Hostile Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  “Want some help?”

  “Got any problems helping me prove Rayburn was one sick son of a bitch?” She asked forlornly.

  “Not a one, Jo. Not a one.”

  26

  “Even if there’s an ounce of truth to what they’re saying about that judge, then that girl had a right to do what she did – if she did it. Well? Need I say more? Ever hear of the movie The Burning Bed, for God’s sake?” - Talk radio/Inland Valley

  “So, like, here’s the question. Did Governor Davidson know this guy was a sicko when he appointed him? If he did, then I’m voting Republican. Hey, what about the guy’s son? Maybe he’s a weirdo, too. Politics. Davidson can go pound sand.” - Talk Radio/Sacramento

  “Hey, have you seen that chick? Sixteen ain’t sixteen anymore. She probably loved it.” - Talk radio/Hollywood

  “If they just would put prayer back in the schools. . .”- Talk radio/San Diego

  Josie walked out of terminal three and dropped her duffle bag at her feet. She dialed Archer’s cell. He was where he said he would be: Starbucks just off Sepulveda, nursing a coffee, waiting for her call. Ten minutes later he maneuvered around LAX and pulled his Hummer up to the curb. Josie threw her bag in the back seat and settled herself in the front.

  They met in the middle and kissed one another. Archer checked his side mirror and was back in the flow of traffic before he heard the click of her seat belt. He skipped the turnoff to Sepulveda south that would take them home, and instead rolled down Century Boulevard at a decent clip for that time of day.

  “Where are we going?” Josie asked, disappointed she wasn’t headed home.

  “Dinner.” he answered.

  “It’s three o’clock,” Josie pointed out.

  “Yeah, well, it will take us awhile to get there.”

  “Okay.” She sighed and rolled down her window. It had been bone-chilling cold in San Francisco. Los Angeles was cloudy, but still warm enough for Josie to be comfortable in her shirtsleeves. She cocked her elbow in the open window, and laid her left arm over the back of the bench seat.

  “Hannah’s story checks out,” Josie said. “I found Lyn Chandler. The woman clerked for Rayburn for six months third year of law school. Now she’s on the partnership track at Monikar & Finacker. Smart lady. Good looking. Petite. Light-skinned African-American.”

  “Interesting,” Archer commented. He changed lanes, moving the tank of a car through traffic like he was slaloming on razor-sharp skis.

  “So, Lyn Chandler was working for Rayburn for three months when he puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes hard. You know, he hits that little nerve right here.” Josie dropped her hand to the base of Archer’s neck for a second. “She says she didn’t think anything of it at first. He’d touched her before. There was nothing sexual about it. Usually the contact was brief and in context of him looking at her work. But that time he hurt her. She said something, but Rayburn made light of it. Told her if she wanted to be a player she was going to have to toughen up. That’s what the law is about.”

  “Lay it on her. Nice touch,” Archer muttered with a dispassionate approval. He had a great appreciation for those who performed well, whether they be cop or criminal.

  Josie adjusted her sunglasses as he stopped at a light. The neighborhood had changed. Warehouses and airport hangers gave way to one of those nondescript arteries that connected the vital parts of LA. This one was peppered with small houses and smaller businesses. Every window was barred, every flat surface graffitied. The billboards were in Spanish. Instead of touting sleeper seats to the Orient, they advertised family planning and beer. Josie leaned her head back and closed her eyes, as if trying to remember the sequence of her interview. Archer hit the gas, Josie picked up the story.

  “It gets better. Rayburn left an open knife in the top drawer of his desk. Newly sharpened. She had reached in that drawer a thousand times to get his calendar, but this time there’s a knife sticking out the side of the book. She cut her hand and wanted to use his bathroom to get a towel to stop the bleeding, but Rayburn wouldn’t let her. He didn’t offer to help, and suggested she use the bathroom down the hall for the clerks. Rayburn let her clean up the blood in there, and told her she could see a doctor on her lunch hour if she thought the cut needed attention. In his opinion though, it looked like a clean slice.”

