Expert Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  The Christian Broadcast Complex, Orange County

  Isaiah Wilson held his bible in both hands at crotch level. His head was lowered. The cameras had stopped running, and as always the cameraman, producer, and sound tech remained respectfully silent. What wasn’t usual was the length of time Isaiah remained stationary. The three other people in the room glanced at one another. One of them shrugged, and all of them held their breath. Another minute passed and another. They had never seen a human being stay as still as this man. When it seemed that one of them was going to have to inquire after the reverend’s health, Wilson raised his head revealing a fearsome visage. His head turned to the young man in the doorway. Peter Siddon was fully awake now. His hair was neatly combed. He was calmer than when he had arrived. Isaiah smiled at him.

  “I’m so glad you came to me.” Isaiah opened his arms and the young man walked into them. “Let us finish what you have started.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:

  Josie Bates’ House, Hermosa Beach

  “Hello! Hello there! I’m afraid Hannah was a little reluctant to talk to me without an adult present. That is completely understandable. I didn’t mind waiting in the least.” The woman who had been perusing Josie’s bookshelf seemed to be psychic. She popped up right in front of Archer just as he stepped into the living room. Her hand was out, her greeting chirpy and totally annoying. “Oh, I startled you. So sorry.”

  “This is Mrs. Crane.” Hannah mumbled to Archer before raising her voice. “And I wasn’t reluctant to talk to you. I told you, Josie is out of town.”

  The woman graced Hannah with a smile that turned Archer’s stomach. One thing he hated worse than a bad guy was a sadistic good guy.

  “Yes, Sarah Crane. Child Protective Services. Hannah’s caseworker. Well, I’m newly assigned. Mrs. Davis quit. Not a job for a weak constitution.”

  With surprising grace, the woman whipped out a calling card from her standard issue government portfolio.

  “Mrs. Manning at Hannah’s school called me. She was concerned that, perhaps, something was wrong, and that Ms. Bates might not have the same enthusiasm for guardianship that she originally exhibited. We so appreciate that kind of concern from an educator, so I wanted to have a look-see for myself. You know, make sure that everything was hunky-dory. I’ve read Hannah’s file, and she hasn’t always had such personal attention, so I am bound and determined to make up for that.”

  Archer took the card and kept moving until he was standing in front of the sofa. He sat down, feet planted, arms on his knees, and his eyes still riveted on the card. He didn’t need a card to tell him who this woman was because she was precise and clear about that. Archer just thought the card gave him a great excuse to think for a minute as he waded through the bullshit she was shoveling. Then he thought he should ask her to leave, and then he reconsidered. She could cause him a whole lot more grief than he needed right now, so giving her some time was the better course of action.

  He flipped the card between his fingers as his eyes went to Mrs. Crane. She had taken the leather chair across from him, perching herself primly on the edge of the seat, and balancing her portfolio on her knees as she waited patiently for his attention. When she had it, Mrs. Crane opened her portfolio and withdrew a pen. Her gaze pegged Archer then clicked up a degree to Hannah who had positioned herself behind him. He applauded the girl’s self-restraint. If someone were talking about him like he was a rescue animal he would have made it real clear he didn’t appreciate the tone or the implications. The only indication Hannah gave that she was upset was the almost imperceptible tapping on the back of the sofa.

  “So, Mr. …”

  “Archer.”

  “You’re Ms. Bates’ partner, I believe.”

  Her chin swung up as she said this. It swung so far that she looked down her nose at him. Aggravation flickered deep in Archer’s eyes; satisfaction twinkled in Mrs. Crane’s. He didn’t like labels, and he sure didn’t like them being slapped on by someone like her.

  “The length of my relationship with Josie isn’t relevant to why you’re here, so you wasted a trip. Josie is out of town, but she’s dedicated to this guardianship. No question.” Archer tossed the card on the glass coffee table and gave her what he hoped passed for an expression of assurance. “You can see Hannah has a support system. She’s been in school, and I live close. There’s Faye, Josie’s law partner. She checks in.”

