Hostile Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  “He wasn’t in the bedroom when Hannah checked your room. He hadn’t come to bed that night. He was fighting with his father over matters that concerned his life, and yours. There is no reason your husband couldn’t have set that fire, is there, Mrs. Rayburn?” Josie took a few steps forward. “Is there, Linda?”

  Linda was crying hard. Mascara seeped around the corners of her eyes. The small scar at the side of her mouth looked ugly and raw; Linda looked old and tired.

  “Yes, yes there is,” Linda whispered.

  “Then tell us,” Josie asked. “Give us one good reason not to imagine Kip Rayburn setting the fire that killed his father.”

  Linda raised her head slowly. She no longer cared how she looked, or whom she spoke to. She had made her decision.

  “He couldn’t have done it because I saw who did.”

  Each word was hyphenated with a sobbing breath. Josie pulled away, as stunned as anyone in the courtroom. She turned to the bench but there was nothing to say, no objection she could make. Linda was confessing to the last thing Josie wanted to hear.

  “I don’t know where Kip was. He wasn’t even in the house. It was Hannah. I saw Hannah do it.”

  “What?” Josie gasped.

  She looked for the lie in Linda’s face but couldn’t find it. All she saw was Linda’s struggle, her pain, her choice. Linda was choosing to give Hannah up.

  “Mrs. Rayburn, do you know what you’re saying?” Judge Norris asked but Linda ignored him. She wanted to talk to Josie.

  “If you’d just stopped when you should have,” Linda whispered miserably. “If only you had done what I asked you to do and sent Hannah away this wouldn’t be happening.”

  “You saw her?” Josie choked on her own words.

  “What kind of woman makes a mother do this to her own child, Josie? What kind of woman are you?”

  With that, Linda buried her face in her hands and still everyone could hear her asking:

  “How could you make me do that? How could you?”

  37

  There were things missing in Hannah Sheraton’s hospital room. The contraption that held her head steady was gone. The IV that had fed her was gone. The pallor was almost gone. Linda was gone.

  Josie was there.

  The television on the wall opposite Hannah’s bed flickered. The sound was mute so Josie watched the closed captioning run across the programs as they changed. She had made the news. Cameras caught her leaving the courtroom pushing through reporters and family rights activists as Archer, huge and calm, cleared the way. It was a frantic mime on TV but Josie’s brain rang with the memories of the sound. The reporters: how do you feel, Josie? Are you giving up? Were you surprised? Enraged Family First activists: How could you push a mother that far? You accused Kip Rayburn. Destroyed a family.

  The world was furious with Josie but no angrier, no more disappointed, than she was with herself. She had broken the first rule of examining a witness: don’t ask the question if you don’t know the answer.

  For two hours and fifteen minutes, as Hannah slept, Josie had sat in this room trying to figure out why she had done it. Was she simply caught up in the drama of it all? The late night meeting of Miggy, the tantalizing information he had given her. The possibility that Josie could not only exonerate Hannah, but also offer lady justice the real perpetrator in her place had proved to be a powerful draw. Had she craved the headlines that would declare her to be a heroine who stood by Hannah when no one – not even her own mother – would?

  Josie put her head in her hands. Who knew what her motivation was for running headlong into such a disaster? And who could tell why she needed to hear from Hannah herself that what Linda said was true? But there it was. Josie would not leave until Hannah had admitted to this crime.

  And even then. . .

  Even then Josie was not ready to give up. Josie knew that she could still defend Hannah and let the girl walk free. She was sure of it. Josie would call Ian Frank and May to the stand to corroborate Fritz’s threat against Kip. She would call Rosa and the subpoenaed Lyn Chandler. Josie would follow through with her plans to bring medical experts to testify. She would grill Linda Rayburn and find out the last detail of what she thought she saw. Josie would call Kip Rayburn and rip him to shreds in front of that jury.

  Closing arguments would sound like a soap opera: Was it Kip? Was Linda protecting her husband by trading on her daughter? Was it Hannah who was lying and Linda who was telling the truth? Who knew? How could they find out? What evidence, she would ask, did the prosecution have that would convince them beyond a shadow of a doubt that Hannah was guilty? Certainly it wouldn’t be Linda’s testimony, not when Josie was finished with her. The jury would be exhausted, and Josie would offer them reasonable doubt like a soft bed. All they had to do was fall into it.

