Privileged Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  Needing help with damage control, Josie detoured to the kitchen and called Tim Douglas before joining Matthew on the balcony. He sat there with his legs apart, one arm resting on his thigh, the other on the table. His hand was still wrapped around the drink Josie had given him. A breeze toyed with his hair and then lay it back in charming disarray. Still he looked older, worn out and when she appeared it was a struggle for Matthew to raise his eyes.

  ''Tim told me you'd gone to San Diego.'' Josie hunkered down in front of him; she touched his knee; affection for an old friend who was hurting. ''He gave me the key. I wouldn't have intruded if I'd known.''

  ''That's what I told him. I. . .'' Matthew's voice trailed off and she could see that he had to force himself to catch the thread of his thought again. He put a hand over his eyes. It was an effort for him to speak. ''I just needed some time alone. I had to take care of Michelle's things.''

  ''Does Grace know what you're doing?''

  Matthew shook his head.

  ''No. I don't want you to tell her. Do you understand?''

  ''No, I don't understand. She might have been able to help.''

  ''I don't want her help,'' Matthew answered. ''Michelle was my wife and that trumps Grace as her good buddy. This is something I needed to do.''

  He bent his legs at right angles. He pushed aside the glass and the ice in it rattled. Slowly Matthew collapsed: elbows on knees, hands cupping his face, shoulders bowing. Josie stood up. She turned away. In the neighboring buildings life went on. The man who had stood aimlessly in his living room was now watching television. Josie could see the stutter of light as he clicked the remote and changed the channels, finding nothing to interest him. The aerobics woman's lights were out. Dinner was over for the couple in one of the units. Finally, Matthew raised his head.

  ''I haven't had time for myself since Michelle died,'' Matthew said wearily. Josie turned back now that Matthew was ready to talk. ''Everyone kept saying ‘after the election' take some time for yourself. After the election. After what election? The primaries? The general election? Months and months from now? I don't know when after is, Josie? I just hate that word.'' Matthew chuckled sadly. His bottom lip disappeared beneath his teeth and Josie had the feeling his was biting to bring blood. He cut his eyes her way. ''Do you want to know why?''

  Josie knew it wouldn't have mattered who was standing in her place so she remained silent, listened and watched. Matthew's right knee jumped like it was keeping time to a miserable tune, his hands were clasped, he shook his head as he revved up to spill his guts.

  ''Everything about my life has been after. My dad used to say ‘after college there will be plenty of time for you to decide if you want to go into the business'. But there was no after college. There was only after he and my mom died. After the funeral I was told I was legally responsible for the business so my life would start after the business settled. Then after Grace got out of school. But Grace ran away and then it was after you find Grace. After you get over Grace. After you're married. After the election. After, after ,after. . .''

  Matthew barked a laugh as his fist pounded the table keeping cadence with the recitation of that hated word. He got up too fast and used the table as leverage. It was a harsh and thoughtless gesture and the crystal glass jumped, toppled then rolled off the table shattering into a million pieces.

  The last drops of the liquor made a dark stain on the pale tile, the shards of glass sparkled in the light from the surrounding buildings. Matthew walked through the glass, crushing it, trailing the dust of it into the living room. Josie swung her head and watched after him. He paused in front of Michelle's portrait then disappeared into the bedroom.

  When he didn't come back, Josie followed and stood in the doorway watching Matthew pluck things out of the mountain of clothes, his jaw set as he folded them haphazardly, awkwardly, angrily.

  ''Michelle couldn't wait until after the election. She wanted me to lose.''

  He threw an ecru colored ball gown on the pile. The satin skirt billowed up like a cloud. He tried to tame it, putting it on the bed, slapping it down only to find another yard of the shimmery fabric puffing up as the air was displaced.

  ''Michelle just couldn't wait. . .for me. . .to. . .lose.''

