Privileged Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  ''I wouldn't exactly say we're best buddies,'' Archer admitted. ''She's just smart enough to know when she needs help.''

  ''Help? With what?'' Josie chuckled. ''She's been on top of the world since her gallery showing. School is great. I've been watching her. There aren't any problems.''

  ''You got it backwards, Jo. She's been watching you. You're her worry.'' Archer ran a finger down the glass beer bottle then wrapped his hand around it. He didn't want to have to say, but there was no way around this. ''She was thinking about taking up the razor again, Jo.''

  Josie's own beer was halfway to her lips. Her hand trembled as she paused then took a drink.

  ''I don't believe it.?'' The bottle was back on the table. She didn't as much look Archer in the eyes as check out the truth behind them. ''I couldn't have missed something like that. Hannah would have said something before she cut herself. It was part of the deal. She would have told me before you she told you.''

  ''I could hear it when she called,'' Archer said softly. ''I know what I'm talking about.''

  ''You were in the middle of nowhere,'' Josie snapped. ''You heard static.''

  Archer laugh was deep and rumbling. Josie loved - and hated - it until she figured out he wasn't making a judgment, he was only trying to figure out what had gone down while he was away.

  ''I heard what I heard. And I knew about this thing with the McCreary's before Hannah called.''

  ''She called because she was worried about the McCreary case? I've hardly talked about it at home. Was she reading the papers? Was she worried it was too big? That I wouldn't have enough time for her?''

  ''Nope.'' Archer picked up a calamari ring and dipped it. He held it up, popping it into his mouth only after he said: ''She thinks you're going to go with Matthew McCreary. She thought I better high tail it back here and stake my claim.''

  ''Really?'' Now Josie was amused. ''Are you going to challenge him to a duel.''

  ''Naw, just figured I'd ask if maybe Hannah is on to something.'' Another little calamari donut disappeared into his mouth but his gaze was steady on her. ''So, I'm asking, Jo. Should I be worried?''

  ''I think you wasted a trip, Archer.'' She hunched her shoulders and touched his big hand, drawing her finger down the back of it before laying her palm down atop it. ''So, that was it? Hannah was worried about you and me?''

  ''Not exactly,'' he snorted. ''She thought if McCreary was in the picture you might leave her by the wayside. She wasn't exactly worried that you were going to dump me.''

  ''I guess that's what a teenager would think,'' Josie mused and moved her bottle of beer around until the water ring was a figure eight.

  ''So there's nothing to be concerned about on either score, is there?'' he asked quietly.

  ''What would you do if there was?'' She raised her eyes and smiled, meaning for the moment to be light, a tease. It wasn't and she was sorry she had tried to make it so.

  ''I honestly don't know, Jo,'' Archer said solemnly. ''We've never really worked that way, have we?''

  ''Guess not,'' she answered, shaken that he would walk away if that's what she said she wanted. They sat together a minute longer, turning their heads, looking out over the plaza below. Josie's hand tightened on Archer's.

  ''I'm glad you're back,'' she said quietly.

  ''Then it was good Hannah told me to come.''

  ''Don't read anything into that. I'm just glad you're back because I missed you. Nothing else. Matthew McCreary is my client's brother, that's it.''

  ''Then it's good.'' Archer's fingers entwined with hers. He brought it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. His beard scratched her. Josie wondered why they weren't at his apartment celebrating his early homecoming. Archer dropped her hand, crossed his arms on the table and asked, ''So, you want to talk about this thing? I mean, your plan was to kick back while I was gone and ride out the heat wave.''

  ''That was the plan,'' Josie mirrored his body language and lowered her voice. ''It's complicated. Matthew is an old friend but I'm really doing this for his sister. She's – different. Richer than God but so needy and unsure of herself. She seems to rely on me but the minute Matthew shows up it's like I'm not even there. I didn't really think about what I was doing when I took this on; I don't want to leave it the same way.''

  ''Sounds right to me,'' Archer agreed, noting that Josie averted her eyes. She just didn't look away fast enough. Archer saw that Hannah may have been right after all. The brother was in this equation big time. Either Josie just didn't know it or wouldn't admit to it.