  Unfortunately, Josie couldn’t exhaust her own mind. She planted her elbows on her knees and clasped her hands high enough that she could rest her chin on them. She looked at Hannah Sheraton.

  Are you guilty? Could you be?

  And if she was – and if Josie convinced the jury that Hannah was innocent – and if Hannah was freed -

  Josie’s ghosts were raising their heads just as Hannah Sheraton woke up and asked for water.

  Josie stumbled as she got up. She managed the water and Hannah managed a smile.

  “Here. Oh, God. I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this,” Josie said quietly. She kept her fingers on the straw and guided it to Hannah’s lips. When she’d had enough, Josie stepped back. “Want me to sit you up a little higher?”

  Hannah nodded. Josie pushed the button. The bed whirred. The guard outside the door looked in more from curiosity than concern.

  “You look better,” Josie said.

  Hannah blinked, still caught in the twilight sleep of her medication. She was getting better every day, but the process was slow and painful. Josie pulled at the sheet and the thin blanket that covered Hannah. The girl’s eyes fluttered closed. She sighed. Josie waited, looking around, noting the other things that weren’t in Hannah’s room. No flowers, no cards, no one to wish Hannah well, or offer hope that her troubles would end. No one except Josie and Hannah knew it. Josie felt Hannah’s fingertips touch the top of her hand. Startled, she almost drew back. Instead she took the girl’s hand in her own.

  “I’m so tired all the time,” Hannah whispered.

  “I know,” Josie said quietly. “You’re healing.”

  “Where’s mom?” Hannah asked. “I need to tell her something. I need for her not to worry.”

  Josie’s lashes fluttered, almost closing over her eyes. She wouldn’t tell Hannah the whole truth right away. Instead, she said:

  “You mom went home. It was a hard day in court.”

  Hannah moved. She winced. She resettled, still unsure of what her body could do without causing pain. Hannah lay back again, exhausted.

  “I’m sorry about the accident. I wanted to tell you especially,” Hannah whispered.

  “It doesn’t matter now, Hannah. Really, it doesn’t.” Josie’s thumb petted the soft skin on the back of the girl’s hand. Hannah’s fingers were tapping Josie’s palm and under her breath, Hannah was counting as if reciting a nursery rhyme. Josie couldn’t listen anymore.

  “Miggy came to see me, Hannah.” The counting stopped. Hannah’s eyes closed but her chest rose and fell more quickly than it had when she was sleeping. She was listening. “He told me that you checked your mother’s room the night of the fire. I asked your mother about that night. I asked her if Kip was in the room with her. She told me he wasn’t. I thought he set the fire.”

  Hannah’s closed her eyes tight; her hand went slack in Josie’s grip. She took a deep breath.

  “Did she tell you what did happen?”

  Did she tell on me?

  Josie swung her head away. She couldn’t look at this child. She still wasn’t looking when Hannah opened her eyes. Hannah tapped Josie’s hand – but just once.

  “
She told you something else, didn’t she?” Hannah’s throat was dry again. Josie moved to get the water but Hannah clasped her hand. “Didn’t she?”

  “She told me she followed you that night. She told me she saw you light the fire.” Josie looked into Hannah’s green eyes. They were Linda’s eyes. Truth teller or liar? How could Josie ever know?

  “She told you that?” Hannah whispered, tears springing to those eyes, shock reflected in them. “My mom told you . . .”

  “She told the court, Hannah. The jury heard it.”

  Josie moved her chair closer to the bed and hesitated. The muscles in her jaw were tight to the point of pain. The next words she spoke would seal their fate and tie them together for eternity. If Josie were wrong, she would spend every night of her life waiting to hear that Hannah Sheraton had killed again. But if she were right, Hannah wouldn’t go to jail.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve laid the groundwork. The court knows that your mother abandoned you. They know that she had more loyalty to Kip than to you. I have witnesses that will testify that Fritz was abusive. The jury will have no choice but to acquit. You were only defending yourself when no one – not even your mother – tried to help you. Do you hear me? I am going to win for you.”

