Expert Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  “Hannah,” he called, but she didn’t stop until she was at the ‘T’ where Josie’s walk-street dead-ended into the Strand. Billy pulled up behind her.

  “Shit, dude,” he breathed.

  Shoulder-to-shoulder, they stood looking at the people surrounding Josie’s house. There were a hundred of them, maybe more, holding candles whose flames didn’t flicker in the hot, still evening. On the far side of the crowd, traffic crawled on Hermosa Boulevard as drivers gawked. One driver who had obviously had one too many slowed to a stop, lifted his middle finger and hollered something that Hannah could not hear but knew to be vile.

  There was a television truck illegally parked against the curb and a blond woman was speaking earnestly into the lens of a huge shoulder cam pointed her way by a big guy wearing a green t-shirt. When sirens sounded in the distance, the commentator picked up the pace. Hurriedly, she finished speaking, and then shouldered her way through the crowd, raised her hand and pushed her microphone up toward the man standing atop the low wall that Josie had built. His arms were outstretched like Christ on the cross, and he was talking trash to the faithful and the fools.

  An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

  Erika tore a piece of her skirt off, wrapped it around her bound hands and rubbed her face. She rubbed and rubbed. Her skin was raw, but Josie had given up trying to make her stop.

  “How’s this?” Erika asked, and for the tenth time Josie looked up.

  “Yeah, looks good.”

  Erika smiled. “Great. Okay. Your turn. If we make ourselves look nice, maybe it will make a difference. God, I wish I had a comb.”

  “Hmmm.” Josie was half listening because the knot of the rope around her hands was starting to give. She stretched her finger as far as it could go and wiggled it under the knot, but she couldn’t get enough leverage.

  “Erika, come here. Quick. I can’t hold it too long.” Erika did as she was told, crawling toward who was holding her wrists up. “Look, see, it’s giving. Can you work one of your fingers underneath?”

  Silently Erika bent to the task. She straightened her pointer finger and worked it under the rope. Josie held her breath, but Erika breathed hard with the effort. Slowly the rope gave. Neither woman uttered a sound and certainly not a word of delight. Superstition was the order of the day inside that hut. Don’t speak of hope because God might hear and dash it. Don’t wish for water because it might rain outside and they would have none inside. Don’t talk of their lives before this, because they might never get back to them. So, when that little loop of cotton rope jiggled, when Erika crooked her finger underneath, when the end of it popped through that loop, they dared only look at one another.

  Erika bent again and pinched the remaining knot between thumb and pointer finger. She worked the rope back and forth, back and forth. Impatient, Josie contracted and expanded her wrists. She wriggled them, and the work became frantic. Erika giggled, and Josie barked a laugh.

  “Oh Jesus. That’s it. That’s it.” Josie rejoiced. In the next second the rope fell away and blood rushed to her extremities. She rubbed her wrists, she wiggled her fingers, and looked at her hands as if she had never seen them before. Then she heard:

  “Josie? What about me?”

  “Oh, Lord. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Josie reached for Erika’s bindings, but the other woman pulled her hands away. She wasn’t smiling anymore. She seemed peeved.

  “I mean, what about me?” Erika said again. “Do I look nice?”

  Josie Bates’ House, Hermosa Beach

  Hannah heard all she needed to hear. The man on the wall, the guy who looked like an undertaker, was calling down God’s wrath on Josie Bates and it pissed Hannah off.

  Without thinking, she tore through the crowd, pushing aside the candle holding idiots and flew at the man in black, knocking him off the wall. There was a collective gasp. Someone hollered. A woman screamed. All Hannah heard was the sounds of commotion; all she saw was the man in black. Hannah was over the wall in the blink of an eye, pushing him back into the small yard. She was younger and faster than he, and she straddled him before anyone knew what was happening. Her fists flew and the fact that he made no effort to protect himself enraged her even more.

  Some people called for her to stop; some implored God to intervene; someone was calling out a play-by-play. The moment had turned into an event, but Hannah didn’t care about any of it until she felt a man’s hands on her shoulders. She wriggled out of his grasp.