  ''What can I do to help, Jo.''

  ''Nothing. Really. Nothing,'' she reiterated when he looked skeptical. Josie didn't want him on that turf. This just felt too personal. So she gave him an overview of the problem, her strategy, the loose ends. ''I've got a little more to do tonight. I want to walk that balcony to make sure my experts on the money.''

  ''I could go with you,'' he suggested knowing full well what the answer would be.

  Josie shook her head. ''You look like something the cat dragged in. take a shower. Get some rest. When I'm done at Matthew's place I need to get Grace ready for court. You're a new face. I don't want to have to explain.''

  ''Okay, Jo.'' He held up the last calamari ring for her. When she declined he left it.

  ''I'll call you tomorrow,'' Josie said as she got up.

  ''Okay, babe.'' Archer stood, too. ''But if there's something you need to ease you up on this thing, let me know.''

  Archer put his hand on the small of Josie's back and guided her down the narrow staircase and onto the plaza. The sun was setting reluctantly. The evening felt lazy and Josie had to be on her guard against giving in to it.

  They walked toward the beach, arms around one another's waist, Josie's hand finding its way to Archer's back pocket. Still Josie felt uncomfortable refusing Archer's offer of help.

  ''There is something you can do for me, Archer.''

  As they walked, Josie filled him on Kevin O'Connel, the settlement, the problem collecting the money. She needed to know if Kevin O'Connel was being paid under the table.

  ''When do you need to know?'' Archer asked.

  ''ASAP. Susan O'Connel really needs the money and I. . .'' Josie hesitated, thinking twice before telling Archer that O'Connel had threatened her. It wasn't his fight. ''I just want the son of a bitch to pay up. Susan deserves it and I want to make good on the settlement as soon as possible.''

  ''No problem. Tomorrow okay?''

  ''Tomorrow or the next. I just don't want this to fall through the cracks. This guy is brutal.''

  ''I'll get on it in the morning.''

  ''Thanks. I'll call you with the info on where to find O'Connel before I leave tonight. I'll be at court tomorrow. . .'' Josie let go of Archer as she gave him her schedule but Archer had something else he wanted.

  He took her arm and pulled her close. He kissed her hard with lips warm from the Mexican sun and dry from the desert air. Josie's hand went to his chest then her arm went ‘round his waist and it was over as quickly as it had begun. Still they stood together, lingering on the plaza, no one giving them a second look.

  ''Did you get some good pictures?'' Josie asked.

  ''Yeah, I saw some nice things,'' Archer answered. ''Nothing nicer than this, though.''

  He kissed her again and this time they parted as easily as they had come together. Josie went home, showered, dressed, called Archer as promised and took off again. She pointed the Jeep toward Long Beach for one last look at the McCreary penthouse.

  Archer had gone to home to his apartment on the top floor of the oldest building on the beach. He owned it. He loved it. It was home. He garaged the Hummer. It was coated with Baja grime. Time enough tomorrow to clean it off. Grabbing his gear out of the back Archer lugged it up the three flights to his place. Inside the air was three weeks stale so he dropped the duffle and opened the sliding glass doors to the deck. Everything was where it should be. His bike in the corner, the bar-b-que, the director's chai
rs covered in canvas, high enough to see over the wall to the beach. For a second Archer just looked then he ambled out, crossed his arms and leaned onto the balcony. He was as gritty as the Hummer; but just seeing the ocean made him feel clean. The phone rang but he only turned his head to listen as Josie left her message. He didn't want to talk anymore. He wanted to think about what had gone down that afternoon.

  Josie hadn't been unhappy to see him but she wasn't exactly thrilled either. He was too early. There were things she was working out and they had nothing to do with investigating or preliminary hearings or possible trials. This had to do with something inside her that was unsettled and Archer wasn't even sure she understood that. It was one thing to understand a problem and make a choice, another thing all together when you couldn't even admit there was a choice to be made. That kind of thing itched like a splinter buried too deep. Eventually you had to cut it out because it burrowed too deep to pull. Either way it made you crazy ‘till you got rid of it.