  Hannah convulsed. Her chest seemed suddenly concave with the intake of breath. Her hand tightened as she gripped Josie for one moment of grief and then she lay silent. Finally, Hannah’s head turned on the pillow. She looked right at Josie and in her eyes was the purest pain Josie had ever seen.

  “I want to quit now, Josie,” Hannah said softly.

  “No, no, Hannah.” Josie held the girl’s hand tighter. “I can discredit your mother’s testimony. I can . . .”

  Hannah shook her head. Tears came out of the corners of her eyes. Her voice quivered but her message was clear.

  “Just tell the judge I want to stop now. I know you wanted to believe. I did, too. But now let’s stop. I’m just tired, Josie, so let’s stop.” Hannah looked at the ceiling. “Tell him for me.”

  Josie started to protest.

  Hannah closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hear anymore. Deliberately Hannah took her hand away from Josie’s.

  It was over.

  38

  “What do you want me to do with these?”

  Archer held up the stack of exhibits that Josie had planned to use in her defense of Hannah Sheraton. She looked up from the files she was sorting. She held out her hands. Archer brought them over and stacked them against a chair so she could look.

  “I don’t believe it, Archer. I don’t believe she did it. At least not the way Rudy made it sound. If Hannah set that fire it wasn’t cold blooded murder,” Josie muttered, looking at one exhibit and then another.

  “You don’t want to believe it, Jo,” Archer answered. “I don’t either, but there was nothing else you could do after her mother testified.”

  “I couldn’t be that wrong twice.” Josie went on as if she hadn’t heard him. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she held up a piece of paper as if it would prove something. “Look, here’s the timetable of her walk every night. Hannah couldn’t have looked into that bedroom, made it to the west wing, set those fires, run back to her bedroom to stash the joint and matches under the mattress, and then go back and stick her hand in that fire. The walk to the bedroom would just add too much time.”

  Archer stayed silent. He petted Max while he waited for Josie to run out of steam.

  “And there’s something else. Think about it,” Josie dropped the photo to her lap and looked at Archer as if he were a member of the jury. “If you were Linda and you saw your child committing arson – whether or not you knew Fritz was upstairs – would you just stand there without screaming at her or trying to stop her? No,” Josie scoffed. “You would try to stop her. And if you did that, there would have been some physical evidence. Extra matches dropped at the scene, marks on the ground, and maybe scratches on Linda. And even if she didn’t fight to get Hannah to stop lighting the fire, Linda wouldn’t have just stood around and watched her kid stick her hand in the fire.”

  “Maybe Linda stuck it in for her. Maybe Linda was glad that Hannah was doing what she was doing,” Archer suggested.

  “What? You mean she didn’t stop Hannah because the outcome suited her? Possible, but not probable.” Josie tossed the timetable back into the file, and the file onto the floor. “I don’t know. The more I think about this, the less sense it makes.”

  “You’re making it too complicated, Jo,” Archer said. “You’re assuming that the matches under her mattress were the ones used to set the fire. You’re assuming Hannah ran back to the house. They didn’t search Hannah that night. She could have had a pack of those matches on her and tossed ‘em later. Everybody was too busy with her hand, putting out that fire and finding the old man, to think about that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Josie leaned over and looked at another piece of paper. “But the doctors. What about them? They were positive that Hannah couldn’t have set that fire and destroyed her paintings. I’ll never buy. . .”

  “Jo. Enough.” Archer pushed Max’s snout out of the way and half rose from his chair. He took the exhibits. “It’s over. It’s done. Hannah’s sentenced. And I’m storing this stuff so you can sleep at night.”

  “No.” She grabbed them back, glaring at Archer. “It’s only been a week. Hannah may change her mind. She may want to appeal.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” He got up and went to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. The pot was empty. He talked to her from the doorway. “She isn’t saying boo to anyone, or anything. She’s done with it, Jo. You should be, too.”

