Hostile Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  “What have you done? What?”

  “Mom, I. . .” Hannah said, but Linda didn’t wait for an answer. She darted after her husband.

  “Kip, wait. Wait.” She caught up with him in the dining room, unable to make him stop until she sprinted ahead.

  “Get out of my way, Linda. It’s all over. My life is over. Everything is over. And it’s her fault. I don’t want to look at her. I don’t want her in my house.”

  “What about me? Do you want me? Isn’t that why you came? To get me? I can make it better. I always have. I always will.” Linda hustled in front of him, her hands out, touching his chest, his shoulders.

  “Just get out of my way,” he slapped at her hands but she persisted.

  “No, answer me. Kip for once in your life say what you want. What do you want?”

  Kip grabbed her hands and shook them.

  “I want people to stop talking about us. I’m sick of it. I can’t go anywhere. People ask me if my father really did those things to me. At the club they make jokes about the women and girls and my father. They look at me and wonder if I ever did what he did. The governor called. He is withdrawing the nomination. Can you change that?”

  “Yes. Yes. I promise. I’ll talk to him. We’ll figure something out. It will be all right,” Linda insisted, frantic to calm him. It was an impossible task.

  “Don’t be stupid. Nothing will be all right. Not until she is gone.” He whipped his head around to glare at Hannah. She had followed cautiously, hugging the walls, the furniture, watching to see where the danger was coming from. But Kip’s eyes were blurred. He saw nothing, and he could do nothing. He dropped his head and shook it. “Everything was fine when it was just him and me. No one knew. I could take anything if nobody knew.”

  Linda pulled him to her. When he resisted, she moved into him, forcing herself on him, angry and determined to stop the hemorrhaging emotions that would kill reason.

  “I know. I do know. I swear. I’ve been there. But I can make it right.”

  She soothed him with the truth. It was an awful, ugly truth that weakness was better stomached in private, behind the doors, in the dark. Fritz knew that. Kip knew that and, most of all, Linda knew. The weak were bound together. Maybe that was why Fritz and Kip and Linda had coexisted as easily as they had. Maybe that was why Hannah never found her place in the Rayburn mix. Her weakness was open. It didn’t shape her heart and soul; it only touched the delicate tissues of the mind.

  “Mom?”

  Instinctively Linda pulled Kip closer as if to protect him from her daughter. Kip twisted out of her grasp and stepped behind his wife. He ran a hand through his hair. His plain face was mottled with the color of emotions long held private.

  “Leave him alone.” Linda closed in on Hannah and lowered her voice. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  Hannah’s eyes flicked to Kip and back to her mother. Her hand reached out. She touched Linda’s arm. Once, twice, three times and Linda slapped her away.

  “Mom, please. I didn’t do anything. He came here. He scared me. I thought it was going to be like Fritz.”

  “Stop it.” Linda grabbed Hannah’s arm and railroaded her back into her room. She whipped Hannah against the wall, out of Kip’s sight. “It’s not going to be like that. Don’t even think it. Kip’s not like that, but don’t push him, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “But. . .” Hannah grappled to get a hold on her mother. Linda gathered Hannah’s hands together and held them tight.

  “I’m telling you to trust me. I’ve got to take care of Kip so I can take care of us - of you.”

  “No, I’m not going to do it anymore. I’m not going to take care of her,” Kip screamed.

  Linda let go of Hannah’s hands. Kip wasn’t finished with them.

  “Kip, calm down. We’ll work this out.”

  “You work it out. You take care of it.” Kip turned to leave. “But not with my money. Not in my house. Not for that little bitch.”

  “Christ,” Linda muttered, watching his back as he stormed away. “Kip, wait. I’m coming with you.”

  “Mom!” Hannah screamed, choking back her sobs. “Don’t leave me. Please, Mom. Don’t leave. Don’t.”

  Linda bared her teeth and her eyes flashed as she turned on her daughter. Everything was walking out that door, and she’d be damned if she’d let it go without a fight.

  “We need him you little bitch,” Linda hissed, turning again to rush after her husband.

