PRIVILEGED WITNESS
by
REBECCA FORSTER
For my husband
Privileged Witness
Copyright © Rebecca Forster, 2006
All rights reserved
First published by Signet, 2006
Cover art by Rebecca Forster
Smashwords edition 1.0, October 2009
Visit: Rebeccaforster.com
CHAPTER I
The half-naked woman came from the penthouse - she just didn't bother to use the elevator. Instead, she stepped off the balcony eleven stories above Ocean Boulevard. Her theatrics kept Detective Babcock from a quiet evening with a good book, a glass of wine and some very fine music. Detective Babcock didn't hold a grudge long, though. One look at the jumper made him regret that he hadn't arrived in time to stop her.
Beautiful even in death, the woman lay on the hot concrete as if it were her bed. Her arms were out: one was crooked at an angle so that the delicate fingers of her right hand curled toward her head and the other was by her side so that her left hand was open-palmed at her hip. She wore a diamond and sapphire bracelet. A matching earring had come off at impact and was caught in her dark hair. Her slim legs were curved together. Her feet were small and bare. Her head was turned in profile and her eyes were closed. The wedding ring she wore made Horace Babcock feel a little guilty for admiring her. She carried her age well so that it was difficult to tell exactly how. . .
''Crap, I think I felt a raindrop.''
Babcock inclined his head. His eyes flickered toward Kurt Rippy. The man was hunkered beside the jumper's head. The pool of blood under her cheek was the only sign that something traumatic had occurred. It would be a different when the coroner's people had their way with her. When they cut off the yellow silk and lace teddy at the morgue. Naked on a metal table, they would find half her head caved, her ribs pulverized, her pelvis broken from the impact. Her brain might fall out and that would be a sad, indeed. How glad Babcock was to see her this way. Elegant. Asleep. An illusion.
Raising a hand toward the sky, he checked the weather. Even though the day was almost done it was still hot. The thunderheads that had hovered over the San Bernardino Mountains for the last few days were now rolling toward Long Beach. Pity tonight would be wet when the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year had been bone dry.
''Are you almost done?'' Babcock asked knowing the rain would wash away the blood and a thousand little pieces of grit and dust and things that Kurt needed to collect as a matter of course.
''Yeah. Not much to get here. I bagged her hands just in case but she looks clean.''
Detective Babcock bridled at the adjective. It was too pedestrian for her. Hardly poetic.
She was pristine.
She was beautiful.
She was privileged.
She was a lady who was either going to or coming from an important engagement. She wore jewels, her hair was coiffed and her make-up just so. She was going or coming alone because no one had run screaming from the building distraught that their loved one had checked out of this world in such a manner. With a huge grunt, Kurt stood up and rolled his surgical gloves off with a snap. He pocketed them, sniffed, rubbed his nose and grunted. It was an effort for a man of his size to work close to the ground.
''That's it for me. I'm going to let them bundle her before we all get wet. I hate it when it's this hot and it rains. Reminds me of Chicago. I hate Chicago. . .''
He took a deep breath and stood over the woman for a minute as his train of thought jumped the tracks. His hands were crossed at his crotch, his head was bent, his eyes were on the victim. He seemed to be praying and his reverence both surprised and impressed Detective Babcock. Finally, Kurt drew another gargantuan breath into his equally humongous body, flipped at the tie that lay on top of his stomach and angled his head toward Babcock.
''How much you think a thing like that costs?'' he asked.
''What thing?''
''That thing she's wearing?'' Kurt wiggled a finger toward the body.
''I believe that type of lingerie is quite expensive.'' A sigh was the only sign of Babcock's irritation before he moved away. Lord the indignity the dead suffered at the hands of the police.
Just as it began to rain, diluting the blood, draining it into the cracks of the sizzling concrete, Detective Babcock walked across the circular drive, past the exquisitely lit fountain of the jumper's exclusive building and went inside. There was still so much to do, not the least of which was to talk to one Mr. Jorgensen, the poor soul who had been making his way home just as the lady leapt. Mr. Jorgensen, surprised to find a scantily clad dead woman at his feet, made haste to leave the scene as soon as the emergency vehicles arrived. He probably couldn't offer much, but a formal statement was necessary and Babcock would take it.