  Pounding. Pounding on the skirt of that ball gown whose color was so very close to that of flesh, so very close to the feel of pampered skin. He gave up and left it a mess on the bed only to grab up a pair of slacks. Those he folded once, twice, three times until they were no more than a ball of fabric. He slammed those on the pile atop the evening dress.

  ''Michelle just couldn't understand what it meant to me. . .'' Twirling on Josie he looked at her as if he was peering through the fog of a fever. ''At least you had the guts to understand what I wanted and leave the right way. You never judged. You would never judge me. I begged her to understand what it was like. What my life had been like. But, no. Her life was always worse. She was higher and mightier and more righteous. I only wanted her to understand that I had it rough and I needed someone to understand me. I needed someone to care about me. . .''

  Matthew took a step forward and Josie tipped her head, her brow furrowing. Nothing in memory prepared her for this angry, wounded, vindictive man. This was a true passion. This was a true love. This was a man who railed at the one person – the one woman – who was supposed to share his dream or at least understand it and who, instead, shattered it with so exquisite a statement as death.

  ''Matthew,'' Josie whispered. ''I'm so, so sorry. I wish I had known. I would have. . .''

  ''What? What would you have done, Josie if I had come to you and told you all these things about my wife and my marriage and my sister? Come on. Tell me how you'd make it all better.''

  His hands up went up, his face flushed and Matthew was wild-eyed in his misery. The shadow of his days old beard made his face look hollow. He kicked aside the fine clothes and, in three long strides, crossed the room, taking Josie by the shoulders. His hands were big and his fingers were long. They dug into her skin, pinching muscle and nerve as he yanked her close. Josie's head fell back. She put her hands against his chest and didn't think, she couldn't think. Those hands were familiar, the emotion wasn't.

  Another jerk of her body.

  Her hands were wedged between their bodies. She could smell his desperation and, a second too late, realized this was a situation. Matthew's mouth crashed down on hers sp hard he might as well slapped her to the ground. This wasn't affection or need; this was a mindless expression of anger and hatred, frustration and betrayal, terror and longing. All of it was directed at Josie because she was there but it was meant for Michelle, or Grace.

  Tears burned in Josie's eyes. There was pain. She tasted blood and felt a fascinating thrill as Matthew let go of her shoulders only to clamp his hands on either side of her head. He spread his fingers over her skull and pressed into her temples. The heels of his hands were over her ears so that his voice was muffled. Words became nothing more than low, insistent pulses of sound. He could crush her should he choose; crush her if she resisted.

  His mouth opened and his teeth were bared and Josie pulled back again but she was up against the wall. Up against all of it. There was no place to run. Matthew was as tall as she, stronger than Josie. Whatever he wanted Josie couldn't give him. Figuring that out turned Josie's understanding to fear. If Josie couldn't give what he wanted, Matthew McCreary was determined to take it.

  Just as panic came into play, just as Josie Bates realized Matthew McCreary didn't care who was crushed beneath him, Josie was blinded by a white light. She was saved.

  Breathing hard, narrowing her eyes against the glare, Josie looked first at Matthew. He still stood close, his face hovering above hers, his hands still on the sides of her head. He was pale and confused, panting and unable to account for how he had gotten to where he was. Not that anyone was asking. Indeed, Tim Douglas's mouth was set in a grim line. He didn't seem to have any questions about the situation.

&n
bsp; Not that Josie cared what he thought. It was Grace standing by his side, staring at her brother as if he had just killed Michelle all over again, that made Josie shrink inside her skin.

  CHAPTER 23

  It was three in the morning. Archer was up, dressed and had a coffee mug in his hand as he stood on his deck looking at the deserted beach. The world was tinged with that promise-of-sunrise color. Not quite blue, almost grey sky with a wash of something akin to a blush wisping somewhere beyond touching. The ocean was black-to-blue, frothing magically white when it touched the shore only to prove itself less than fairy dust as the already hard packed sand sucked up the sparkles. The street lights were off. Lover or drunk would have to find their way home in the half light. Archer looked toward the pier and saw someone moving under it, just this side of the lifeguard headquarters. That would be Billy Zuni, left out of his home again – or someone very much like Billy.

