Witness Pursuit

by Wadsworth, Joanne

  “None of us can.” Ben thrummed his fingers over the dark wood of his desk. “I’ve informed Gilchrist of your memory recall from the moment of the shooting. He knows you’ve got nothing more than that, but he’s asked if you’ll keep working with the in-house psychologist. You haven’t told me how today’s appointment with the doctor went.”

  “I got nothing more.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. Lydia had once again been left with no choice but to battle through on her own. He should have been there when Gilchrist had come for her re-identification. He’d left her again.

  “Tyler?”

  With a low growl, he focused on Ben. “How’s Saria doing with Lydia missing?” Ben had said he could take one of the shifts in guarding her, but she was Lydia’s identical twin, and he wasn’t sure he could see Saria and keep his head in the game.

  “Lydia’s not missing.” Ben rose and crossed to the window. He leaned his shoulder against the wide sheet of high-rise glass. “She’s somewhere safe and you need to remind yourself of that.”

  “I want her back.”

  “Yes, and to do that, we have to solve Johnny’s case and find the killer.”

  Which he would. They all would. Ben and Brigs were both with him on this.

  “Go.” Ben pointed to the door. “You and Brigs have a lot of work to do. Sit with our systems specialist again. I want to know who leaked Lydia’s details to the newspaper reporter. Go over every piece of information in those files. Find the killer.”

  It was all the incentive he needed. He was on it.

  * * * *

  Staring out the wide kitchen window to the valley below, Lydia scraped the blackened inside of a large pot.

  “Throw it away, Jenna.” Ronson came in behind her with a frown. “Okay, how did you burn the pot when all it held was potatoes?”

  “I was distracted. My thoughts are rather annoying that way.”

  “Saria and Tyler?”

  “Yeah.” She set the pot down and reached for her ridiculously loose glasses from the windowsill. Yesterday Ronson had said to get them repaired, which she would since they were part of her disguise. Her hair was a vibrant red, and she went nowhere without her glasses and Stetson. She was a country girl, and had to maintain the image.

  “What ya thinking?”

  “That I’m gonna go pick us up something to eat and bring it home. I’ll deal with these glasses when I’m there.” She slid them on her nose where they wobbled.

  “Good idea, and make sure you grab a heap of those frozen dinners that get nuked in the microwave.” He tugged up the waistband of his jeans. “I’m starting to lose weight. I didn’t think that would happen with a new housekeeper and cook.”

  Feeling a touch bad, she squeezed his arm. “At least the homestead is spotless.” She couldn’t go wrong with her cleaning. She’d cleaned until her fingers were red and raw.

  “Yep, I’ve surely never seen the place sparkle like this. Drive safe.”

  “Will do.” She headed to the mudroom and snatched the truck’s keys and her purse from the hook then high-tailed it out the back door.

  Colt sauntered up from the yard, and he raised a hand. “Hey.”

  “Hey back at ya. How are the boys today?” She grabbed her glasses as they slid down her nose. Stupid disguise. She could handle the red hair, even though she still got the shock of her life each time she looked in the mirror. No one would recognize her now, not even her sister.

  “Tearing around Marianne’s feet, just where they usually are. I’m after Ronson. He inside?” Colt jumped the verandah steps two at a time as he joined her. The station manager was a big man with sun-darkened skin and scraggly blond hair poking out from under his Stetson.

  “Yep, inside, and no doubt rummaging through the pantry for food.” She groped for the handrail as she teetered down the steps.

  “Thanks. Be careful there. You should get those glasses fixed. You’re going to trip over your own two feet soon.”

  “I’ll get on that right now. Catch ya later.”

  “Sure thing.”

  She reached the truck and tossed her oversized lenses to the passenger seat then started up her avenue to freedom. The dusty red truck rumbled to life, and she jerked on the wheel and drove down the gravel drive.

  Turning onto the winding blacktop, she cranked the window open. A nice breeze fluttered the short sleeves of her tan half-button shirt, cooling her skin.

