Privileged Witness

by Rebecca Forster

''Do you know what the defendant was referring to?''

  ''No, I don't. I assumed she was talking about the campaign.''

  ''And after that?''

  ''Grace hung up and told me she was going to see her sister-in-law. She said she hoped that Mrs. McCreary wouldn't do anything stupid.''

  ''Do you know what the defendant was referring to with that comment?''

  ''I don't,'' Tim admitted.

  ''Did you believe the defendant was so angry that you might need to go with her to protect Mrs. McCreary?''

  ''No,'' he scoffed. ''She wasn't going to hurt anyone. When Grace first found out about the money, she was upset. That's all. Those two were as close as sisters. Money wasn't going to come between them.''

  ''Do you know of anything that could come between them?''

  ''No, nothing could. I'm sure of that.''

  Josie thanked Tim Douglas. She could feel his relief as he vacated the witness chair. Doctor Norton, the psychiatrist who treated Michelle McCreary since her teenage years was called.

  Mrs. McCreary, he stated, had deep seated difficulties with confidence, depression and paranoia. Her father's outrageously overbearing - some say abusive - behavior where women were concerned, his misuse of power, his total disregard for what his wife and daughter believed to be common decency, had colored Mrs. McCreary's view of herself and the world. Michelle was constantly attempting to atone for her father's sins by being modest and pious. The worst thing anyone could say to Michelle McCreary was that they admired her father or that she resembled him in any manner. Unfortunately, her piety could be rather rigid and she had some degree of sexual dysfunction.

  Michelle's mother, beautiful like her daughter, was delicately unhinged. Alcohol was the grease that kept those hinges working as long as possible. It was Michelle who bore the burden of her father's misconduct because Michelle was placed in the public eye, appearing with her father during his campaigns, at his trials, having tea with his mistresses – in Michelle's home with her mother upstairs. Michelle was often left alone until her father trotted her out to show her off. It was no life for a child and left its mark on the woman she had become.

  ''Was Michelle McCreary suicidal, doctor?'' P.J. asked.

  ''Not when I last saw her,'' he answered.

  ''And when was that?''

  ''Three weeks before her death. She cancelled the next two appointments so I have no idea what happened in those last days.''

  ''Had she discussed anything with you the last time you did see her that would lead you to believe she might be thinking of taking her own life?''

  ''No.''

  ''What religion was Michelle McCreary, Doctor Norton?''

  ''Catholic.''

  ''So suicide would be a sin?''

  ''Indeed, it would.''

  P.J. left it at that and Josie took over.

  ''Did you also act as Mrs. McCreary's confessor, Doctor?''

  ''No, I did not.''

  ''So you have no way of knowing if Mrs. McCreary would consider suicide a sin or if she believed God would forgive anything.''

  ''I do not,'' he admitted.

  ''Did you ever discuss suicide?'' Josie raised a brow.

  ''Not in so many words, but Mrs. McCreary mentioned that sometimes she thought it was just impossible for her to go on. Sometimes she felt that the world would be better off without her. There were times she mentioned that she felt that no one would notice if she was gone. All typical statements of someone who suffers from depression.''

  ''How many times did she make statements of that kind?''

  ''I would have to refer to may records.''

  ''For the purposes of this hearing, could you say she made them often? Almost never? Sometimes?''

  ''Often. I could say that. Small things could make her feel useless and unwanted.''

  ''Can you give us a for instance?''

  ''A newspaper reporter wanting an interview. Her husband requesting she stand with him on the dais during a speech,'' the doctor answered. ''For you and me these things might seem minor inconveniences. For Michelle, these were hurdles to be surmounted. Each instance could turn into a devastating replay of her father's larger than life missteps. People might find out too much about her.''

  ''What was there to find out?'' Josie pressed.

  ''I don't know. We never got that far.''

  ''Doctor, did you ever discuss Grace McCreary in your sessions.''

  ''Yes. Michelle McCreary was grateful for the defendant's friendship. She felt she was a confidant.''

  ''What medication was Mrs. McCreary taking, doctor?''

  ''She alternated between Celexa and Prozac for her depression and paranoia. She took sleeping pills.''

