Forgotten Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  “I think you should get back to Washington, claim your dad’s body, and bury him. I’ll pay for it all.” She reached into her purse, took out a card and wrote her private number on it. “You can reach me here. I don’t want you staying at The Robert Lee Hotel again. Send me the receipts for the trip, the mortuary, whatever you need. It’s the least I can do, but that’s all I can do.”

  Josie pushed back her chair. Stephen took his cue and stood up. Amelia still sat where she was, defeated, too tired to beg any longer. Josie put her hand on Amelia’s shoulder, bent down, balanced on the balls of her feet, and looked Amelia in the eye.

  “I’m going to be taking my mom home with me. No one will be able to hurt her.”

  “She’ll always think I’m her daughter. That will never change,” Amelia muttered.

  “I will make it change.”

  Amelia blinked. She looked as if she could barely hold herself upright. Josie’s hand dropped from Amelia’s shoulder to her hand. Her fingers were cold and shaking.

  “You need some rest. You need to put this in perspective,” Josie offered.

  “We’re both daughters. I don’t know that there’s much more to say than that.”

  Josie took a deep breath and withdrew her hand. Amelia still clutched the envelope and Josie let her eyes rest on it. Twenty-five people. Twenty-one of them were dead. What was she supposed to do with that? Her plate was full: Hannah, Archer, her practice, and now Emily miraculously in the mix. Amelia was pushing it all aside and demanding space for her and her father. That this girl may be part and parcel of his insanity made it all the sadder.

  “Go away from here, Amelia,” Josie said as she stood up.

  Stephen gave Amelia a kiss atop her head and then they both walked away leaving the girl to ponder her future at a rusted table in the middle of a patch of dirt surrounded by paradise. When they were almost at the car, Stephen asked:

  “And what are you going to do, my girl?”

  Josie took a few more steps, yanked open the car door and just before she got in and slammed it shut she said:

  “I’m going to court. Want to come?”

  ***

  “This is unacceptable, Eugene. This is really unacceptable.” Ambrose paced in front of Eugene Weller who, for the first time in his career, did not allow his gaze to follow the senator’s every move. He sat on the couch like a dunce, mortified by his teacher’s ridicule. He was sick to his stomach but the senator didn’t let up. “This is nothing, Eugene, and you know that. You panicked because of a list of documents released to the archives.”

  “There are standing requests by the public for anything referring to those programs, Senator–” Eugene began but Ambrose silenced him.

  “It is a small public, Eugene. Miniscule. The general public has far more to worry about than things that happened three decades ago.”

  “But the phone–” Eugene started once more only to stop as Ambrose threw up his hands.

  “A dead man’s cell phone that, I might point out, is in your possession. Put it in a drawer. Throw it away. Never think about it again. I don’t know why you are fixated on this, but I promise you, if you keep this up, your concern will become a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  Eugene twitched. He colored a less-than-pleasing shade of burgundy. Ambrose Patriota’s exasperation made no sense. Eugene had meticulously created a timeline and presented multiple scenarios of the impact on Senator Patriota should this information find its way into the public domain, but the senator refused to even look at it.

  “The phone was purchased in Hawaii. On Molokai. The woman who answered is Ian Francis’s daughter. His daughter, sir.”

  “And my children have cellphones, Ambrose countered. “You cannot read any implied action into the fact that she answered it or that she called you back. You are the one poking at a hornet’s nest, not her. She might be wondering why someone had her father’s phone, called her, and did not speak. And, if she is in Hawaii, then she has already chosen not to pursue the matter of her father’s death. That means she does not want to call attention to it anymore than we do. That also means that she probably has no idea what her father was up to. Perhaps now she’s rethinking everything because of you.”

  “I realize that now. That was not wise.” Eugene symbolically turned away from Ambrose, hunching his shoulders, baring his back. He deserved each stinging lash the senator wanted to lay upon him. “I was surprised and I reacted. I wanted to cover my bases so that none of this came back to you.”