  “Nice of him.” The Humvee slid forward as smoothly as Archer’s next question. “How’d he explain the knife?”

  “He didn’t. Lyn said he never explained anything. Not when he dropped Blacks Law Dictionary on her hand. Not when he grabbed her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. He would just keep talking as if nothing had happened. She said it was spooky. At the end of the day she’d always wonder if these things were accidents. She wondered if she was nuts.”

  “Sounds like he enjoyed the head games as much as he liked the physical stuff. That’s why nobody ever caught on. Rayburn had no nerves, I swear,” Archer said. “What’s the upshot?”

  “I asked her to testify. She said no. The bastard was dead but there were just too many people who still thought Rayburn was God’s gift. She figures it is in her best interest to have clerked for a respected justice for six months, than to be the one who levels accusations against him.”

  Josie slid her arm off the back of the seat and opened her purse. It had been dry in San Francisco. Her skin felt tight but she didn’t have any cream, nothing to soothe that feeling that she was going to crackle like old glass. She flipped her bag shut.

  “I could subpoena her, but she’d put such a spin on her testimony it would end up looking like she was grateful to Rayburn for keeping her on her toes. What did you pick up?”

  “Rayburn had two disciplinary actions against him when he was with the LAPD.”

  “That was a lifetime ago.”

  “Still of interest for our purposes. Shows a pattern. He picked on hookers. One was beat up pretty good. Cut and burned. Another tripped, and Rayburn dislocated her shoulder and broke some teeth when he helped her up. It’s ancient history. Got it from a couple of retired cops. They figured the hookers got what they deserved.”

  “Any chance of finding those women?” Josie asked without much enthusiasm.

  “Nope.” Archer tapped the brakes. A woman was trying to navigate a stroller and three small kids across the middle of the street even though a crosswalk was half a block away. “But I got a good lead on something more current. And this is where we find out if my source is any good.”

  Archer drove another half block, made a sharp left, and cut off conversation with a pull of the emergency brake. He sat for a second before getting out of the car. Josie did the same and met him half way. Leaning against the hood she pulled her shoulders back. Josie tightened the muscles in her butt to work out the kinks from her flight, and used the time to get the lay of the land.

  The strip mall had seen better days. The parking lot needed to be resurfaced. White stall lines had faded to perforation marks. Vandals had scored the glass of the phone booth; the phone itself was missing a receiver. A liquor store anchored one end, a dry cleaner the other. The liquor store did the better business. In between were a pet store that specialized in snakes, a Japanese Anime video shop, and Marguerite’s – tamales, burritos, and check cashing.

  “Rosa Cortanza is who we’re looking for.” Archer took a few steps toward Marguerite’s and opened the door. “Come on. I’ll buy you a taco and won’t even put it on my expense account.”

  Josie pushed off her perch and took him up on his offer. She walked into a place that was just like a little slice of heaven.

  In Los Angeles there are restaurants that served Mexican food, and Mexican restaurants. This was the latter, the real deal: fresh salsa, tortillas made by hand, meat roasted until it fell off the bone, shells deep-fried in lard. Dark, rich mole. Carne Asada. Chilis. Frijoles. Marguerite’s restaurants wore those smells like a coat of wet paint but it was empty except for a young woman sitting at one of the tables flipping
through a magazine.

  Her black hair was short at the crown and waved long at the nape of her neck. Razor cut bangs fell over eyes outlined in kohl, and shaded in gray. Her nails were long and purple. Rhinestones winked from the tip of each one. Her jeans were tight; her shirt was big and loose. The sleeves were rolled up just enough that Josie could see that the tattoo on her forearm was homemade. She closed the magazine when Josie and Archer took a table by the wall. A picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe blessed their choice. A red neon Coors sign hung along side like the Virgin’s nightlight.

  The woman came at them with a basket of chips and a tub of salsa. She slapped both on the table. From under her arm she whipped out two menus featuring a matador and bull on the front. The matador was poised on his toes, his cape a flourish at his feet, his body angled forward as he stabbed the bull with a massive sword. It was an appetizing image.