  “Back off,” she screamed. “He can’t say those things. He can’t.”

  Hannah was sobbing now. The blows she delivered were soft with despair and exhaustion. Soon she couldn’t raise her arms any more, and she collapsed on the man in the black suit.

  The crowd hushed. In the fading light of day, in the glow of the flickering candles and the light atop the shoulder cam, Isaiah Wilson put his hands atop Hannah Sheraton’s thick black hair as if he was blessing her.

  In the next moment, the man who had tried to pull Hannah away grasped her shoulders again, but the preacher’s arms encircled Hannah even tighter. Lying on the ground, holding the sobbing girl as if she were his own, Isaiah Wilson looked at the man who would have taken her away. He smiled. He said:

  “Hello, Daniel.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE:

  “Is she alright?”

  Reverend Wilson looked up as Archer and Daniel Young came into Josie’s living room.

  “She’ll be okay.”

  Archer didn’t break stride as he walked across the room, took the picture Isaiah was holding, and put it back where it belonged. It was Josie’s favorite: her and Max when she first found him, sad and hungry and abandoned under the pier. Archer put it back next to a picture of Hannah standing in the framing of the arch between the living room and dining room.

  Isaiah Wilson’s lips tipped, and Archer knew the expression for what it was: a smirk, a look of superiority, and a mocking expression. The man was getting everything he had come for, the opportunity to gloat over Josie’s misfortune and another limelight to bask in. When this was over, Archer was going to have Josie’s place fumigated.

  “Praise the Lord,” Isaiah said offhandedly. “I would never want to see a young girl hurt.”

  “I think it’s yet to be seen how Hannah will weather the shock she had today.” Daniel put in his two cents. Archer wasn’t sure if he was voicing his concern or just wanted to get in the preacher’s face.

  “She won’t die, will she?” Isaiah titled his head as if to say if Hannah were alive she was doing better than his Janey.

  Knowing that the point had been taken, Reverend Wilson pulled at his black slacks and sat down on Josie’s sofa. His socks were black silk and his shoes spit-polished. But Archer was focused on the shine of blood that had seeped through the fine fabric at his knee. The injury underneath the cloth was pretty bad if Archer could see the burgundy blood on the black fabric. Not that he cared, because the guy deserved everything he got for the stunt he pulled. He would have grabbed the sucker himself if he’d been there.

  “You are a bastard. . .” Archer began, but Daniel stopped him.

  “Archer, please,” Daniel said. “He didn’t come here to hurt Hannah.”

  “I only wish I had been praying for that girl all these years. Obviously, being Ms. Bates’ child is trying.”

  “You know she’s not Josie’s kid,” Archer muttered. “She may never be after what happened today.”

  “God’s will, Archer,” the reverend answered. “But Ms. Bates has been blessed. Hannah fought as fiercely for her as any daughter would have. Ms. Bates could learn from her: fight for a cause and not a paycheck.”

  “Christ, that trial was ten years ago. Drop it.”

  Archer exploded, unable to listen to this talk. What was with this guy anyway? Why bring God into all this like God had a side. Yet when the reverend turned his cool eye on Archer, the burly man immediately understood the import of what he had said. He w
asn’t sorry, but he understood.

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t grieve for your daughter, but Josie didn’t kill her,” Archer argued.

  “No, she did not. At least not literally,” Isaiah agreed. “All those lies about Janey, all the insinuations, that was just business, an investment in her career, wasn’t it? And now, it seems, she is being paid a dividend she didn’t expect.”

  “So you came here to pray that she’s going to die? What kind of religion is that?”

  Archer glanced out the living room window. Some of Wilson’s flock had found their way back and their candles were lit once more. When Josie got home he’d talk to her about curtains. He caught sight of Paul Rothskill in the crowd. The whole gang was here – Daniel, Paul, Isaiah Wilson – and that put Archer on his guard.