  “Have you thought that this is not a part of my history that I wish to revisit? Have you?”

  Ambrose shoved his hands deep in his pockets and rocked on the back of his heels. Lydia was probably fast asleep. The evening was ruined and he resented it, but he also knew that he was no better than Eugene. He was overreacting and needed to calm himself.

  “Eugene, you have been very thorough and I appreciate that. I also appreciate the spirit in which all this has been undertaken, but this is only a problem if we make it one. What was done is done. Shred that information, go home, sleep, and come to work tomorrow with your mind refreshed. Look forward not backward, Eugene.”

  “You’re correct, of course,” Eugene muttered.

  Ambrose sighed. He sat down next to Eugene. The boy was like a son constantly striving for favor and knowing he would always prove inadequate, or a dog eager to please but having no idea that the master had grown tired of the same old tricks. The older man put his hand on Eugene’s narrow shoulder.

  “What is this, Eugene? Really? Are you concerned that I won’t need you after the election?”

  “The thought never crossed my mind, senator.” That Eugene was shocked was evident; that Ambrose didn’t care was also evident.

  “You are only helpful to me if you are level headed,” Ambrose warned.

  “Helpful?” Eugene repeated, hardly believing his ears.

  “Now more than ever I need to you to be that, Eugene. And, if you become angry with me and think you can use this against me for your own purposes–”

  “Never, sir,” Eugene breathed, sickened that the man could think such a thing much less speak it.

  Ambrose smiled the smile that Eugene so admired, the one that won over anyone who was graced by it. The senator patted the younger man’s back, leaned just a bit closer, and lowered his voice to an intimacy Eugene had never heard before.

  “Of course you wouldn’t, but I had to ask. We think we know one another but it is easy to make assumptions of loyalty. Sometimes one must be clear.”

  Eugene looked at the hand on his shoulder. A few hours ago he would have taken it, kissed the ring on Patriota’s finger in a show of fealty, but now he was off his stride. The conversation had taken a turn that was unfathomable. Then Ambrose squeezed his shoulder and the warmth of that gesture, the weight of his hand, finally worked its magic.

  “Senator,” Eugene began, “I–”

  “What Eugene? What?” Ambrose’s hand fell away and the expression of affection was replaced with one of pique.

  “I should go.” Eugene stood up. “I am sorry.”

  Ambrose stood, too, all traces of his impatience gone.

  “That is good. Just remember, in politics a situation becomes a scandal only if fed by alarm. I think the fact that a man died is bothering you. Isn’t that what prompted all this?”

  Eugene nodded even though that was not how he read the situation at all. It was that Ian Francis had waved a flag before he died and Eugene knew it for what it was: a battle cry directed at Ambrose Patriota.

  “Well, put it out of your mind. We have a presidency to win. We have great things to do. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” Eugene whispered.

  “Good. Let’s not talk of this anymore. Can we agree on that?”

  Ambrose had somehow turned Eugene toward the door. It was open. Once again he was being handed his coat. Once again he was on the street looking at the closed door to the senator’s house but now he w
as warm despite the wind and the chill. He had the confidence of the greatest statesman ever to walk the earth and he would prove to him that his faith was not misplaced.

  Much later Eugene would realize that something was wrong. At that moment, though, the feeling of dread was so deep inside him that it could be mistaken for a bit of indigestion or overexertion. He went back to his apartment, undressed, and climbed into bed intending to sleep but he could not. He was not convinced, as Ambrose seemed to be, that Ian Francis had not opened up a can of worms. Eugene finally drifted off only to have his dreams haunted by facts, figures, and faces. It was fertile ground to grow the seed Ambrose had planted and the plant was blooming with tiny buds of discontent and disappointment in his senator.