  It was then Hannah changed the trajectory of the night. With a scream she flew past her mother and lunged at Kip Rayburn. She was crazed with the fear of being left alone, out of her mind with the thought that her mother – her mother who she loved beyond reason, who she would do anything for and had done anything for – would leave her for this person.

  “You can’t take her away. She’s supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be alone,” Hannah screamed.

  Tripping on the slick floor, Hannah’s knees hit hard but she was close enough to take hold of Kip’s legs. She grappled. She pulled hard. Kip fell forward, smashing his shoulder against the wall. Fritz’s black and red canvas shivered above as he steadied himself. Hannah grunted, crawling up his leg, snatching at his clothes and screaming, but he was quick. One leg was free. Kip kicked hard catching the side of Hannah’s head. She reeled back and rolled into the opposite wall. Linda screamed. Hannah’s arm flew across her brow, her other hand went to her lips to stifle the cry. She would not cry. Never again. Never in front of him.

  “Kip stop!” Linda joined the fray, yelling again and again.

  Hannah heard him coming. She heard Linda’s high heels click on the floor and Kip’s grunts as he struggled with his wife. Then it was over. Only the sound of breathing could be heard in the big, high-ceilinged house. Hannah felt Kip standing over her. Her eyes flew open. She would not close them. She would watch whatever was coming. This time Hannah Sheraton was determined to watch it happen.

  But Kip Rayburn did nothing. He just stood there, his fists balled as he looked at her.

  Slowly Hannah struggled to stand up. Kip stepped back. She leaned against the table, pained to see that Linda was waiting to see what would happen, and who would win. Kip stepped back again and again until he was at the door. Hannah matched him. Her head hurt. She put out a hand to steady herself. She took one step forward, and then another. Her lips moved with counting.

  “Two,” she whispered. “Three. Four. . .”

  “You’re a lunatic,” Kip said coldly.

  Hannah stopped moving, counting, thinking. Linda was immobile even when Kip walked past her, heading out the door to his car. Mother and daughter looked at one another: One pleading for help, the other steeling herself with determination. Linda rushed to Hannah and took her by the shoulders. She shook her hard.

  “Don’t you call anyone; don’t you answer the phone. They’ll take you away if you do. I swear they will. They’ll take you away Hannah. Do you understand? Don’t do anything until I get back. I’ll fix it, if you don’t screw it up now.”

  Those were the last words Linda Rayburn spoke before she ran after her husband. Hannah stumbled after her mother, stopping before she reached the thorn gate. She heard two car doors slam and the squeal of tires on the drive. In the ensuing silence, for just a moment, Hannah Sheraton crumpled onto the tiled patio. Her only company was a tortured woman of bronze forever standing alone in the still pond waters of Fritz Rayburn’s home.

  Hannah dressed fast. A coat. A hat. A scarf. She looked at the phone once more, wanting to call Josie.

  Don’t talk to anyone.

  Don’t mess up.

  They’ll take you away.

  Hannah buttoned her coat as she ran through the house and opened the door to the outside. The Volkswagen was there, still booted. The old Mercedes was in the garage. Hannah ran for the kitchen and rummaged through the drawer where they kept extra keys. Nothing. She pulled the drawer further out to search in the back but she pulled too fa
r and the drawer fell with a clatter to the floor.

  Jumping back, Hannah cursed and ignored the mess. If the key to the Mercedes was there she didn’t have time to look. She needed to figure this out and there was only one place she could go.

  Seconds later Hannah was running through the house, past Fritz’s paintings, out the front door, and past the statue. She burst out of the thorn gate and didn’t bother to close it. Hannah ran all the way to the highway. The sound of the ocean drove her on. The sound of cars pulled her forward. Someone would stop for her. They had to. She would make them. Someone needed to get her where she was going before she did something she shouldn’t do.

  Linda Rayburn stood naked at the long windows that overlooked the grounds of the Palisades house. One arm was crossed under her heavy breasts, the other was crooked, a cigarette held between her fingers. Thoughtlessly she brought the cigarette to her lips, pulled the smoke deep into her lungs, and held it there before letting it seep out through her lips.