  “Yes, yes, I do have Ms. Baxter’s information. In fact, I called over to her office to chat with her. I like to cover my bases. Most people don’t think government workers aren’t thorough, but in my experience we are very good at covering our bases. So many misconceptions.”

  She flashed a grin. She might as well have tattooed ‘look how special I am’ on her forehead. Hannah moved her head slightly. She hated this cheery woman who was so proud of her good deeds, so damn dedicated to saving Hannah when Hannah was already saved. Archer’s assessment was simpler; this woman was evil and he had to take care with her.

  “It seems Faye Baxter has been out of town for some time. Business down south and seeing her daughter.” Mrs. Crane waved a little circle in the air. “So, as you say, that leaves you as Hannah’s ad hoc guardian if the guardian is not on the premises. Wouldn’t you imagine that would be the case, Mr. Archer?”

  Archer’s teeth were on a grind; the back of his neck was flushed and warm. Hannah’s finger touched his shoulder as if in warning, and then he felt her tapping the back of the sofa once more. Knowing him well enough, not wanting any more trouble than was necessary, Hannah stepped in.

  “Josie’s not missing. She’s just got caught up.”

  “Do you want me to call her?” Archer asked.

  “Really, Mr. Archer. Do you think that would do any good?”

  Mrs. Crane morphed from songbird to falcon as she called his bluff. Her eyes narrowed to mere slits in a face that had seemed narrow and fleshy, yet, in reality, was sharp boned and sunken. That beak of hers, sweetly chirping her concern only moments before was now closed tight and turned up sharply in a satisfied smirk. This, Archer imagined, was what prey saw in the instant before the predator struck. It was an ugly and fearful sight and her prey was Hannah.

  “Hannah, dear, it really would be better if you didn’t tell tales.” Mrs. Crane’s head swung away from the teenager to the man. “And Mr. Archer, I think you might do well to heed that lesson also. Especially when you are speaking to a representative of the government.”

  “Honesty is usually the best policy.” The only way he would give an inch was if she came over and ripped it away from him. But she stayed put and smiled drily.

  “Excellent.” She drew the word out to a fine point. “I’m so glad we agree about telling the truth, because I picked this up on the way over. Well, not really picked it up. I took it off a telephone pole.”

  From her ever-so-practical portfolio she withdrew a piece of paper that was just a little larger than her case. Mrs. Crane looked at it admiringly. No matter what it was, Archer knew he and Hannah were screwed.

  “I’ll bet you did this Hannah, didn’t you? Beautiful work. Definitely noticeable. These seem to be all over Hermosa Beach.”

  Slowly, Mrs. Crane turned the paper, holding it by the edges so that her hawk-like face was half hidden. Archer put his fingers to his forehead. He didn’t want to look at it, but it was preferable to looking at Hannah.

  In Mrs. Crane’s dry fingers was a poster with Josie’s picture and the word MISSING! block printed in bright red letters above it.

  Hermosa Beach Police Department

  “There’s a reason they call it a lunch hour, Driscoll.”

  Captain Hagarty had noticed she’d been gone a while. He was busy and unhappy. Liz could tell by the way he shoved a message slip across his desk at her.

  “Thanks.” Liz snatched it up, turned and tried to make her escape only to miss her window of opportunity.

  “Hand it off to LAPD, Driscoll.”

  “Ca
ptain, Josie Bates is a Hermosa resident and. . .” Liz began her argument and he finished it.

  “And her car was found in Redondo and neither department has the resources to handle something this big.” Hagarty sat back and clasped his hands over his middle.

  “It’s an inquiry at this stage,” Liz insisted.

  “It’s a problem.” Hagarty looked tired but no less determined. “The Bates thing is tied to a woman in Hollywood. Both have a history with Hernandez who was in a level four institution. He’s out. The parole officer doesn’t have a handle on where he is which means he could be anywhere and you playing Sherlock Holmes will just get in the way.”

  “It’s not like that. I can help. I’ve tracked down people who saw her-”

  “You’re not hearing me Liz. You have a job and right now you have eight open files.”

  “Nine,” Liz muttered.

  “Nine,” he reiterated.

  “And I’m handling them so what’s the real problem?” Liz planted her feet and squared her shoulders.