  “Rosa Cortanza?” Josie asked the minute the woman disappeared.

  “Fits the description,” he answered as his eyes ran down the menu. He closed it, set it aside and dug into the salsa. “Wish I had my camera. I like her look.”

  Rosa was back. They ordered: number 8 combo with enchiladas, tacos and tamales, beans, rice and a side of corn tortillas for Archer, two tacos for Josie. The waitress didn’t say a word as she took their order, and their menus. Far from surly, she wasn’t exactly worried about their dining pleasure either.

  Rosa Cortanza brought Archer’s combination on a platter and Josie’s tacos on a small plate. It took them seventeen minutes to eat and they waited on Rosa five more before the check arrived. They were still the only ones in the place. Josie checked out Rosa, letting her mind linger on the woman a little longer each time she came to the table.

  Rosa was a young woman who had nowhere to go and nothing much to do. She kept body and soul together, pampering the body with fake nails and makeup while ignoring the soul. Maybe she had a kid waiting at home. Maybe she lived in a two-bedroom house with a dozen family members. Maybe she had a man. It was a no-brainer she’d hung with the gangs; all Josie had to do was look at her tattoos to know that. What wasn’t so easily divined was whether or not Rosa would want to talk to them - much less to a jury – or whether a jury would give credence to anything she said.

  Rosa put the check down with the same flair she had delivered the salsa. Archer held up a twenty. She reached for it. They were both holding onto the greenback when he said:

  “I wonder if we could talk to you about Fritz Rayburn.”

  The bill quivered, pulled taut between her and Archer. Rosa’s eyes narrowed for a split second, and then she laughed. It was the sweetest sound. Rosa whipped the bill out of Archer’s fingers and laughed all the way to the register. When she came back with the change she brought a chair with her. Rosa put the change on the table and straddled the chair. Resting her arms on the high back, Rosa Cortanza looked at the both of them and said:

  “What the hell. Let’s talk.”

  27

  “My mom’s husband was gone, so when the job came at the Rayburn house she grabbed it. Worked like a slave, but what was she going to do? She had me and my brother to feed, put clothes on us. My brother, he was older than me. I was ten. Hell, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven living in that big house.”

  Rosa snorted at her ridiculous fantasy. She unrolled the fingers of one hand, poking holes in the sky with her rhinestone tipped nails.

  “Why is it poor people are so friggin’ stupid, huh? We think if we live between the walls and climb under those pretty white sheets in our little rooms in the back that we’ve made it to the big time. We’re so damn grateful. I hate that shit. I look back, and I can’t believe we ever fell for all his crap.”

  “Do you mind if we start at the beginning before we get to the crap part, Rosa?” Josie tossed back the drink their hostess had offered when it was clear they were going to be at this for a while.

  Rosa had locked the door and flipped the open sign around. Marguerite’s was closed. Not that anyone, as Rosa pointed out, would really care. The place was about to go belly up and she was just sticking around because that’s what she did. She stuck around people and places and things until they broke down on her, shit on her, or just went away.

  Josie could get behind that. When Rosa brought out the shot glasses, the salt, the limes, and the tequila, Josie was proud to drink with her. She saluted Rosa on the first two shots. They both sucked the salt from their hands, their dark heads tipping back, their long throats opening up to let the burning liquor slide down into their bellies. They sucked on the lime to cool their lips and Rosa refilled the tiny glasses. Josie nodded her thanks but kept this one in front of her, fingers lightly on the sides of the shot glass. Her eyes were trained on Rosa as she did her math. Rosa was twenty, maybe twenty-two at most but she seemed older by at least a decade. It was in the way she sat talking with them so casually, the way she drank so indifferently, and the way she let them know in the smallest ways that she was never relaxed enough not to be on her guard.

  “Okay. You got the time; I’ll give you the whole story.”

  She shot her liquor and pushed away the glass. Rosa spread her fingers to check out her nails. They were an expensive set, but she wasn’t admiring her manicurist’s handiwork. Rosa Cortanza was either thinking how far she’d come, or trying hard to remember way far back. She gave her head a little jerk, one of those very nifty gestures that street kids seemed to learn before they can walk. She wondered where Rosa had picked it up. Not living at Fritz Rayburn’s house as the maid’s kid.