  It wasn't like Matthew McCreary was a secret. Archer had known about him from almost the minute he met Josie. But McCreary had been distant then: a picture in the business section of the newspaper then an item on the broadcast news as he moved into politics and, finally, a grieving icon when his wife died. Now he was in Archer's backyard and that just didn't feel good.

  With a sigh, Archer went back inside and grabbed his camera bag. He had a few more shots on that last roll and using them just might settle him down. He adjusted t he tripod, mounted the camera and looked through the lens at the brilliantly colored evening sky. Leaning down, he framed the shot, snapped off the last of the roll then took equipment back inside.

  Falling into his chair, Archer busied himself until he knew he couldn't avoid the call any longer. He dialed Hannah's cell.

  ''I talked to her,'' he said when she answered. ''Everything is okay. I got it covered.''

  With that Archer hung up knowing he had probably just told a lie.

  CHAPTER 20

  The sweep of the Vincent Thomas Bridge was beginning to feel like home as Josie maneuvered the Jeep past the trucks, crested the bridge and checked out the harbor on the downhill slide. Far below, the water was black and the docks seemingly deserted for the day. Containers from countries around the world were stacked one on top of one another. Burnt orange and faded blue, tired red. Acres of them. A giant child's building blocks put away for the night. The gangly arms of the gargantuan cranes were paralyzed into painful looking silhouettes. Some clawed at the sky, others grubbed toward the earth, and all were locked into arthritic poses. Barges and container ships were secure in their berths, small craft cut across the waterways and all of it was lit up with kliegs like a carnie. It was the world of Kevin O'Connel and Josie was glad to drive over it rather than wallow in it. Josie slid out onto Ocean Boulevard and it was close to six when she parked outside Matthew's building. She tossed her baseball hat in the back seat and didn't bother to feed the meter.

  Ruffling her hair, Josie lifted her face to catch the breeze. The scorch was about to break and she was glad. Her work shirt, thrown over a worn tank and rolled up at the sleeves, billowed behind as she made her way across the plaza. Her rubber-soled clogs made no sound on the concrete as she hurried past the spot where Michelle McCreary died. But she couldn't go fast enough to escape the sense that Matthew's wife had left a mark on the place. Her earthly stake. A soul squatter refusing to depart until someone figured out why she had died. Josie went straight on, pretending that she didn't imagine Michelle McCreary's corpse had raised it head and was looking after her, asking if she was going to be the one to solve the puzzle.

  Inside, the air was mechanically cooled, the building was quiet and, as Josie waited for the elevator she thought about P.J's generosity with the discovery documents. There were pictures of Michelle McCreary's face from ten different angles and more pictures taken after they rolled her over. Those weren't so pretty. Josie counted fifteen close-ups of her wrists and forearms; more of her fingers and her thighs. The prosecution would argue the bruises and contusions were made as Michelle McCreary fought for her life. Josie's expert would counter they were made as Grace tried to restrain her sister-in-law. All Josie needed to do now was pace off the balcony again, measure the height of the railing, reenact the scenario that Grace had laid out. If Josie was her own devil's advocate then she'd be ready for anything P.J. Vega threw at her.

  Palming the key she rode up the elevator only to find herself wishing she was anywhere else when the doors opened. The place felt like a mortuary where the only thing that came to visit was grief. Skittish, pretending not to be, Josie tossed the key in the air, caught it just right and put it in the door. The tumblers tumbled. She turned the knob. She pushed the door open and exclaimed: ''Oh, my God.''

  CHAPTER 21

  Still gripping the door, Josie thought twice about taking the next step as her eyes darted left and right and forward again. Cautiously she went in, keeping the door open behind her. She would run but only if she had to. Until then, Josie stayed close to the wall and mentally catalogued what she saw.

  The furniture hadn't been moved but the small things were trashed: two thirds of the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves had been thrown to the ground, papers from the desk were everywhere, computer discs tossed in for good measure. The laptop computer had been thrown into a corner and its screen still pulsated with flat blue light. Whatever happened, it happened in the last two hours or the battery would have been dead.