  Relaxing into the drive, she let the good thoughts of Saria and Tyler prevail over all else. She would hold onto what she could, as Bronson kept telling her to.

  The drive was long, but she made the corner gas station at the beginning of town within the hour. She eased out of the cab, wiped her faded blue jeans then unscrewed the lid on the tank.

  “Hey, Red.”

  Drake. Only he called her red in honor of her bright locks.

  He whistled low and long as he strolled over and leaned against her truck. Behind him, Slade and Tate, dressed in leathers as he was, filled their road-bikes.

  Drake was one of Ronson’s eighteen-year-old station hands. Drake acted tough, but she’d soon learnt he was a sweet-talking rascal. Slade and Tate lived with him in the barracks, just along from the feed sheds. “Have you boys got the afternoon off?”

  “We surely do. Colt said we could go for a ride, but I’m hurt, Red. You said you’d take a spin with me the next time you left the station.”

  “I believe you left first.”

  “Maybe.” He chewed his gum, his gaze sparkling. “But since we’re in town, you could hop on the back of my bike now. Park the truck in the lot and we’ll drive Main Street.”

  Slade and Tate cheered him on, and she winked at them. Slade was Colt’s younger brother and visually his lookalike, while Tate was Slade’s cousin. They were all family, and now hers too. “Next time, okay.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” He grinned. “By the way, you look much hotter without those chunky glasses.”

  Oh no. She patted her eyes and found she’d left the damn things in the truck. “Ah, right. Could you fill the tank for me while I grab them?” She scrambled across the front seat and snatched them, his chuckles loud and clear as she did.

  Setting her glasses in place, she peered at him while he refueled for her. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

  “And you look sad. You like Ronson’s place, don’t you, Red?”

  “I’m getting there.” Like her, he had his own issues having spent six months in juvie. “What about you?”

  “It’s all good now.” He ran his thumb over the nozzle while it filled. “I came from a crappy family, but this new one of Ronson’s is the best.”

  “Really? Crappy?”

  He looked at her and tipped up his chin. “Most of my dad’s family is in the slammer, or just out, or just going back in. My mother and her family are in the money, but they don’t know nothin’ about me ’cause I’m a Hyena. I don’t fit nowhere and never have. Ya get my drift?”

  “I’m real sorry, Drake.”

  “Yeah, my mother shuffled me off as quick as she could to the old man. I was only a day old when she got me out of the way. I’ve only met her a handful of times, that’s when she’s had to come by and see Dad. But like I said, I’m in a good place now, and I’ll make something of myself here.”

  “Ronson’s definitely the best.”

  “His niece is hot too.” He smiled mischievously.

  “You’re three years younger than me.”

  “I’ll catch up.”

  “I don’t think so, unless you can bend time.”

  His grin got wider. “We’ll see.” He finished pumping her gas and hung up the nozzle. “Take it easy. I won’t forget I owe you a ride.” He sauntered to his bike and revved it. “Later, Red.”

  She tossed him a wave as she headed to the counter and paid. That done, she started the truck and further along Main Street, parked outside the optometrist’s.

  Inside, she waited as the assista
nt adjusted her lenses and fit them nice and tight. Perfect, if one wanted glasses.

  After leaving, she wandered to Gift-Giver, a novelty shop next door. With Nico’s birthday so close, it was now or never if she wanted to send him something. Oooh, and right there on the center shelf, a gorgeous sandy patterned conch shell, one of the large varieties that when you blew in, made that distinctive island horn sound.

  A saleslady joined her, a woman in a slim-line black skirt and white blouse. “I take it you like this?” she asked.

  “Yes, although I thought it was illegal to remove these kinds of shells from the islands?” Nico had found one at the cove, but she’d said it had to stay.

  “That’s right, but this is a manufactured lookalike. They sound as good as the originals, and they are your only option if you’re after a shell of this size.”

  “Then I’ll take it.” She handed it to her.

  “Wonderful. Let me gift wrap it for you.”