  In his home, Ambrose was also having thoughts about Eugene. He went to his office and made notes to pass along to Norma. She was such a lovely, efficient woman. Unlike Eugene, Norma followed directions without hysterical extrapolation of Ambrose’s motives. When he was finished, Ambrose went upstairs, undressed, and got into bed alongside Lydia. He rolled on his side. She took his hand.

  “What did Eugene want?” she mumbled.

  “To be important,” he said back.

  “Still here. Portland PD got back to me. There’s nothing on Hannah or Sam Idle. I’ll give it one more day, and if it doesn’t pan out I’m heading home. Sorry on the missing persons. Still running it down, babe. Let me know how it goes in court. Going to get something to eat.” – Voice message, Archer to Josie

  CHAPTER 16

  Stephen parked his car in front of the old courthouse in Wailuku, Maui. It was a charming, one story wooden structure distinguished from others of the same era by the two columns framing the doorway. The columns were fat and ornate and as out of place as a formal gown at a luau. In the old days the supports on the little courthouse must have looked intimidating to the Hawaiians; today they seemed dearly archaic in the shadow of the giant block of the high-rise hall of justice. It was the high-rise that was Stephen and Josie’s destination.

  In a nod to the seriousness of their business, Stephen had donned an exquisitely cut blue suit with only the faintest hint of a grey pin, a white shirt, and red silk tie. The jacket had been neatly hung in the back of the car for the short ride. He retrieved it and then reached for a briefcase fashioned from oxblood leather. Stephen pushed his sunglasses up his nose. His hairless head shone in the Hawaiian sunshine, his substantial figure looked almost sleek in his well-cut suit. He clearly relished dusting off the bar ticket he had earned when coming to live on the island. This was, he said, like getting back on a horse.

  “You clean up nice.” Josie gave him the once-over.

  “I’ll wear a tux to your wedding and you will see just how marvelous I can look. Then you’ll leave your man at the altar and we’ll run away to Bora-Bora for a honeymoon. It will be a luscious scandal.”

  “If you come to the wedding don’t forget to bring the girls,” Josie said. “Not that it wouldn’t be entertaining to watch you dance.”

  “We will all dance at your wedding, including your mum. But first we have to spring her properly.”

  They set off at a clip, across the lawn, into the building, past the permanent demonstration site of the Ohana Council whose members fought for Hawaiian sovereignty, and up to the third floor where Judge Mohr waited for them. He was on the bench but off the clock. The judge was a small man with a big smile. He wore a polo shirt open at the neck and was engrossed in a magazine that he set aside the minute they arrived.

  “Come in! You’re punctual, Stephen.”

  The judge waved them in with one hand and reached for the robes on the back of his chair with the other.

  “Ah, Your Honor, I wouldn’t keep you waiting knowing how full your calendar must be.” Stephen passed the bar and Josie followed him through. “I’d like to present my client, Your Honor. Ms. Josephine Bates.”

  “Aloha, Ms. Bates. Pity you’ve come to the islands on business. The weather is perfect today. No one should be inside after all this rain.”

  He had both arms in his robes and was dealing with the snaps that ran from chin to knee as he spoke. He flashed a grin but Josie wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or simply an expression of pleasure that he had managed the snaps correctly.

  “I’ll bet you’re trading well, Stephen. I hear we’ve set a record for tourists this month. We won’t have a slice of pineapple left to us for Thanksgiving if this keeps up.”

  “I’ll set aside a few for you and your family. Just tell me where to send them.” Stephen put his briefcase on the plaintiff’s table, and unbuckled the straps as Josie took her seat.

  “If only,” Judge Mohr sighed. “Even a gift of pineapple is unseemly between us. There are way too many rules, Stephen.”

  “That’s what keeps a poor attorney in business and a judge busy. All of us running about, trying to figure out what the lawmakers meant when they wrote the blasted rules.”