  To Josie's left was the kitchen; to her right were the doorways and hallways that led to the private wing of the penthouse. The hallways appeared to be empty. The master bedroom door was closed. Josie eased herself into the kitchen. It was untouched, gleaming as if it had never been used. Josie slid a knife out of the block on the island. Small enough to maneuver, it was also big enough to do some damage. There was a phone on the wall. She dialed, got a dispatcher and told him to send a car – or ten.

  Keeping her shoulder to the wall she retraced her steps, easing past the guest bath. No one was reflected in the oval mirror over the sink. She looked left through the glass to the expansive balcony. It was deserted and she could see people in the adjacent high rise. A woman doing aerobics. A couple eating dinner. A man standing in the middle of his living room as if he didn't know what to do. Another enjoying the evening on his balcony blissfully unaware of Josie and whatever had happened inside the darkened McCreary penthouse.

  Licking her lips, Josie took another step and went past a closet. The door was ajar. She pushed it with her foot. It had been rifled but no one was in there. The bedrooms were next. Suddenly, Josie froze sure and her ears pricked. She had heard something. A scratching behind a wall? The sound of a footfall? The wail of a distant siren? But there was nothing except the sound of her own breath scraping against her lungs.

  Inching forward she touched the front door knowing she should walk through. Run and not look back. Instead, curiosity and arrogance drove her on. The knife in her hand slipped, sweat loosening her grip. The curious systematic ransacking of this place and the sense that there was something to discover was compelling. There was no place to go but to the closed doors, through the hallway, into the places that were mired in dark. She scuttled across the living room and crouched near the hall, taking inventory of the rooms she could see: a guest room, an office, another bedroom. Only the office had been touched. There were papers on the floor, the desk drawers were opened.

  Slowly, she backed out and into the living room. It was easier to breath now. The hand that held the knife was steady. Whoever had done this was specific in their intent. A political foe was the best bet. Or, perhaps, someone interested in Michelle, someone Matthew didn't know about. Whoever it was had a key because there was no sign of forced entry. Grace could not be ruled out and that was a damn scary thought.

  Still vigilant, Josie had one last place to look. She put her hand on the knob of the master bedroom door, licked her dry lips then opened it. In the
pale little moon of brightness Josie saw something that stopped her heart. Instantly, she was sorry for her small cry of dismay. It was unfair. It was intrusive. It was pitiful. She should have backed away and left before Matthew McCreary looked up from where he sat on the floor surrounded by - almost buried in – his dead wife's clothes.

  CHAPTER 22

  ''Are they gone?'' Matthew's eyes tracked Josie as she joined him on the balcony.

  ''Yes,'' She answered.

  The police had come in force, responding to Josie's call of breaking and entering, whereabouts of the perpetrator unknown. They came with guns drawn to Matthew McCreary's house where something horrible had already happened and something worse might be happening. Babcock was the first to arrive, the last to leave and the only one not convinced that everything was, indeed, alright . Josie had poured a scotch for Matthew, delivering it while Babcock watched. When Josie returned to the living room she wasn't happy with Babcock's continued scrutiny of Matthew McCreary.

  Nothing mysterious, Babcock. Grief. Pure and simple

  That's what Josie told the detective but it wasn't enough to put a wedge between Mathew and Babcock's interest

  A delayed reaction.

  No time to mourn.

  Needed to deal with his wife's things.

  Anger. Can't you understand that?

  That happens when people die. The way she died. Without knowing why she died.

  For God sake, Babcock, get a clue. Take a hike.

  Josie said all these things but Babcock suggested another word.

  Guilt?

  And, if it was guilt that drove Matthew then Babcock had to wonder what kind he could be harboring, how deep it ran and, most importantly, whether or not it was warranted. Josie showed Babcock to the door without asking him for a theory. When he was gone, she put her palm against the door and her forehead against the back of her hand. She was shrinking, wasting away in this well appointed home.. Exhaustion could make a person think they were less than they were and Josie was no exception. She pushed off the door and found enough energy at her core to go help Matthew. Shoulders back, she crossed the living room giving Michelle's portrait no more attention than it deserved – a look, a glance, a momentary thought of the flawed woman it represented. Matthew needed to understand that he had not failed his wife. Michelle McCreary was as much a coward as Josie's own mother had been. They both ran from their problems and broke hearts on their way.