  “Thanks. Do you courier as well?”

  “We sure do. Come to the counter and fill out an address tag. What wrapping paper would you like?” She pointed toward a selection behind the counter.

  Ahh, the perfect print sat in a roller at the top. “The blue one with the sailing ships. Thank you.”

  Nico would love it, only she wasn’t allowed this kind of contact with anyone. But too bad. She’d send it to Gilchrist, and hope he’d pass it along, and if he didn’t, well, at least she’d tried. It was the thought that counted, and right now, she needed that thought.

  The saleslady smiled and wrapped the gift while she filled in the address tag. She passed it across, and the lady tied it to the winding ribbon she’d wrapped around it.

  “When will it go?” She pulled out her new card to pay.

  “The courier stops in at five. It’ll be delivered late tomorrow.”

  “Perfect.”

  She left the shop with a bouncy step, and passed a red phone booth on the sidewalk. A man in scuffed black jeans and a green muscle tee crowded the small space. On his bicep was a large tat, one of a sharp-toothed hyena with a raised claw. She slowed, having seen that tat somewhere before. Hmm, but where?

  “The brat was at the pumps,” the man hissed into the phone. “He just drove down Main Street. No one ignores Kern, lady. About time you came through for me. I’ve been looking for your kid for six months.” He slammed the phone into its cradle as he hung up, and the springy black cord tangled in on itself.

  She ducked out of his way as he stormed past and glared at her.

  Creepy.

  Still, nothing and no one would alter her mood now.

  11

  Staring out Ben’s office window down Queen Street, Tyler gripped the sheet of paper Ben had handed him. “Can’t you get me anything more than this?”

  “I’ve retained very little in the way of access to Lydia’s files. By the time Saria goes through re-identification, I’ll have even less. I’m only working the angles you’re following. You wanted to know about Lydia’s wellbeing, and now you have your answer.”

  “All this tells me is she’s made three calls to her handler since she went under. These calls do not tell me she’s safe.” Hell, he was exhausted, and going around in circles. He hadn’t uncovered any further information. His disjointed memory of his shooting and the pain in her eyes haunted him. The image made him reach for her each night, but she wasn’t there. She was gone, and he had to get her back.

  “If she wasn’t safe, I’d be the first one to tear into Gilchrist and demand access to her.” Ben thumped his chest. “Saria asks about her too, and I have nothing to give either of you. I can’t stand letting the girls down, yet I can’t catch a break on this case. We have no motive for Johnny Taita’s murder, and no evidence leading to who killed him. Lydia’s eyewitness description is the only thing I have.”

  “I want her with me.” He crushed and hurled the paper into the bin.

  “I get that, Tyler.”

  “Hey, a little less fighting in here.” In chunky black boots, Brigs marched in. “Our systems specialist just nailed the ID login of the reporter who wrote about Lydia.”

  “About damn time.” Tyler slapped his leg.

  “Exactly. He finally hacked into the newspaper’s computer network and accessed the hard drive, but he wasn’t the only one. There’s foreign code proving our reporter received the information about Lydia in a very irregular way. A hacker dropped the source information in for the reporter to read. Our guy believes he’ll be able to narrow down and identify the hacker’s routed IP address, but it’ll take him a little time.”

  “Wow, the reporter’s source is a hacker. They always protect their source.” Tyler let out a low whistle. “The source must have a lot to lose if he needed to go further than normal media source protection.”

  “The hacker clearly wants to remain untraceable. This is a sensitive case, not to mention a very public one. Most of the people in this country have heard the Taita name.”

  “Keep on this, Brigs. I want everything we can get on this hacker.” Ben tapped his watch. “I don’t want to keep you two from making the appointment with the psychologist.”

  “Yeah, we need to go.” Tyler had taken Brigs with him to each of his appointments. He’d feared he’d say something which wouldn’t mean anything to him, but might pertain to Lydia’s case. Brigs was his second set of eyes and ears having been the man he’d handed her over to for the initial rotation change. He made for the door, Brigs right behind him.