He rode the elevator, breathing in the scent of new: New construction. New carpet. New fittings and fastenings. Shining brass and glittering mirrors. Babcock preferred the Villa Riviera a few buildings down. The scrolled façade, the peaked copper roof, the age of it intrigued him in a way new never could. He got out on the third floor, turned right down the hall and knocked on the second door on the left. He waited. And waited. Eventually, the door opened and Babcock looked down at the wizened man who clutched his walker as if he was trying to break it in half.
''Mr. Jorgensen? I'm Detective Horace Babcock.'' He held out his card. The old man snatched it.
''It's about time you got here,'' he complained and turned his back. The thick carpet swallowed the thumping of the walker but the acoustics of the spacious apartment were impeccable. Babcock heard the old man's every mumble and word. ''I should be in bed by now but how in the hell am I supposed to sleep? Lucky I didn't have a heart attack or a stroke. Damn upsetting at my age to see something like that. You think she could have put on some clothes.''
Mr. Jorgensen halted. He turned his head and glared at Babcock.
''Bet you can't even find that husband of hers to tell him. He's in Los Angeles somewhere. Giving a speech or some such nonsense. Should have been all over the news by now. Since nobody's saying anything, I figure you haven't told him yet. You haven't, have you?''
''No.''
Jorgensen raised his chin, satisfied that he had read the situation correctly and started on his way again. Deferentially slow, Babcock followed the old man but Mr. Jorgensen was annoyed with him and stopped again. He paused just long enough to flash a look of pure disgust at Horace Babcock as he said:
''You don't even know who she is, do you?''
CHAPTER 2
The last time Josie Baylor-Bates saw Kevin O'Connel he had been wearing prison issue that marked him as the criminal she knew him to be. Unfortunately, a jury of his peers hadn't been convinced that he had beaten his wife, Susan, to within an inch of her life.
Partially paralyzed, she lived in fear of her life since her husband had not been incarcerated and was in hiding. She would never work or fully enjoy life again. And, during the civil trial, Josie had argued that Susan deserved every last dime Kevin O'Connel had ever – or would ever – make. Bringing a civil suit was not much of a risk. The burden of proof was less than in a criminal trial and Susan O'Connel was a credible and effective witness. Now that the trial was over, Kevin O'Connel squirmed as solemn faced jurors filled the box. He shot Josie a nervous, hateful look that she didn't bother to acknowledge. Instead, she watched the foreman hand the decision to the clerk who read the settlement with all the passion of a potato growing:
''The jury finds Kevin O'Connel guilty of assault with intent to kill and awards Susan O'Connel special damages in the amount of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars and general damages in the amount of one and a half million dollars
. We further find that the assault was committed with malice and awards Susan O'Connel five hundred thousand dollars in . . .
''That's crap! That's just fuc . . . '' Kevin O'Connel shot out of his seat. Instantly, O'Connel's attorney grabbed him.
''Go no further, Mr. O'Connel!'' The judge snapped.
Josie heard the scuffle, heard Kevin O'Connel curse his attorney for not doing more and, finally, heard him fall silent as the judge threatened him with contempt and incarceration. It was quite a scene, exciting to watch for everyone but Josie. She sat quietly at her table pushing her fountain pen through her fingers. Over and over again that pen twisted, met the table and pushed up through her fingers. She was concentrating hard on that task so no one would see the unseemly grin of satisfaction that threatened to pop right out. She couldn't be happier that she had come close to ruining Kevin O'Connel. He deserved worse. He got it a second later. Another five hundred thousand in punitive damages was awarded.