  ''Have antidepressants been proven to cause people to commit suicide?'' Josie asked.

  ''Studies have been done indicating children are susceptible,'' the doctor answered.

  ''That wasn't my question. Have antidepressants been shown to be the cause of suicide?''

  ''Yes, there have been studies that suggest that.''

  They ended the day with a last witness. Michelle's lawyer testified that Michelle McCreary left an estate valued at more than twenty million dollars. The bulk of that was left to her husband; two million was bequeathed to Grace McCreary. However, the lawyer said, he had been in the process of revising that will when Mrs. McCreary died - a will that left nothing to either Matthew or Grace McCreary.

  CHAPTER 28

  There is only one promise a commander cannot keep and that is the promise of victory.

  Josie heard that at a dinner party once upon a time; a party where everyone around the table excelled at something, including, but not limited to, either self love or self loathing. This pearl of wisdom had come from an otherwise rather dull man who was an undersecretary of something at the U.N. He was a strategist not given to humor or speculation. Black and white was to him what a rainbow was to a romantic heart. When questioned further he explained that the only surety of any battle – be it in war, business or personal strife – was that you could be sure of nothing and should be ready for anything.

  Why? Because, he continued on, all sources of information were subject to inaccuracy, errors, blunders, ineptitude and, sadly, agendas. Personal agendas. Political agendas. Practical agendas.

  Why? He continued on, because no cause is completely just or unjust. Memories fade, judgments cloud, the human condition is never perfect. Therefore, anyone engaged in a battle, and especially the person leading the cause, must adjust their thinking and refine their strategy. They do this based on what they perceive to be accurate, righteous or truthful.

  Josie hadn't thought about that dinner chatter in a long time and certainly not after her day in court. She had won the battle, showing Matthew and Grace to be multi-millionaires in their own right. A change in Michelle McCreary's will meant little or nothing to them and their political campaign. Josie believed victory was hers because for every blow P.J. landed Josie was there with a counterpunch. It wasn't until she got home that she realized the gentleman and his philosophy of war and victory was dead on. Archer was telling her it would be next to impossible to win Grace's freedom if P.J. Vega had the same information he did. Josie found herself angry, not just at her naivety but also her self-importance. How could she have been so stupid not to ask the obvious?

  ''The records are sealed, Jo,'' Archer said. ''I only came across them because I was looking for specifics of the O'Connels' case. I started too far back in the filings and came across McCreary's thing.''

  ''That's all you've got, the filing?'' Josie's face was impassive, her words clipped, her body rigid with anger.

  She walked off the length of her living room as she cross-examined Archer, oblivious to his scrutiny. It wasn't her anger that held him enthrall; it was the way she looked. A cascade of white silk fell from one shoulder to the ground. High heeled sandals were on her feet; a diamond ring on her finger. Not the left ring finger or Archer would be thinking McCreary wasn't just plannin
g strategy with Josie all these nights but the right finger, announcing that she belonged only to herself. Unfortunately, Archer was beginning to wonder about that. When she opened the door that night Josie was poised to walk into the McCreary's world and never walk back out.

  ''Yep, that's all I got. A filing,'' Archer admitted, keeping his observations to himself. ''McCreary didn't tell you?''

  Josie shook her head. She flipped the fingers of one hand on her next pass as if to say, what else is new? She had never known Matthew to be a liar but the evidence against him was piling up. Or this could be a reflection of Grace's influence. Matthew had become like his sister: secretive, hiding behind half truths and cryptic words.

  ''No. Neither of them said a word. Okay, let's think about this a minute,'' Josie made a turn and the silk waved against her. Archer could see the outline of her small, high breasts, the nipples erect, the linear line of her hips and legs. She wore nothing under the silk and nothing she wore changed the way she thought - only the way he did. Josie sat down in the leather chair, propped her elbows on her knees and put her clasped hands to her lips.

  ''You look good tonight, Jo.'' Archer's gaze was steady. Josie looked at him knowing there was a wall between them made of silk.

  ''So do you, babe,'' she answered quietly, meaning it. Finally, she put both hands on her knees and took a deep breath. ''So, you want to go to a party?''