  “It’s the oldest kind of religion.” Isaiah turned Archer away from his distraction. “An eye for an eye. I don’t seek it, I simply point out that God’s laws cannot be broken without the consequence. He sees, he waits, he allows free will to take its course, but always His hand is there for final justice.”

  “But in this case justice isn’t being handed out by God, is it?” Archer challenged. “There’s a real, live, breathing human being who took Josie and Erika Gardener. God may work in mysterious ways, but he doesn’t snatch women from their homes or their cars.”

  The preacher put his fingers on the knee of his pant leg and probed the ever- growing stain of blood as if he wasn’t listening. He did not wince or pull his hand away. It was as if he were detached from all the pain and worry except for that which he carried in his heart and soul.

  “Josie Bates stood between God and Xavier Hernandez; now God will not stand between her and him.”

  “Isaiah, please.” Daniel sat down opposite the reverend. “You must listen to me for a minute.”

  “Really Daniel?” The reverend said mildly just before his eyes slid toward the doctor as if he didn’t even deserve that much attention. “I value my time and I believe it has been established that even if one were to listen to you, there is no reason to take what you say to heart.”

  “Insults won’t help. I did what I could.”

  “And I did not come here to speak with you. In fact, I am surprised to find you here at all. It seems odd that you kept up with Ms. Bates considering.”

  “I didn’t keep up with her. We are tied by circumstance. It was a fluke that I saw you on the news tonight. I had plans, but I came here instead. I thought I could help.”

  “You can’t.” The reverend cut him off. “You never could.”

  Though there was no room for Daniel to maneuver, he tried anyway. He clasped his hands and bounced his fist up and down as if that would help him find the right words to say. Archer almost stepped in but changed his mind. There was a blush of anger creeping up the back of Young’s neck and a pale disdain on Wilson’s face. One would have thought these two would be compatriots. Daniel was trying hard to be.

  “Isaiah, do you know why God has not healed you?” Daniel asked.

  “No. Do you?” Isaiah’s brow rose but his surprise was mocking. Daniel, the buffoon, pushed on seemingly unaware that he was being played.

  “Those resentments you hold toward Ms. Bates have poisoned your life. Not only would God not want this, Janey wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t know anything about my Janey’s mind. You were incompetent ten years ago, and you are irrelevant now.”

  “What happened in that courtroom had nothing to do with competency. You know that as well as I do.”

  “Really?” Isaiah baited the shrink.

  “Yes, really.” Daniel’s voice lowered, ready for the debate. “Both of us had issues with Josie Bates. And both of us find ourselves here. I am on that list of Xavier’s and so are you. Did you know that?”

  “Actually, yes. This gentleman brought the news.”

  “And do you know why Xavier considers me a threat?” Daniel posed the question but didn’t wait for an answer. “Because I saw inside his head, and because I knew that he was a sane, calculating, and vicious man. But Bates? What reason did he have to hate her? None, and she was still taken on a perfectly beautiful afternoon, drugged and whisked away without so much as a hair left behind to prove he did it. We are facing true evil, Isaiah. Evil that does not differentiate between us. You always thought you were above it all. You weren’t. You aren’t. I promise you that. In fact, I guarantee it.”

  “Your pronouncements were always so absolute, Daniel. Black and white. Dr. Young’s opinion above everyone else. I admired that surety at one time.” Wilson shrugged to indicate his dismissal. “Now it is just unfounded arrogance. You are like a braying donkey, Daniel.”

  Archer’s interest went to the Reverend. He had not been shown the list with the pictures next to each name, so the analogy was worth noting. Seeing the two men locked in their tug of war gave Archer notice that there was more to learn.

  “I’m not the fool. What you did here tonight will make things worse for everyone concerned. I guarantee that, too.”

  “You thought you could guarantee a conviction, Daniel.” Without breaking eye contact with Daniel, Isaiah called out to Archer. “Did you know that the good Doctor here is a fraud, sir?”

  “That’s stiff.” Archer moved toward the two men. The bad blood between them ran almost as deep as the hatred they both had for Josie.