  They passed through the internal office area, significantly quiet since it was the tail end of the day. As he passed his chair, he snatched his black leather jacket from the back of it and swung it over his shoulder. Outside the building, he hailed a taxi.

  It was a short journey to the federal building, where security scanned and sent them through to reception. He waited in the queue, right behind a courier driver in his red and yellow uniform.

  The man passed his deliveries across to the receptionist. “This boxed shipment is for Collins from Wellington, and the smaller wrapped package is for Gilchrist from Blenheim. Sign here.”

  She did, and the courier driver left with a brisk step.

  Tyler nodded to the woman. “I’ve an appointment with Dr. Kevin Forsythe.” He passed her his license, as did Brigs.

  “One moment please.” She checked her computer, tapping away on the keyboard. “Yes, take the elevator to the fourth floor. Room 403. The doctor is expecting you.”

  They rode the elevator up. The doctor’s door was open and Tyler strode in. “Afternoon, Doc.”

  “Ah, Tyler, welcome back. Make yourself comfortable.” He closed his laptop and rose from behind his solid walnut desk. “Brigs, anywhere you like, as usual.”

  “Thanks.” Brigs closed the door, wandered to the window, and perched on the sill.

  Tyler settled onto the long, green couch.

  “How have you fared since we last spoke, Tyler?” The doctor picked up a pen and pad from the coffee table and sank into the armchair across from him. “And I’m referring to your dreams at night.”

  “They’re nightmares, not dreams.” Never-ending, or at least until he woke because he’d sweated out the sheets. “You said we’d work on storming my senses today. You were Lydia’s assigned psychologist a year ago, so storm away.”

  “Right. We’ll get straight to it then.” He removed a micro recorder from his shirt pocket and set it on the coffee table. “Lydia may not have known Johnny Taita personally, but she saw the last moments of his life.” The doctor looked over the rim of his glasses. “As she felt she did with you.”

  “I didn’t die.” He stared at doc’s corner file cabinet, itching to peek inside Lydia’s folder for anything to get closer to her.

  “Lydia never saw you again, and she spoke of you in almost every session. She suffered over witnessing bullets meant for her striking you. I can’t go into specific detail as that’s client privilege, but I can say the reality of your near
death was a heavy burden for her to carry. Particularly since she believed no one’s life was worth more than another’s simply because it was their job to protect.”

  “I left her when she needed me the most. I abandoned her, and that’s how I see it.” He examined the framed print of Rangitoto Island and the heavy bush which lined its sides, just like their cove.

  “Tyler, you can’t take upon yourself what you had no ability to control.”

  He stared at the man. “Doc, she’s needs me now, and I’m still not there for her.” His heart wrenched at the thought.

  “No, but she’s taken control of her own life by keeping those she’s placed in harm’s way safe. You have to see that.”

  “No, it’s my job to keep her safe. It’s my right.”

  The doctor tapped his pen on his pad. “Why is it your right?”

  He grasped the recorder, wanting to make sure he’d hear his own words later. “Because I claimed her the moment she came back into my life. I’m living from one day to the next…for her. I can’t give her the control she wants, not when my life is tied to hers.”

  “Leaving would have been a difficult decision. Lydia’s an independent woman. You cannot control her.”

  Damn it. Tyler both adored her strength and despised it. “As I said, my life is tied to hers.”

  “Do you think she made the wrong choice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tyler, we have a problem. You keep laying the facts aside, but the truth is the truth, no matter which way I present it.”

  “Hold on.” Brigs vaulted to his feet then snapped his fingers as he paced around the armchairs. “Present it?” Brigs eyed Tyler. “The present for Gilchrist from Blenheim. Sorry, Doc, but Tyler when is Nico’s birthday? The wrapping paper had sail boats on it, like for a child.”

  “A couple of days.” Hell, who on earth would send Gilchrist a package like that, except Lydia? This was either the breakthrough he’d waited for, or a desperate stab in the dark.