  “I have to do something. I’m going to try to get her a transfer to a psych ward. It will be better than being a ‘keep away’ or transitioning to the general population when she’s eighteen.”

  Archer wandered back into the dining room. He picked up a box and packed some of the exhibits. Listening to her go on – again – as she got this out of her system.

  “Did you see this?” Josie held a black and white picture toward him.

  “I’ve seen everything six times, babe.” Archer pulled a length of tape and cut it with his teeth. He switched it away from his lips and looked over his shoulder to glance quickly at the picture.

  “Well, what did you make of it? I mean look at those indentations under the ash.” Josie was peevish, like a single mother coming home after work to find the kids had trashed the place.

  Archer hunkered down next to her, abandoning his chore. He put his hand on her shoulder and looked at the picture.

  “Those are Hannah’s footprints. They matched ‘em to the shoes she was wearing. There’s no question on that one.”

  “I know that. But her footprints are on top of the ash. I didn’t think about that before.”

  “Meaning?” Archer asked.

  “Meaning by the time Hannah got there the fire had burned long enough to create a thin coat of ash on the ground. Hannah stepped on top of it. That means she was there after the fire started, doesn’t it?”

  “And she was probably there before the fire started. Then she changed her mind and came back to try to put it out. Hannah’s thought process isn’t exactly linear, Jo,” Archer said.

  “But it’s just a thin coat of ash. Her footprints are on top but look underneath. Look.” Josie rummaged under a pile of papers and came up with a magnifier. “Look. See those evenly spaced indentations. Whatever those marks are, they were made before the fire started. The fire had been burning long enough to create that thin coat of ash and Hannah stepped on that. The lab tested her shoes. There was ash on them but very little dirt. If she had walked into that room to set the fire her footprints would be on top of those indentations. Right? Her footprints wouldn’t have been on top of the ash. Right? I don’t know why I didn’t see that before.”

  Archer chuckled but never cracked a smile. Instead he squeezed her shoulder. “Maybe the fire was started by a crazed golfer.�
��

  “No, the indentations are too wide and shallow for golf cleats,” Josie mused.

  Archer slid the picture from her fingers, picked up the file, and put it inside the box he was about to seal. Josie watched him as he stacked three files together and put them in too. Finally he taped it up, walked over to Josie, took her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead.

  “Salt in the wound, Jo. The gardeners probably made those marks. Hannah said she tried to put out the fire. That means the fire was burning. If the fire was burning there would have been ash on the ground outside the door. Come on. Ash, no ash, little holes in the ground. It doesn’t mean a thing. Hannah copped to the deed.”

  “She told me to stop, that’s different than saying she did it,” Josie said evenly. Archer dropped his hands. Only time would make this better. He couldn’t kiss this and make it go away. If he could take a picture and steal her hurting soul he would.

  “Put it aside, Jo. Go talk with Faye. Come with me to Baja but whatever you do forget about this one.”

  Josie hit the table leg with one hand and pushed off the floor only to plop herself in a chair.

  “I just don’t want to believe it. Everything was circumstantial about this case until we found out about the divorce thing. You saw Kip, he is one cold son of a bitch. He had every reason to . . .”

  Archer put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded the tight muscles there. Josie rotated her neck but nothing helped. Archer bent down, kissed the back of her neck, the little naked part behind her ear where her hair had been razored. He put his fingertips on the same spot.

  “I can’t listen anymore, and if I’m not here you’ll stop talking.” Archer picked up his jacket. He opened the door and poked his head out. “Least it’s stopped raining. You should go for a walk.”

  “Sure,” Josie muttered, but she was the only one who heard it.

  Archer was gone. Josie balanced on the back legs of the chair, still looking at the evidence photograph. It was dark and grainy, hardly the kind of thing that would make a photographer’s career. She counted the indentations across and down. Josie looked at it until she was cross-eyed. The photos of the fire scene, the photos of Fritz Rayburn, the photos of Hannah’s injuries, the photos of Linda standing next to Hannah by the fire truck, all those had been committed to memory. But this one had been set aside, ignored, and now it seemed so damn important – now when everything was over and she had failed.