  To Hagarty’s credit, he didn’t look away. She wouldn’t have had much respect for him if he did.

  “You don’t have the chops or the back-up,” Hagarty answered flatly. He sat forward, his expression softening and his talk sharpening. “I’m not saying the heart isn’t there, Driscoll, but this is way out of your range of experience. We don’t have the tools even an experienced detective would need for an investigation as intricate as this. A woman’s life may hang in the balance for all we know, and, if it does, you don’t want to be the one who tips the scales.”

  “Did it ever occur to you I might tip them in a good way?” Liz challenged.

  “This isn’t personal, it’s fact. Step down. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Captain. Is that all?”

  “No. When you get the report on the Jeep, I want that over to LAPD before the ink is dry,” Hagarty said. “That’s all.”

  Liz turned and marched out the door, closing it behind her hard enough to make it sound pissy, but not sharp enough to express her displeasure. Even Jefferson, who was coming off the afternoon shift, turned his head and gave her a look. Liz smiled back and headed to her office cubicle hoping she looked like she had it together. Her cheeks burned, and there was a nice tight spot in the middle of her chest. She totally accepted the second part of Hagarty’s argument. Hermosa PD didn’t have the bells and whistles L.A. did, but they had some resources. It was the first part of his argument that made her feel sick and mad and agitated.

  She never thought of herself as a second-class detective. Sometimes she wondered if she was a second-class woman, but she never questioned her ability as a detective. She had excelled at the academy. She stood up when people tried to make her back down. When it came to chops or balls or both she had more than she knew what to do with. Questioning that was like a slap in the face. No, not just a slap. A bitch slap. She kicked the damn, grey upholstered thing that was supposed to make her floor space into an office, and it shook like it was going to fall. Joe Moore was at home on the other side. He got up and looked over the top.

  “Got a problem?” he asked.

  Liz didn’t look up. She knew exactly what she would see: a double chin, a mustache and a nose that was perpetually red.

  “No,” She fumed

  “You in trouble?”

  “No,” she muttered.

  “What’d you do?” he sing-songed.

  “Nothing.”

  He lost interest, sat down again, and left her to fume. Moore started to two-finger peck on his keyboard – probably tweeting that his fellow officer was in a snit. Liz looked at the crumpled note in her hand.

  “I haven’t done anything. Not yet,” she muttered as smoothed it out, picked up the phone and dialed LAPD.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:

  Josie Bates’ House, Hermosa Beach

  The knock on the door was timed perfectly. The three people inside Josie’s house paused, and simultaneously turned their heads. Their hearts thumped in unison. Max got up and hustled to the entry on his old legs. His tail wagged low as if he, too, was afraid to hope for good news. Hannah started after him, put her hand on the knob and then stopped as Mrs. Crane insisted they pay attention to her.

  “Three o’clock. I have another appointment, and since neither of you seem to want to fill me in on where Ms. Bates might be, or the particulars of why she might be there, I have no reason to extend this visit. I’m sure you’re going to be busy trying to find her, unless this is some kind of prank.” Mrs. Crane rustled the poster and looked at Hannah one more time. “Is this a prank?”

  “No. We’re figuring it out.”

  It was Archer who answered as he moved the woman toward the door, wanting nothing more than for her to leave so he could get back to work. Mrs. Crane paused before she got to the foyer. She lowered her voice.

  “You have to understand, my job is to look after Hannah’s welfare. This case is unusual, and we know that she is high risk.”

  “She’s being taken care of. I’ll take full responsibility for her.”

  “That’s really not for you or me to say, is it Mr. Archer?” Mrs. Crane held her portfolio to her breast like a shield. “Hannah and Ms. Bates are scheduled to appear before Judge Leisinger tomorrow. I’ll advise the judge’s clerk that Ms. Bates will not be present. The judge will decide whether or not she’ll remain here.”

  Archer looked at Hannah. Her hand was frozen on the knob. She didn’t have to be part of the conversation to know what was going on. Archer looked back at Mrs. Crane, and did the only thing he could do; the one thing that always got him into trouble. He was honest.