  Josie tried not to fidget as she listened. If this had been Los Angeles, they would have been rushed through to make way for a hundred other attorneys cooling their heels as they waited for their time in front of the bench. Here, bumbye was the rule not the exception. The court would get to business when it got to it so she relaxed as the judge and Stephen exchanged news of Mohr’s children, the expected height of the waves that day, and the health of Stephen’s girls. The court clerk was called in. She also indulged in pleasantries with Stephen until, finally, he became Mr. Kyle and Judge Mohr morphed into the jurist he was. The hearing regarding the guardianship of Emily Baylor-Bates began with Stephen Kyle doing what Josie would have done if only she were licensed to practice in the state.

  “Your Honor has already read the filing, but for purposes of your housekeeping I would like to present you with a copy for your reference during these proceedings.”

  With a flourish, Stephen produced said paperwork and passed it along. Judge Mohr held it not quite at arm’s length and gave it the once over.

  “Everything is in order, Mr. Kyle. Many thanks.” He set it aside in favor of a green folder, tattered around the edges and unimpressive in bulk. “You put my clerk through some hoops to find this. It isn’t much, but at least we have a starting place.”

  “I apologize for the extra work, but I assure you that the guardianship of Emily Baylor-Bates is well worth it. My client, her daughter,” Stephen waved at Josie with considerable pomp, “has spent almost twenty-seven years searching for her mother, and it is within this court’s jurisdiction to reunite this family. Emily Bates is currently residing at the Ha Kuna House on Molokai, Judge.”

  “I am not familiar with the place,” Judge Mohr said.

  “I doubt there are many people on the islands who are. It is a privately run concern for people of certain limited mental capacity,” Stephen answered.

  “A nursing home?” the judge inquired.

  “Of sorts, although there are no medical facilities on the premises. There is a minimal staff of caretakers,” Stephen answered.

  “A care facility.” The judge nodded.

  “Whatever you wish to call it, Emily Bates has been a resident there in excess of fifteen years. This is known only because the current director informed us that she was a resident when he arrived. We believe the date of her commitment was January of 1987, but that is not corroborated with any certainty. We do not know who requested this action, or why commitment was deemed necessary, or why it appears that no effort was made to locate her family who were well and able to care for her all these years.

  “We have faith that you will advise us on all points now that her file has been located. We will seek that the current order be voided and that Ms. Josephine Baylor-Bates, her daughter, be appointed guardian ad liteum. We further ask that all records, including, but not limited to, Emily Bates’ medical records, be released to her daughter immediately and that she be provided with the name of any and all doctors including psychologists and psychiatrists who have attended
Emily Bates. This is requested so that Ms. Josephine Bates can make a determination about her mother’s ability to travel and what special care might be needed once guardianship is transferred.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kyle. That is an excellent summary of your motion. Almost word for word what you have written to the court and the court has familiarized itself with.” He turned his attention to Josie. “Are you a resident of the islands, Ms. Bates?”

  “I am not, Your Honor. I live in Hermosa Beach, California.”

  “And what is your profession?” he asked.

  “I’m an attorney. I have a small private practice,” she said.

  “Do you have a family? Children?”

  “I am going to be married soon. It will be my first marriage. I have no biological children,” Josie answered. “I have a ward who recently turned seventeen.”

  “She resides with you?” Judge Mohr asked even as he made notes. He looked up expectantly even though Josie hesitated only for a millisecond before answering: “Yes.”

  This was not a lie; it was only the simplest answer. There was no need to complicate things that were already complicated enough where Hannah was concerned.

  “And now you wish to also be responsible for your mother. When was the last time you saw her?” he asked.

  “When I was thirteen,” she answered.

  “Was there any contact between you all these years?”

  “No, Judge,” Josie said.

  “Who did you live with after your mother’s disappearance?”

  “My father. He is deceased,” Josie responded.

  “And you had no indication about what might have happened to your mother? For instance, do you believe that her disappearance had to do with marital difficulties? Abuse of some kind, or possibly that another man was involved?”