. He wanted to insure himself a place in the new organization. He and Oi had a meeting scheduled to talk about the contract vote, but plan’s changed when Isai and Lumina came in. All we know is that Oi told Duka to meet him at Rosa’s. He had no skin in the feud but he was Albanian. He probably wouldn’t have tried to stop Isai, but Lumina says that Duka got nervous when he heard what was going on upstairs. Lumina couldn’t believe he’d killed Oi, and when he thought Duka was coming after him he just reacted. That left the two men downstairs dead and a woman being slaughtered upstairs. Lumina couldn’t take it, so he ran to his car. He saw Billy and Trey go in and was trying to decide what to do when they came running out with Gjergy Isai on their heels.” Mike shook his head. “Crazier and crazier.”
“Rosa must have thought the inmates were running the asylum in this country when she saw Oi for what he really was,” Josie mused. “Add to that having to be on your guard every second of every day. It’s incredible she could put one foot in front of the other.”
Mike nodded. “Can you imagine people in this country taking on a life and death commitment for a relative?”
“I’m not sure I could do it,” Josie admitted, and then she asked the question no one had thought of. “Montoya, does Isai have family? I mean, we’re thinking this is the end because Isai is dead, but what if one of that old man’s relatives believes Billy killed him? Will someone else come to finish the job? Does this thing go on forever?”
“I don’t know. If it happened once, maybe it could happen again.”
“Then Billy’s living under a death sentence,” she said.
“What about family court? Do they still want him?” Archer asked.
“It’s not for me to say, but there’s a good chance they will if he turns up tomorrow. After he’s eighteen the court won’t pursue placement.” Mike answered. “It’s funny when you think about it. Our system is relentless when it comes making rules for minors. Then some artificial deadline is met and we wash our hands of them. It’s as if they never existed.”
“And halfway around the world there might be people who won’t ever let Billy off the hook. He has no choice but to live under the radar. What kind of life is that?” Josie muttered.
A silence fell over the room as the three adults considered the unthinkable: Billy Zuni’s young life balanced between an ancient, emotional death code and a cold, controlling, modern justice system. At least he had Hannah with him. Archer put his arm around Josie and said the words that needed to be said; the ones everyone wanted to believe.
“Hannah and Billy will be fine. Right, Montoya?”
“I have no doubt. Those two have proven to be impressively capable.” Mike buttoned his jacket. “I guess that’s about it.”
“What did you do with Sam Lumina?” Archer asked as they all got up.
“He’s charged with two counts of second-degree murder. Carl Newton would have preferred to prosecute someone for Rosa, but he can
’t stretch it to her.”
Archer and Josie walked him to the door, but before they got there Montoya’s eyes were drawn to the painting over the fireplace.
“That’s beautiful.”
“It was a gift from Hannah. She painted it,” Josie said.
“She’s very talented.”
Josie couldn’t argue that. The picture had taken her breath away. She knew who the woman in the painting was the minute she lifted the sheet covering the canvas; she was a composite of Josie and Hannah. The note found on the easel was as beautiful as the painting. Never worry. I love you. I know you love me.
“She’s an amazing person, and so is Billy,” Josie murmured.
Mike cleared his throat. “I’ll assume that you’ll be available if my office has any more questions.”
“Always,” Josie assured him as she opened the door.
Mike stooped, picked up a box that had been left on the porch, and handed it to her. Josie’s wedding invitations had arrived, and she held them close while the detective walked toward the gate. Josie called to him:
“Montoya? Thanks for keeping an ear out for news about Hannah.”
“My pleasure. And I assume you’ll let me know if you hear anything.” Mike smiled. He saluted her and then added: “Oh, and congratulations on the wedding. Getting married was the best thing I ever did.”
With that he was gone. The day was ending and the house was too quiet. Archer took the box and put it on the hall table. He was about to close the door when he changed his mind, grabbed Max’s leash, and said to Josie:
“Come on. Let’s take a walk.”
She didn’t need to be asked twice. Josie put her arm around Archer’s waist. He wrapped his around her shoulders, careful of the bruising at her neck. Max ambled along beside them as they walked to the beach.
The rain was gone, and the sea was calm. The sun hung low on the horizon in a sling of purple, pink, and gold. Archer helped Josie over the low wall and then climbed over himself. They sat on the edge as Max rested his paws on the wall between them. Archer petted his head; Josie buried her hand in his fur. The minutes moved on. Josie cut her eyes toward Archer. He was staring straight on, thinking hard. She could feel those thoughts, and they were troubled. She had no idea how uneasy he was until he spoke.
“I don’t want to get married, Jo.”
Josie went cold. She was as blindsided by that statement as she had been by Gjergy Isai’s attack. The only difference was that this hurt more. She didn’t look at Archer; she couldn’t look at him. He was not obligated to her and never had been. That didn’t mean Josie wanted this to be happening.
“Okay,” was the only word she could manage.
“Don’t you want to know why?” he asked.
Tears came to her eyes. It was not like her to cry and it was not like her to beg. It was also not like Archer to be cruel, so she asked why knowing his answer would be reasonable. More the pity. She could debate a flawed premise.
“Look at me, Jo. Please.”
Archer pushed Max down and put one big hand around the back of Josie’s neck. The other one he rested on her cheek. She resisted, but finally she turned toward him. Archer’s eyes roamed over her amazing face. There were tears beneath her lowered lashes; there were unspoken words on her trembling lips.
“I have to find Hannah first,” he said softly. “We can’t get married without a witness.”
Archer kissed her brow and each of her eyes. When Josie’s arms came around him, when she whispered ‘thank you’, and when her tears began to fall in earnest, Archer pulled her close and smiled even though no one could see.
