Privileged Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  ''That's all. I loved her. I just loved her,'' Grace repeated over and over. ''I didn't want to hurt her. I never meant to hurt her.''

  ''I know. Shhh.''

  Matthew looked at Josie as if to say ‘see what I have to deal with'. He passed over Archer in favor of Tim Douglas. The younger came to attention.

  ''Get her home.'' Matthew said.

  Grace's head snapped up. She backed out of his arms.

  ''I don't want to go home.'' She pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked at Josie. ''Say something. You're my lawyer. You said you would only listen to me and now you two are going to make plans about me. I should hear that.''

  ''We're not going to be making any plans, Grace,'' Josie assured her. ''It's not a night to make decisions. Nobody's thinking straight.''

  ''Don't you mean I'm out of my mind? Isn't that what you mean?''

  ''No, that's not what I mean,'' Josie said firmly.

  ''Grace, please. Just go home. Don't make this more complicated.'' Matthew begged wearily.

  Grace shook her head. Tim started to cross the room but Grace stopped him with a look.

  ''What are you going to do, Matthew?'' she asked. ''What are you going to do if I make this more complicated?'' Slowly her eyes panned the room challenging each one of them to be a little bit responsible for her. ''You and Josie would just be happy that I was gone like Michelle. Then you and Matthew could do what you've wanted to do from the minute you laid eyes on each other. You could finish up what I walked in on the other night. You know what I'm talking about. It was rough. I didn't know Matthew liked it that way. My sweet brother looked like he was going at it . . .''

  ''Grace! Please!'' Matthew wailed but she paid him no heed. With a sly smile she turned to the two men who hadn't been forgotten. Grace purred like a kitten.

  ''Tim saw it, didn't you? You saw them rutting around like animals. In my sister-in-law's house. My dead sister-in-law.''

  ''Grace, stop talking now. You're only going to hurt yourself.'' Matthew made a move toward his sister. Josie put out a hand to stop him but it was unnecessary. Grace, tired of it all looked at Archer. Whatever passed between them didn't seem to satisfy her but there was no fight left.

  ''You're probably right.'' Her voice trailed off and no one quite knew what to say. Josie, though, understood the evening had to be brought to an end.

  ''Tomorrow the preliminary will be done. Grace, if you go to trial I would suggest you retain new counsel. If you're not bound over, then you're home free and we will go our separate ways. Is that acceptable? Grace?''

  ''Is that what you want, Grace?'' Matthew insisted impatiently.

  Grace's silence, the onlooker's uncomfortable scrutiny was upsetting and Matthew's expression was on of barely contained aggravation. Grace was oblivious or careless or clueless. Perhaps, she was cruel because she left the room without acknowledging him. There would be no closure, only the disturbance of the air as Grace moved, the barest hint of her footfall on the carpet and the sense that her clothing was brushing against her skin. Ghost-like, she slipped out the barely open door.

  ''Tim.'' Matthew jerked his head in the direction Grace had gone.

  Tim hesitated unsure of what was expected of him. Babysit? Spy? Stalk Grace McCreary? Finally, Tim pulled his lips tight and mumbled ‘sure'.

  ''Stay until she's asleep,'' Matthew ordered. ''I don't want her to hurt herself. I don't want her to hurt anyone else.''

  Tim nodded and then he was gone, too. Matthew strode to the bar, whipped his bowtie off and let it dangle around his neck as he rummaged through the liquor. Nothing pleased him and Josie didn't care.

  ''Why would you think she might hurt someone else?'' She stood behind Matthew knowing he heard and ticked that her only answer was the slamming of bottles. ''Matthew, do you believe that Grace is dangerous?''

  ''You saw her.'' Matthew settled on brandy, poured too much then drank too much. ''The way she came at me.''

  ''I'd have done the same if you accused me of sleeping with your wife. Even if it was true, I wouldn't want an audience to hear it,'' Josie said evenly. ''So, were you lying or what?''

  Matthew's eyes traveled over Josie before he sighed and pulled a hand over his eyes.

  ''Who knows what went on with the two of them? They were both loony birds. At least Grace is. I think what we just saw here tonight proves that.''

  ''Tonight proves nothing.'' Helen Crane put herself between Matthew and Josie, shielding her golden boy. ''So, may I suggest that we all just call it an evening and see what happens in court tomorrow? Once we know where this thing stands we can decide what to do about Grace and your campaign Matthew.''