  Behind her Kip slept in the big bed, curled like a child into a tight ball, one hand under his cheek, exhausted from his meltdown. In front of her, Linda could see the west wing of the house. The charred wood had been removed, new wood rose in its place, framing the room just as it had been before the fire. The yellow crime scene streamers were long gone. The little stone boy peed into the fountain. The gardens were manicured. The stars twinkled. The Palisades slept and Linda Rayburn wanted to lay her head down on her pillow and do the same, but there were too many things to think about.

  Hannah. Number one. Always Hannah. That had been an ugly scene. Kip had been wrong to kick her, Linda wrong to leave her, but what was done was done. Linda should feel guilty for following Kip, but she didn’t. A genetic flaw. Her perpetual failing. She wouldn’t apologize for it even to herself. You worked with what you had, you did what you could, and you made choices based on need. Kip needed Linda more than Hannah did, and Linda needed Kip. Hannah was strong and always had been. She would survive the night. Linda wasn’t sure Kip would have if he’d been left alone.

  Josie. She was in the mental mix. Funny how, in the dark, Linda could see so clearly. Her path had crossed Josie’s so long ago and only for a short time. Yet it was as if Josie had been with her every damn day of her life since college, looking over her shoulder, passing judgment. She put her back against the wall and watched the cigarette smoke wend its way toward the ceiling. She admitted it was all in her mind - this thing with Josie. That sense of competition, of being not quite as good as Josie Bates. Or at least it had been. Now it was real. There was a tug of war for Hannah’s future, and that’s not what Linda had anticipated at all when she sought Josie out. This was supposed to be a win-win situation, but Linda was losing.

  The cigarette came to her lips. The smoke filled her lungs.

  No, this wasn’t what she had anticipated at all.

  Her eyes roamed the room. It was more beautiful than any she could have imagined in all of her years before she met Kip. She let her gaze rest on her husband.

  Kip. Kip. Linda would like to think that she loved him, but the bottom line was she didn’t know how to do that. He made her the center of his universe, which was better than Linda had ever had, so she was grateful. He’d had it tough with Fritz. Linda understood. She was sympathetic. She even liked Kip because he didn’t demand a whole lot. But love him? No. She was broken somewhere inside. She couldn’t love like other people. But for Kip she came close. For Hannah she came even closer. For herself?

  Well. . . .

  Linda stubbed out her cigarette and crawled into bed with her husband. He uncurled himself. She put her arms around him and lay with her face against his back. She could have done worse. She had done worse than Kip Rayburn. In the end, it was really Hannah, Linda worried about. Poor, sad, sick, dangerous Hannah. Only Linda knew how dangerous Hannah could be, and it scared her to death.

  30

  “405 North is packed and the transition to the 10 toward downtown is backing up. Rush hour has started early. Expect more delays than divorce court.”- KFWB traffic report

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Ms. Bates. The freeways get worse everyday.”

  Josie ended her call to Archer. He was headed to Malibu just as Ian Frank walked into his office. He didn’t waste a lot of time on the niceties, but wasn’t one to disregard them either. He was pleasant, focused, and comfortable in his domain. And a nice domain it was.

  This man, worth millions, lived his professional life in a room that, at first glance, was less than impressive. It was the second glance that did the trick. The desk was simple with clean lines, as was the chair, but the wood quality and leather grade was exquisite. Instead of the artwork and honors Rayburn favored, Frank’s walls were noticeably bare save for his Harvard Law School diploma and that was hung on a slice of wall near the door as if, once earned, it was of little consequence. Large plants in full foliage brightened the corners. Floor to ceiling windows afforded a spectacular view of the Hollywood hills behind Ian Frank. At Josie’s back the view was equally rich. The eye bumped over the stair-steps of the downtown skyline before skimming over the cities that paved the way to the coastline. On a clear summer day Ian Frank could see the ocean but Josie doubted he was ever tempted to play hooky. There was a bit of the farmer in him; he looked up to check the way the wind blew. From his greeting Josie imagined she was just a breeze in Ian Frank’s world.

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “I want to talk about Fritz Rayburn,” Josie said, telling him something he already knew.

  “What can I tell you? I didn’t much care about Fritz’s personal life while he was alive, and I don’t much care about it now.”