  “I was born here, in the U.S. My parents were wetbacks. I have a brother in Mexico somewhere. He went back home one Christmas before we started living at the Rayburn place. He couldn’t get back into this country. My mom always meant to send money to get him but it never worked out. There was a sister after me. She died when she was little. Needed a heart or something. She died and then a little while later my brother went back to Mexico. My mother starts getting weird. She figures she’s a failure because I was the only one left. You know all that shit about children being blessings from God. My mom really believed it. She figured she was cursed because she couldn’t take care of her blessings. So that woman loved me to death. Like if she couldn’t take care of me it meant that God was pissed at her and she’d go to hell.”

  “That’s a lot to lay on a kid,” Archer muttered.

  “Tell me,” Rosa laughed. “When my dad left for a better piece of ass I was really in for a treat. You’d think I’d been the Virgin birth. God was telling my mother that she had one more chance to get into heaven. Hey, either of you smoke?”

  Archer and Josie shook their heads. Rosa shrugged. She was used to not getting what she asked for.

  “It’s okay. So, anyway, my mom couldn’t keep the apartment without my dad’s paycheck. She was cleaning houses. Forty bucks a pop. I used to think we were rich because she kept all that cash in a little box. I didn’t know that’s all we had. Most of it was ones and fives so it just looked like a lot of bucks.” Her nails clicked against the chair back. “Hey, doesn’t matter. Anyway, somehow she finds out about the job at the Rayburn place. It was a live-in gig. No more rent. I’d get to go to the Palisades’ schools. God had dropped a damn plum in her lap. She spent all night on her knees giving thanks when she got that job.”

  The door rattled. Two men in work clothes were hungry. Rosa turned around to look, but ignored them. When they wouldn’t give up she yelled at them in Spanish in a tone that didn’t sound like she was too concerned about losing their business.

  “Was Rayburn living in the house fulltime?” Archer wanted to know.

  “The old judge? Well, I guess he wasn’t so old, but he seemed that way to me. Old and kindly.” Rosa chuckled wryly. “But what did I know? I was a kid. Anyway, yeah, it was the old man and the son living there.”

  “And life wasn’t so good?” Josie asked.

  “For a while it was. I went to school and I came home on t
he bus. It was a hike back to the house because the bus didn’t go on that street. Palisades didn’t like their streets mucked up with buses. So that brings us to the good stuff. The old man kind of came and went. He was traveling a lot.”

  Rosa’s chin fell onto her crossed arms. There was a tear tattooed next to her right eye. She’d lost at least one homeboy. There were probably a hundred thousand tears tattooed on her soul if she was anything like Hannah.

  “It was raining one day when I got off the bus. Rayburn pulls into the neighborhood at the same time. I don’t know if it was planned or if it was just fate. You know. Whatever, he was there. He picked me up and took me home. Man, he was something. Big car. Big house. A judge. I was safe in Rayburn’s house. Nobody messed with me.” Rosa snorted a laugh. “What an idiot I was.

  “The guy was sick. It started out with little stuff. You know. A pinch. A push. I had a splinter. He used a pocketknife to get it out. But it was the rainy day when I knew I was in big trouble. He picked me up when I was half way back to the house. I was all wet. Rayburn took me inside. Took me up to his private bathroom and dried me off. Told me he wanted to help out my mom because she worked so hard. We would surprise her and get me all cleaned up.

  “Rayburn got a towel. He dried me off. My shoulders. My legs. Nothing weird about it. Then he got another towel and he started drying my hair. You know how you do?” Rosa lifted her chin and checked out her audience to make sure they were attentive. She put her hands up and pantomimed. “He threw the towel over my head and started to rub, but it was really hard. I guess I hollered or pulled away or something. He stopped. He kept the towel over my head for a minute then dragged it real slow off of me. I looked up and could see him in the mirror. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me.”