Now Josie smiled at the jury. Two of the women and one man smiled back. They were dismissed with court's thanks. It was over. Susan O'Connel was a rich woman on paper and Josie would do everything could to collect for her client. Kevin O'Connel's wages would be garnished, his retirement account cleaned out and the house they had shared would be sold. Josie would make sure Kevin O'Connel surrendered his car, his boat and his jet ski. She would take his toothbrush if she could. He wouldn't have a pot to piss in when she was done. Every time Kevin got a little ahead, Josie would be there with her hand out on behalf of her client. It was too bad Susan couldn't have heard this, but Josie understood why she didn't want to be in the same room with her ex-husband.
Picking up her briefcase, Josie reached for the little swinging gate but Kevin O'Connel put his hand on it first. He held it, looked Josie in the eye, then pushed it back with a cool loathing that was meant to intimidate. It didn't. Josie walked past him. His hatred trailed after her and stuck like sweat.
From her height to her confidence and her power Kevin O'Connel despised everything about Josie Baylor-Bates. He hated that she won. He hated that she was taller than him. Kevin O'Connel hated her intelligence. He hated that she dismissed him when she put her fancy little phone to her ear. He knew who she was calling and that pissed him off royally. This wasn't over by a long shot.
When she pushed open the doors to the hall Kevin O'Connel was right behind her. It appeared he was trying to maneuver around Josie but stumbled instead, knocking her off balance.
''Hey,'' Josie cried as her phone clattered to the floor. Her ankle twisted and she flung her arm to the wall to steady herself. When she was on her feet again, she bent to pick up her phone but it was gone before she could get to it. Snatched away by a large hand. Josie looked up, not at a Good Samaritan, but at Kevin O'Connel. His face was a play of delight and disappointment. Delight that he had hit her hard enough to knock her into the wall; disappointment because he hadn't done any lasting damage.
''Guess I need to look where I'm going,'' he teased. ''Someone coulda got hurt.''
Setting her jaw, Josie straightened. Without a word, she reached for the phone but he held it back like an evil little boy who had pinched her hair ribbon. Slowly he put the phone to his ear, smiling with malicious glee as he spoke to his ex-wife.
''Good news, Suzy. You got it all, babe. Everything and then some. Enjoy it while you can.''
Kevin O'Connel must have liked what was hearing. There was a glint in his eye that turned to a self-satisfied sparkle before fading to mock disappointment. He held the phone away from his ear. He shrugged. He hid his cruelty behind mock incredulity.
''She hung up, Josie. Oh, sorry. I mean Ms. Bates.''
''Are you stupid or just a glutton for punishment?'' Josie didn't bother to try to wrestle the phone away from him. She had no intention of creating a scene. Although, if he was stupid enough to hit her – as she knew he wanted to – she could see him behind bars yet.
''That's funny, you calling me stupid since I got to Suzy first, didn't I?'' Kevin twirled the little phone. It disappeared into his big hand and he looked at that fist as if he admired it. He looked at Josie as if he didn't hold her in the same esteem.
''If the shoe fits,'' Josie answered dryly, her eyes narrowing. It was time to take back the power. ''Push me again and I'll bring charges for assault. Hand over the phone or I'll have you arrested for robbery and assault. Say one more word to your wife and you'll go down for stalking. And, if you are as smart as you say you are, you'll quit while you're ahead.''
''And you better think twice before you let me see your bitch face again.'' His rough and handsome face closed so fast Josie felt his breath before she could retreat. He had her back up against the wall. ''I don't go down that easy and I sure don't go down for a dike like you. Tell Suzy she's got one more chance. She can come home and everything will be fine. If she doesn't, she won't get a penny and I'll take you both out. I swear, I will.''
''The only way Susan will ever look at you again is over my dead body, Mr. O'Connel.''
Josie had enough. She put out her hand for her phone. Taken aback by her confidence, Kevin O'Connel almost let it go. Then he thought again. He held his fist high and, with a laugh, dropped it at Josie's feet.
''Ooops.'' The mischievous light melted from his eyes.
Josie looked down then up again. Kevin O'Connel was waiting for her to get it. The problem was that Kevin O'Connel wasn't on the same page as Josie Bates. As far as she was concerned, the man could wait until hell froze over. Josie wouldn't spend one second at his feet. The stand-off unnerved him. But he wanted out on his own brutish terms. He raised a hand. She didn't flinch. His gaze faltered. He spoke:
''Think about what you said. That dead body thing. . .''