  “I can’t be her legal guardian.”

  “Given your relationship with Ms. Bates, I thought you’d have some interest in the girl.”

  The woman was the Wicked Witch and Hannah was her Toto. She would have the girl no matter what. If Archer thought dunking this one in water would make all their troubles go away, he would do it.

  “We’ll be in court tomorrow,” Archer said.

  Whoever was outside, knocked again. No one was under the illusion that it was Josie. Mrs. Crane opened her purse and took out her keys. Archer looked at Hannah and his jaw tightened. He could see that she was stricken behind her beautiful green eyes, that she had paled beneath the chocolate colored skin, and that she shivered even though the late afternoon was hot.

  “Hannah?”

  She blinked, seeming surprised to see Archer in the house. He nodded toward the door. Hannah opened it and Liz Driscoll rolled into the room like a bowling ball.

  “Hey, Archer. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  Hannah dropped back, Archer turned, and Mrs. Crane stood her ground. She ignored Liz and spoke to Archer.

  “I could take Hannah into custody right now, you understand. Your choice, Mr. Archer.”

  “Hannah’s choice,” Archer responded.

  Mrs. Crane smirked, “This is about the law, not a child’s self esteem.”

  Archer’s eyes locked with Hannah's. The two of them tied together legally, even for a few days, was not something either would relish. He tried to think of the greater good and what Josie would want. He tried not to see that beyond the pride in Hannah’s expression was a deep, childlike terror. But he could see it, and he knew what the right thing was.

  He said: “We’ll see you in court.”

  Mrs. Crane swept past them all, off to do her best to wreak havoc on other lives under the guise of legislative compassion. She was a happy, content, bitter woman, unlike Liz who was as jittery as a bug.

  “Archer. LAPD found Hernandez’s place. Let’s roll.” She turned toward Hannah and stuck out her hand. “You the kid Josie took in?”

  “Hannah. Who are you?”

  “I’m Liz Driscoll, the cop who’s gonna find her.”

  Liz turned on her heel and was out the door assuming Archer would follow. As he passed Hannah he put his hand on her shoulder. The girl looked at it th
en up at him. When her hand covered his, he expected her to brush him away. Instead, she gripped it briefly.

  “Be safe,” she said, her eyes never leaving his as she stepped back and put space between them once more.

  Archer nodded and then caught up with Liz. Before they turned the corner onto Hermosa Boulevard, he glanced back. Hannah had followed him out to the street and Max stood beside her. In another time she would be facing to sea on a widow’s walk, looking toward the horizon and hoping to see a ship bringing her sailor home. He could only imagine what she was hoping to see now: not just Josie returning but maybe him, too. It was a heavy burden. Archer didn’t know how Josie dealt with it all, but he had an inkling of why she did. Hannah was worth saving and protecting.

  “Archer, times awastin’,’” Liz called.

  He looked back at her and they got into the car at the same time: her behind the wheel, him to the passenger seat. Before Archer snapped his seat belt, he saw that they weren’t alone.

  “I thought he might have some insight,” Liz said as she fired up the car. “Ready to slay the dragon guys?”

  Liz pulled out into traffic and Archer faced forward not liking Daniel Young riding along at all; not liking that Daniel’s eyes were on Hannah as they drove away.

  An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

  “Do it, or I will.”

  Josie looked at Erika and then at the small bottle of water that was still perched on the little ledge. It was so close and yet so far away. For the last two hours, Josie had talked Erika out of wanting that water. They both knew it was probably drugged, but in the end Erika didn’t care if it was poisoned.

  “Do it.” Erika demanded. “We share it and neither of us will get enough to knock us out.”

  “No, we have to be ready when he comes back.”

  “Who died and left you God?” Erika cried, her voice shaking. “I want that water, but I’m not tall enough to reach it. You are, and I want it now.”

  Josie wanted it, too. In fact, one more day in this place and she might have taken it all for herself. But it would take more time for her to trust the person who left it. If she could have seen his eyes she might feel better about drinking from that bottle. But his eyes were hidden behind some sort of glasses: big glasses that covered part of his brow and some of his cheek.