  “Don’t you think you should, Mr. Frank?” Josie asked.

  “And why should I, Ms. Bates?” Ian Frank seemed amused.

  “Because a law firm is reliant on its goodwill, and the firestorm surrounding the Rayburns could affect that. Telling me about them might keep damage to a minimum.”

  Ian laughed. He had a wonderful face, a beautiful head of dark gray hair. Trim and handsome, he was a man that would set widows and divorcees scheming.

  “Fritz Rayburn’s interest in this firm was put into a trust when he took the bench. He wasn’t a practicing partner. Whatever you’re digging up may impact your client, but the goodwill on my balance sheet is going to be worth exactly what it was worth yesterday, or the day before.”

  “You seem to be the only one who isn’t concerned about the impact of Fritz Rayburn’s habits. The governor is worried. The family is worried. The DA is worried,” Josie pointed out.

  “The governor has reason to worry. Fritz was his prized appointee. No one will believe that Fritz’s shortcomings weren’t discovered in a background check. So, if Fritz was a bit off, and the governor’s office covered up, that will be a public relations nightmare. You can’t put the horse back in the barn, you know. ” Ian shook his head with certainty. “As to Kip, he’ll be disappointed and embarrassed when the appointment doesn’t go through, but he’ll still be a partner in this firm. Money soothes a great many hurts. But all that aside, gossip or fact, none of this affects me.”

  “Your clients might not feel the same way.” Josie pointed at him as if he kept those precious people nestled in his breast pocket.

  “Hell, half my clients are worried about their own skeletons, Ms. Bates. In fact…”

  He was interrupted when the door opened. Standing just outside of Josie’s line of sight was a woman who was dutifully giving Ian Frank a reason to curtail this meeting.

  “John Blosser is on his way,” she said with all the interest of someone who had done this a thousand times over the course of as many days.

  “Thanks, May. Ms. Bates and I will be wrapping up soon.” Ian Frank gave Josie his full attention and a ridiculously patronizing look that was meant to hurry her on. She, in turn, didn’t give him an inch.

  “Mr. Frank, I’m not intimidated by you, and I am not
impressed by your clinical analysis of Fritz Rayburn’s conduct. I used to live in a place like this. I used to sit in a chair just like yours. I know, in these surroundings, that nothing is sacred – not even the idea that business exists in a vacuum. I am living proof that it doesn’t.”

  “I know your history, Ms. Bates, but this is very different. We deal in numbers, in mergers, in huge estates, and corporate entities,” Ian Frank countered easily. “That kind of business doesn’t titillate the public interest.

  “Unless someone tells the tale correctly and I can tell it in a way that will make people sit up and take notice. Do you think the mothers and fathers in California would take kindly to knowing that the man who was legal counsel to Comfy Toys also terrorized young girls? Do you think the very vocal black coalition in this state is going to turn the other cheek when they find out that Rayburn’s taste ran to women of color? ”

  “And I would be curious to see who the mothers and fathers of California have more loathing for: an attorney who uses her power to isolate a young woman from her mother or an old, dead man who hasn’t been affiliated with this firm for over seven years. And, if Kip Rayburn were to admit his father was overzealous in his discipline, there would be a great deal of sympathy for him, don’t you think? Oh, Ms. Bates, we can all spin and in the end, when all is said and done, neither of us will win but I’ll come out on top. I know my clients. Their attention span is even shorter than mine.”

  Josie sat forward in her chair, too. She tried another tack; one that she had no doubt would fail, but, when desperate, desperate measures are called for.

  “Then tell me about Fritz Rayburn and his son because you’re a good man, Mr. Frank. Tell me because it might help Hannah Sheraton.”

  A flicker of interest ran across Ian Frank’s face. For the first time he was truly engaged in the conversation.

  “It isn’t as though I don’t have sympathy for your client, Ms. Bates. My sister has a daughter that girl’s age. It’s hard to know what’s true and what isn’t even when it is your own child, so I will be truthful. I don’t know anything for sure that will help you. If I don’t know it to be fact, then it doesn’t exist and that’s really all there is to it. I give you credit for sticking your neck out but, then, you don’t have all that much to lose, do you? I’m not in the same position.”