  Archer took a drink. The coffee was hot and bitter and necessary – the same as his sleep had been. He had been worn out by the marathon drive from Mexico back to Hermosa and was deep in rest when Josie came to his bed. She pulled herself close. She touched him, insisting he wake. Without a word she made love to him as if needing to be reassured that he was alive and well and loving her back.

  He obliged.

  She didn't stay.

  Hannah, who didn't often wake any more, would be frightened to find she was alone if she did that night. It was a standard excuse that marked Josie's desire to be a better example than Hannah's own mother. Archer had argued that Hannah had seen more in sixteen years than Josie had in forty. Josie argued it was time she saw something different. But last night it had been more than worry over Hannah that sent Josie packing. There was something bothersome inside that she wanted to keep private. Not that he couldn't guess what dogged her. Two and two still made four. Josie had gone to the McCreary place alone. She came back uneasy. That's as far as he took the equation.

  Unfortunately, whatever Josie brought with her, enough of it had sloughed off so that Archer was out of sync. He itched like he needed to wash it off, or sweep it away, but it proved as elusive as dust mites on a hard wood floor. The more he tried to collect it, examine it, toss it aside, the worse the feeling of disquiet. So he showered, dressed, had his coffee and now that it was time to go Archer felt better. For a few hours he would forget about last night. If Josie wanted to tell him what went down she would. If she didn't bring it up, he would forget it.

  Archer drained the coffee mug and left the patio door open when he went back inside to wash out his cup. Hopefully, whatever Josie had brought with her would air out. The keys to the Hummer were on the bookshelf where he always kept them. Archer touched the rosary that shared the space. Finally, he opened a drawer palmed his revolver. He lifted his shirt and holstered the weapon in the harness under his arm.

  He was ready to work.

  CHAPTER 24

  There was something invigorating in the smell of fish and diesel and metal. It smelled like hard work and big money being made by brawny men.

  Archer got to the port by four fifteen and found the berth where Kevin O'Connel was due to offload toys from China from a ship of Turkish registry owned by a Swiss consortium. If O'Connel was around then Archer missed him and that made him doubt that the guy had been there at all. So he nosed around, not bothering to pretend he was anything other than what he was: a P.I. looking at Kevin for something. Anyone who knew Kevin knew the something was the money he owed his ex-wife so there wasn't much chit-chat to be had. Best Archer got was one guy – casual labor – who grumbled that O'Connel had been working overtime hours that belonged to him.

  Archer listened patiently, took note of the days the other man ticked off and then did a quick calculation. If the information was right, Kevin O'Connel was still fulltime, easily pulling down a hundred grand a year. Funny thing how O'Connel told the court he was handling max three days a week, unable to work because of the mental stress of his wife's vindictiveness. Archer had the union psychologist's paperwork filed with the court to prove Kevin was in a weakened state. Now he had some guy's gripe that O'Connel was hale, hearty and greedy. That could only mean one thing: the man was off the books, hiding the cash and screwing his ex-wife out of her settlement.

  All in all, a decent day's work before six in the morning. Archer grabbed a second cup of coffee and sat down, wishing he had his camera. The play of changing light on the spirals of rope – thick as a man's trunk – was one of the most beautiful things Archer had ever seen. The hoists, tall enough, strong enough, to lift sixty thousand tons of goods with a throw of a gear, the turn of a knob, looked like a stand of exotic birds, their beaks dipping toward the ships to pick up their prey. The world of the docks was as complex as the goods moved in and out. Ships arrived from far away lands; government regulations were met or ignored as needed. The constant threat of terror was outweighed by demand for the things packed in those containers. Yet this world was simple, too, and stark and suddenly one that Archer wasn't too enamored with.