  “Not really. It was your Ms. Bates who exposed him.” Isaiah looked away from Daniel to Archer. “Look at the transcript of his testimony. He probably hates her just as much as the rest of us.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Isaiah. My problem with Josie Bates was public. I suffered it, and I moved on. I have a thriving practice. I’m brought into this because Xavier Hernandez is a shark, trolling until he finds prey. He found Erika Gardener and Josie Bates. Maybe I’m next. Maybe you are.”

  “I will pray for Ms. Gardener, but for Ms. Bates there can only be one outcome.”

  “That sounds like a threat, to me,” Archer said. “And with stunts like you pulled tonight, you’ve all but given permission for Hernandez to do whatever he wants to Josie. At least Young is being proactive. At least he’s got some real balls.”

  Daniel turned slowly and looked at Archer. He blinked as if coming out of a deep sleep, but Isaiah and Archer didn’t notice. It was between him and the preacher now.

  “Unlike a courtroom, Archer, here truth is what is important. And the truth is that Josie Bates lied about my daughter. ”

  “I haven’t read the transcripts. I don’t know what was said, but I know Josie. Whatever she did, it was done to represent her client to the best of her abilities. That was her job.”

  “And, my job as a father, and a believer in God’s justice, is to represent my faith and my daughter. I have lived all these years waiting for that woman to get what she deserves. I hope she dies. I hope Josie Bates stands at the gates of heaven, and St. Peter turns her away with my Janey looking on.”

  Isaiah Wilson put his hand in his pocket, but before he could make another move, Archer was across the room. The big man towered over Wilson as he put one hand on the couch arm and another on the cushion. He got in the craggy face of the pricey preacher. There was a smell that came off the man; a smell like mothballs or an old woman’s house, or rotting leaves or food left in a hot place too long. It made Archer gag, but he didn’t turn away.

  “Maybe you got tired of waiting for God to do his business, I-say-ah. Maybe you took Josie and Erika and put them somewhere because book sales are down, or because you just wanted some attention, or because you wanted to be the one that did them in. I don’t know why you’d want to hurt the Gardener woman, but the way you talk about Josie sounds like a confession to me. So where are they? What have you done with them?”

  Isaiah held Archer’s gaze for a split second, but before he could answer a movement in the doorway distracted him. Archer backed off and all three men looked at Hannah who was leaning against the unfinished archw
ay that led to the dining room. That exhausted, beautiful, tortured young girl’s fingers frantically tapped the bare two-by-four, her lips moved, and she had eyes only for Isaiah.

  “Why is he still here?”

  “I was just leaving, Hannah.” Isaiah rose. The right leg of his slacks was pasted to his knee with the dried blood. He made no attempt to free it. “I have what I came for.”

  “Exactly what was it you got?” Archer demanded.

  “I made people remember why Ms. Bates finds herself in this position. It is because of what she did to my Janey.”

  Isaiah Wilson pulled together his lips. He walked slowly toward Hannah. For a second it seemed that he was going to touch her, instead he confided in her.

  “She killed my daughter a second time, Hannah,” the preacher said quietly. “That woman pointed the finger at my Janey and called her a harlot. She condemned my daughter to hell, and she elevated that man who killed her to an unwitting victim of her lust. She said my daughter deserved her death; I say Josie Bates deserves the same.”

  Before Archer could step up and take out the guy’s other knee, before Daniel could reach into his psychologist’s bag of tricks, Hannah spoke.

  “You’re going to hell for wishing that. And you know what, your daughter is turning her back on you in that heaven you think you deserve.”

  In the silence, all anyone heard was Max’s nails clicking as he came to rest beside Hannah. Deliberately, she reached for the dog, hunkered beside him and buried her face in his fur as if to say she preferred the comfort of a dumb animal to the company of the God Isaiah Wilson represented.

  “I’ll leave this for you, Hannah. Perhaps, after you read it, you will understand.”

  Isaiah Wilson put the papers he had taken from his coat and left them on the hall table. Archer followed Wilson out the door. As he did, he took the papers with him. The only way Hannah would ever read what went on in that courtroom was over his dead body.