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Prologue
He hung his head out the window like a dog on a Sunday drive. The whipping wind roared in his ears and slicked back his long hair, baring a wide high forehead. His eyes narrowed, squinting against the force of hot air hitting his face at 75 miles an hour.
Sinister. That's how he looked. Like he could take anyone down.
Women could fall at his feet and he wouldn't give two cents even if they were naked. That's the kind of man he was. But if they were naked, he'd give 'em a grin for sure.
"Hah!" he laughed once, but it was more of a shout, just to make sure he was still alive and kickin'.
He was feeling neither here nor there. He had a woman. She didn't make him happy. Thinking about her, he stepped on the gas and the ribbon of road blurred, turning molten under his wheels. The asphalt was hot as hell; still steaming though the day had been done for hours.
Hot! Hot! Good when you’re with a woman, bad when you're in the desert.
Lord, that was funny. True things were the biggest kick of all.
But damn if this wasn't the most lonesome strip of land in all New Mexico and him a lonesome cowboy ridin' it on the back of some hunkin' old steed. Cowboys were the good guys. Had a code to live by guns to carry. And cows and horses, they just needed a stick in the ribs, a kick in the rear to get 'em going. No need to talk. No questions. No answers.
Do you feel happy? Sad? What are you feeling now? Good. Good. You'll be going home soon. Do you feel anxious? You're so quiet. Do you feel? Good. Good.
He was hot like a stovetop. Hot like a pot about to boil and damn if he wasn't sitting right on the burner, all these thoughts in his head making his lid start to dance. He'd blow the top of his head right off and out would tumble all those good jokes, and lines that would make women weep. Hot damn. Make 'em weep.
He shook his head hard and wrapped one hand tighter around the steering wheel while he pushed farther out the window, head and shoulders now. The old car swerved but he got it back on track, straight on that dotted line.
He loved those dotted lines. Man perforating the world. Tear here. Send the part with him on it back for a refund.
He shook his head like the dog he was pretending to be. His lips went slack and he heard them flapping, even over the noise of the wind. What an ugly sound and he wasn't an ugly guy. So he turned into the wind and it blew his head empty. When he turned it back, the hot air ran straight at him and made his eyes tear.
Life was wonderful again. Television was a blessing. Doctors cured themselves of cancer with a thought. Smart and fancy women could be had with a smile and a wink.
Damn, life was good.
It had taken a while but he was cookin'. He was the most scrumptious thing on the menu.
"Whoeee!" he hollered, and the wind lashed that sound around and threw it right back at him as he hung his head out the window. He pulled it back inside just a snail's trail before the semi whizzed by.
He thought about that close call and making love and a cigarette all at the same time. The close call was past so he tossed aside the image of his head rolling around on the asphalt. His lady was a pain in the ass; thinking about her was idiotic. The cigarette, though, he could do something about that.
Two fingers burrowed into his shirt pocket. He was already tasting that first good drag and swore he could feel that swirly smoke deep in his lungs. But the pack was empty and crinkled under his fingers. His smile was gone. He didn't feel like hollerin' anymore.
Two hands slapped atop the steering wheel and he drove with his eyes straightforward on the lonely road. He just wanted one lousy cigarette.
But anger wasn't right. He plastered a grin on his face. The new him. New and improved. He accelerated down the four-lane, singing at the top of his lungs in a voice that he was almost sure didn't belong to him. It was too smooth.
Smooth like the turn of the wheel, the slide of the stop he made four miles down. He was still singing when he palmed the keys and unwound his long legs, and stood like a rock 'n' roll god in a pool of fl
uorescent light at the Circle K convenience store.
He took a minute to admire himself in the side mirror. He didn't like the way his dirty ice eyes looked, so he admired the night sky. Nothing like these black New Mexico nights. Stars as plentiful as rice at a weddin'. He tucked in his shirt so he looked really good. Handsome.
Damn, life was fine.
Whistling softly, he moved on. Pushing open the glass door, he stepped inside, surprised at how vibrant everything seemed now that he was straight. Michelle Pfeiffer looked like she could just walk right off the cover of People and give him a little hug. The Slurpee machine's neon blue and pink letters quivered as if overjoyed to be colored pink and blue.
He ambled over to the register. Little Fourth of July flags were taped all over the place: flags next to the Smokey Joe Hot Salami Sticks, flags wavin' over the stale donuts under the Plexiglas counter box, flags pokin' out of the almost-hidden condom place on the shelf behind the counter.
Hot damn! Independence Day. He almost forgot. Good day for him. He did what he liked, when he liked. There weren’t nobody around to tell him anything. Only his cowboy conscience, only his roamin' man code, to keep him in line.
The smokes were neatly stacked on a metal thing above the counter. He looked for the Camels. Left, third row down. Filters one row lower than that. It was the same at every Circle K. What a mind! He could remember everything.
He wandered toward the counter, laid his hands atop it, and peered over; half expecting a pimply-faced clerk to pop up like a stupid kid's toy. Nobody. Just worn linoleum, a wad of gum stuck to it turning black. Great. He could take a pack. Just reach up and be on his way.
But he knew right from wrong. He wanted to follow the rules and felt bad when he didn’t. It took a while sometimes for that feeling to happen, but it always did.
Then he saw her.
She was fixing coffee at the big urn right next to the two-for-ninety-nine-cent burgers in those shiny gold and silver wrappers behind the glass, under the red lights that never kept the damn things hot. Whooeee, he loved those burgers.
Eyewitness (Thriller/Legal Thriller - #5 The Witness Series) (The Witness Series #5) Page 31