  The punch came fast from behind. Archer didn't take it well. The Styrofoam cup flew out of his hands as he was thrown forward. Damn if his face wasn't in the way as the hot coffee jumped up to scald him just before splashing on the ground beneath him. But the stinging burn along the side of his face was the least of his worries; the six guys blocking out the early morning rays were top of mind.

  The one with the big square head had him by the shirt collar. He was leaning real close so that Archer could see he had dark little hairs in his nose and a piercing through his ear but no earring. Just another hole in his head.

  ''You looking for Kevin?'' he growled.

  Archer swallowed hard. Whoever punched his kidney had done a damn good job of finding his mark and it was taking a minute to find his breath so he nodded.

  ''Kevin don't know you.'' This time he yanked Archer up just high enough so that his gut crumpled and Archer found himself wishing there was a john real close. ''Kevin don't know you, right?''

  ''Right,'' Archer rasped. Not only did he have to pee real bad, the guy with the ham hands had twisted Archer's shirt at the throat. Not the best interrogation technique. Archer didn't think it was something he should point out .

  ''Okay. So, don't think we're all such dumb shits. Tell Suzy she's going to get what's coming to her. She don't need to send down nobody to see she gets it. Understand? So you better get off and out of here and don't come back.''

  Square Head pulled Archer up an inch higher then threw him away like a piece of garbage. The man got high marks for drama because his audience was well pleased. Grunts and muttering and peacock threats were heaped on Archer who knew enough to stay exactly where he was. When the men sauntered away, not even bothering to run, Archer decided two things: first, Josie was going to have her work cut out for her getting the bucks out of Kevin O'Connel and, second, Archer was thankful that he was lying in a pool of coffee when it could just as easily have been blood.

  Josie didn't bother with breakfast. She didn't even bother with coffee. She was just bothered. The night had been long, unsatisfying and guilt ridden. She had lain awake trying to figure out if she had done something to warrant Matthew's outburst and why she had felt shamed when she saw Grace's face. The situation wasn't what it seemed Josie explained as she took Grace aside.

  ''A breakdown. . . I found him. . . he is grieving. . . ''

  I understand.

  ''A reaction. . . His anger at his loss. . .Didn't want me. . .''

  Of course.

  ''Didn't encourage. . . He remembered the old days. . . It just happened . . .''

  Naturally. He keeps things inside.

  Grace nodded, agreeing with everything, that ring of hers whirlygigging again. Her close-set eyes were dark and penetrating as if she was listening. She wasn't. Instead, Grace McCreary looked at Josie as if she knew exactly what had happened. It was desire. Lust. Seduction. Matthew was free. It was an opportunity. There was no doubt. />
  Josie stopped talking and waited for Grace to say something, ask a question, make a judgment. But Grace just ignited the flame on her gold lighter and considered her cigarette for a minute before she lit it. She looked across the balcony and let the smoke bleed through her lips. Her head fell back, her free hand lay against her long, pale neck. When she faced Josie once more, Grace didn't look into a lawyer's eyes but those of the other woman and whatever Grace was thinking remained a mystery. Dropping her unfinished cigarette onto the tile, she ground it under the toe of her shoe.

  ''I'm glad you were here for him, then.'' She smiled distantly, got up and went to the bedroom where her brother had taken refuge.

  Tim muttered a goodbye. Josie left soon after and stood on the street looking up. When she realized there was nothing for her to see, Josie left, too. Instinctively, she went to Archer. Josie had lost her footing he was the only one who could lead her back to the path. But if it had been that simple Josie wouldn't have remained silent as they lay side-by-side; she wouldn't have replayed ever second of that encounter as she lay shivering in her own bed. Her rest wouldn't have been fitful in those six hours that she slept, aware that Hannah had come to look down on her but unable to rouse herself and tell the girl to go away because Josie wasn't worth watching over. She had used Archer and that shamed her.