''Excuse me?''
Surprised to find that they weren't the only two people in the universe, O'Connel stepped away and Josie looked at the lady who was retrieving the phone. She wasn't exactly the type you'd figure for a good deed and not exactly the kind of woman who had business with the San Pedro court. A good two grand was on her back and thousands in jewelry on her fingers and at her neck. When she righted herself, Josie had the impression that the woman smiled.
''I think this belongs to you.''
She held Josie's phone out on her palm, putting her hand between Kevin O'Connel and Josie like a peace-maker. Josie took it with barely audible thanks. Her eyes never left Kevin O'Connel who thought for a moment then backed off. With a cock of a finger he shot Josie an imaginary bullet filled with hatred, arrogance and warning. Dismissing her with a grunt, he turned on his heel and walked away leaving Josie and the lady to watch.
''He doesn't seem very pleasant,'' the woman noted.
''He isn't,'' Josie answered.
With a quick ‘appreciate it' she walked away, too, keeping her eye on Kevin O'Connel's back. Josie didn't give the woman another thought as she got Susan on the phone again. But the woman in the bright blue suit, the woman with the fine leather shoes and the in-your-face jewels was still thinking about Josie as she started down the hall; close enough to follow, too far away to be in Josie's orbit.
''Don't worry. Enjoy the victory,'' Josie said to Susan O'Connel. ''No, I promise you, he's just trying to get under your skin. . .''
Josie opened the door and absentmindedly held it for the woman behind her. She said her goodbyes to Susan and paused on the sidewalk to make her second call. Eleven rings and Hannah answered. Home from school on a half day, homework done, she was readying her last painting for her exhibit at Hermosa Beach's Gallery C. The girl had come a long way since Josie had taken her in. A casualty of adult folly, Hannah was now legally under Josie's guardianship and anxious that Josie would not only be home, but be home in time for the exhibit.
''Only the end of the world could keep me away from this,'' Josie promised. ''You're going to be great. You're okay, aren't you?''
Hannah actually laughed – a good sign that her therapist would find encouraging. It had been nine month
s since there was a hint of distress bad enough for her to cut herself. Even her obsessive compulsions of checking on Josie's whereabouts, touching things to make her feel safe, had diminished. Josie had never considered herself maternal, but for a never-married single woman she wasn't doing half bad when it came to Hannah. Satisfied all was well, she dropped the phone in her purse, slipped on her sunglasses and gave was checking out her restaurant options for lunch when someone put a hand on her arm.
''Josie Bates?''
''Yep,'' Josie looked first at that hand and the obscenely large emerald ring that adorned it and then at the lady in blue who had followed her outside.
''I wonder if I could take a few minutes of your time? Perhaps lunch? It's already past noon.''
This time she did smile but it never reached her eyes. Those were filled with apprehension. Still, she talked as if their meeting were the most natural thing in the world.
Josie inclined her head, peeved at the interruption, perplexed by the invitation and dismayed by the woman issuing it. Josie had sworn off this kind of client long ago: the kind with more money than good sense, the kind you usually found in Beverly Hills or Hollywood, the kind who had a different sense of justice than the rank and file. This one looked to be particularly bad news.
Like a high priced car she was sleek, high maintenance and tuned to powerful, itchy idle. If Josie let her, she would press the gas and Josie would have no choice but to go along for the ride. The trick was to get out of the way before the flag dropped. Today was for kicking back for a few hours to enjoy her victory on behalf of Susan O'Connel and tonight was for Hannah.
''I have an office in Hermosa Beach. You can reach me there.''
Josie reached for a card. When the woman put out her hand again a sudden chill crackled up the back of her neck. Something was amiss but Josie couldn't get a handle on it. She moved away to avoid contact but the woman was persistent.
''I'd like to talk to you today. It's very important,'' she insisted in a voice as subtly deep and rich as her perfume. ''It's personal matter. There's a place not too far from here where we could speak privately.''
Privileged Witness Page 1