  ''I'm not exactly dressed for it.'' He got out of his chair. The grin wasn't on his face but she could see it in his dark eyes.

  ''No worries, Archer,'' she answered and led the way out the door only to stop halfway down the walk. Hannah was calling after her.

  ''Josie! Josie!''

  ''What?'' Peeved Josie turned and looked back at the porch. She squinted and tried to make out Hannah in the backlight of the porch fixture.

  ''Mrs. O'Connel is on the phone. She says she wants to talk to you,'' Hannah took the first step then held the phone toward Josie.

  Josie looked over her shoulder. Archer was ready to go, seated and belted in. She looked back at Hannah.

  ''Tell her I'll call her in the morning. Tell her I haven't forgotten tomorrow.''

  ''But. . .''

  Josie didn't hear. She was in the front seat, pulling her dress up and over her knees, depressing the clutch, throwing the Jeep into gear and speeding off into the darkness.

  Behind her, Hannah held the cordless toward her with both hands as if pleading for her to change her mind and come back. When Josie didn't, Hannah reluctantly relayed the message. She almost hung up but then put the phone back to her ear.

  ''Mrs. O'Connel? Don't worry. Josie will see you tomorrow. She promises and she always keeps her promises.''

  Hannah went back inside, closed the door behind her and cradled the phone. Max-the-Dog who came to her for a cuddle and Hannah gathered him up. For a long while Hannah Sheraton kept her cheek against his and felt his wet-hot breath on her neck and his sandpaper tongue trying to lick away the sound of Susan O'Connel's voice in her ear. But it wasn't enough. Hannah had heard that voice before and It had been her own: defiantly courageous despite the terror. It didn't matter if the terror was warranted or not, it was there in Susan's voice so that made it real. Hannah buried her face in Max's fur because her bad memories were coming back, her old fears and that horrible need to find a way to release it all. A nick of the skin. A slice of the forearm. A cut of the wrists. Anything to take the pain and fear away.

  When Max whimpered and pulled away, Hannah realized that she had been holding him too tight; that he was sensing the worst was yet to come. So Hannah petted him and soothed him and said she would never to that. But she might call Susan O'Connel back. They could talk until Josie came home. They would protect each other until Josie could protect them both. But that was silly. Hannah couldn't call Susan O'Connel. There was already somebody there with her and she wouldn't inflict him on Susan for anything.

  ''You ready, Hannah?''

  Billy Zuni stood in the doorway between the dining room and the living room. In his hands were a stack of DVDs. On the table was popcorn and soda. In his eyes was the hope that, just this one night, Hannah wouldn't mind that he as around to keep her company ‘till Josie came home. Maybe just this once he could make Hannah like him.

  Shaking back her long black hair, Hannah scowled as she took the stack of DVDs and ran through them. Billy watched her, saw that the skin of her right hand was still discolored and puckered from the burn she had suffered during the Rayburn fire, saw that she would still rather be anywhere else other than with the long haired, blond haired, Billy Zuni. But that was okay. Billy was pleased to do a favor for Josie and even more pleased that he was making headway with Hannah. A few months back she wouldn't have even let him in the house with her much less the same room.

  Susan O'Connel took a deep breath. Then another. Only the third one made it all the way to her lungs.

  Josie was busy.

  Josie couldn't talk to her now.

  Josie could talk to tomorrow.

  Fine. Fine.

  Susan took short little puffy breaths that didn't settle her completely so she walked from the living room of her pitiful apartment to the bedroom and back again. She did this more times than she could count and, at some point, she stopped shaking and reason returned.

  Of course Josie couldn't speak to her. Josie was an attorney. She worked for pay. It was after office hours. That was the way the world worked. People did their jobs then had a life. Now Susan had a job – part time at the deli – so she would work on getting the life. What had just happened was nothing. A little bit of panic, pure and simple. A piece of gristle in a good steak didn't ruin the steak.

  Palms sweating, but courage returning, she went to the window and looked out again. It was the sight of that car that brought this all on. Susan thought she saw that big black thing that Kevin's friend drove. The kind of car that felt intimidating. She had watched from behind the curtain and when it stayed parked she imagined that Kevin's friend was out there watching her. She imagined he was coming for her. So she called Josie but that girl answered. It was all Susan could do not to cry out to that sweet little girl and tell her that she needed Josie to come because Susan was sure Kevin had found her.

  Now the car was gone and so were the jitters and reason had returned. There must be a million SUVs in the South Bay and she was miles away from San Pedro. There was no way Kevin could have found her. In fact, he had probably stopped looking. After all, he had figured out a way not to pay her settlement so what did he care where she was or what she did?

  Susan was just thinking about this when something touched her leg. Startled, she jumped back and looked down. It was the kitten she had found in the hall. A little bitty thing that needed rescuing just like Susan had needed rescuing. Bending down, Susan swept the white ball of fur into her hands and held the mewling baby thing to her cheek.

  ''You're right. You're right. Josie took care of me when I needed her and now I'll return the favor.''

  Putting the kitten down, Susan picked up her purse. There was milk at the corner store. She had enough money and two strong legs. It was only nine o'clock and people were out. She didn't need Josie to hold her hand and walk a block and a half nor should she expect her to do such a thing.

  Susan O'Connel was free. Almost divorced. Almost self-sufficient. Ready to tackle life again and damn if she was going to let even the thought of Kevin put her back to square one. When the kitten made to bolt as Susan opened the door, she laughed aloud for the first time in years, moved the ball of fluff with her foot, and then slipped through the crack in the door. On the street Susan looked both ways. Just the regular cars parked along the curb. Regular working people cars. No big, threatening cars.

  She was almost smiling as she began to walk. It occurred to her that she hadn't locked the door, but, in a show of independence, Susan O'Connel walked on. It would only take a few minutes to get the milk and head back. Enjoying her walk, she looked around and
noticed everything. There were lights shining in all the apartments. She could see people going about their after dinner routines. A man walked a dog across the street, lost in his own thoughts. A boy rode a bike without reflectors. The heat had broken and it sort of felt like fall.

  At the corner store the Asian woman behind the counter looked up. She didn't smile but Susan could see that the woman felt kindly toward her so Susan smiled instead. She walked past the wall of liquor bottles and wine bins, ignored the displays of lottery tickets. She had already won the lottery once when she survived Kevin's last attack; she wasn't going to push her luck. Susan stopped to look at the cereal then turned to the other shelf and thought about getting some hand cream. Then it struck her. It was exhilarating to stand in a store enjoying herself, needing only milk. It felt wonderful not to have to hurry home for fear she would incur Kevin's anger by staying out too long.

  Lost in her thoughts, Susan O'Connel failed to notice the man at the counter do a double take when he saw her. She didn't notice that after he bought his cigarettes he walked outside to light one and linger. Nor, after she got the milk and said good-bye to the Asian woman, did Susan notice that man walking the same street as she did. She wasn't aware that he had stopped to watch her go into her apartment building and watched until he saw her in the window on the third floor. Then he left.

  He had seen all he needed to see.

  CHAPTER 29

  ''Don't bother announcing us.''

  Josie walked past the black-uniformed maid who opened the door to a home in Bel Air that could have been mistaken for a hotel. The woman stepped aside for Josie. She wasn't paid enough to guard the gate and she was used to being ignored by beautiful women. Besides, it was the guy in the Hawaiian shirt and khakis that deserved a second look. She got a chance when Archer stopped and offered a fleeting smile as if to say he was sorry for the trouble they were brining.

  ''I'm with her,'' he said before following in Josie's wake.

  Where she was headed was a no-brainer. Bubbles of brainless conversation and splashes of polite laughter flowed out of the room at twelve o'clock. The sounds bounced off the marble floor and popped into nothingness before either Josie or Archer could make sense of what they heard. Those little suds of banter that managed to escape were done in by the click of Josie's stiletto heels hitting the floor hard and fast. She hadn't brought her purse. She wouldn't be staying long enough to need anything in it. She didn't look over her shoulder for Archer because she already knew he was watching her back even though she had made it clear in the car that she didn't need an assist.