  ''Maybe if Grace didn't have to worry about how every move would affect Matthew she might actually tell the truth.'' Josie stepped around Helen. ''How about giving her permission, Matthew?''

  ''If it were that easy I would.'' Matthew took another drink.

  ''You cut her loose before and she managed to take care of herself.'' Josie suggested dryly.

  ''She ran away. I didn't throw her out.''

  ''But you brought her back.'' Josie was persistent. ''You gave her to Michelle like a puppy. Michelle had a companion and you were free to do whatever you wanted. Now the scale is tipped and you're responsible for her again. Maybe Grace's gratitude and loyalty aren't limitless. Maybe she'll start saying things you don't want anyone to hear if you don't control her.''

  ''I don't know what you're talking about.''

  ''I think the puppy grew into a dog with sharp teeth and an instinct to bite, Matthew.'' Josie ambled toward him. It felt like they were alone in the room. ''Something happened in that wonderful little family of yours, Matthew, and you and Grace think you can beat the system if you just hang tight. It can't be done, Matthew.''

  ''We'll probably never know.'' Matthew finished his drink and walked past Josie to get his jacket. Archer wrapped things up.

  ''Party's over, Jo.'' He took her arm. She resisted then realized he was right. The one thing she wanted, truth from Matthew McCreary, she wasn't going to get.

  Helen Crane walked them toward the hall only to pass them along to the maid who saw them out. When she returned Matthew McCreary was standing by the floor to ceiling windows, one finger holding back the sheers as he watched them get into the Jeep and go.

  ''What are they thinking?''Her gown rustled as she walked toward him and stopped close.

  ''I don't know,'' Matthew muttered.

  ''Then what were you thinking?'' She moved around him, her hand trailing across his back until she stood with it resting casually on his shoulder. Matthew let the drape swing back into place.

  ''I was thinking that Grace is trouble. She kept those divorce papers from me. Maybe she's keeping something else from me, too.''

  ''And what might that something be, Matthew?''

  ''I don't know that either,'' he admitted wearily. ''In Grace's mind everything she does is a good work on my behalf. Always has been, always will be.''

  ''Do you think her good work included killing your wife?''

  ''To what purpose?'' Matthew groused.

  ''To keep Michelle from humiliating you before the election. Michelle was a paranoid, piece of fluff who was afraid of being alone, Matthew, and that means it would take something huge to file for divorce.'' Helen melted away and settled herself on the sofa. ''What did you do, Matthew?''

  ''Nothing.'' Matthew swung his head her way. His eyes glittered as he looked her up and down. The huge skirt of her gown billowed out around her; the jewels at her neck twinkled and sparkled. ''Or, whatever it was, it was in Michelle's mind.''

  ''Alright. If you say so,'' she sighed. ''Then we need to decide which is more forgivable: a sin you committed or an affair between your sister and your wife that took place right under your nose. If Grace is indicted we'll have to stick to one and hope to God the voters are sympathetic.''

  ''Why don't I just slit my wrists on national television? That might get me some sympathy,'' Matthew dr
awled.

  ''This isn't just about you, Matthew. You're an investment, I've sold a piece of you to everyone I know. Your personal life is our business,'' she said. ''It's also about friendship, but I can't afford to put friendship first. I know you understand that.''

  Matthew circled around behind her and put both his hands on her terribly slender neck. His fingers moved to her shoulders and dug into her muscles. Helen's head fell to the side and he knew that she found his closeness reassuring. That was good. He hadn't lost his touch. Helen Crane was just another woman after all and he didn't want to hear her carping. Not after a night like this.

  .''Let's take a good look at those divorce papers, Matthew,'' Helen suggested, relaxed and reassured by Matthew's silence and his touch.

  ''Let's wait,'' Matthew countered. ''If we win the preliminary hearing it won't matter what's in those papers. I'll send Grace packing. People will forget about the both of them. The press will forget.''

  ''I think you're wrong, Matthew,'' she warned as she patted his hand. ''If Grace is exonerated, people will still wonder why Michelle killed herself and they'll want an answer from you. The press will pick at the scab until they expose the wound and that won't do you one bit of good. Or, worse, Grace will start blabbing.''

  ''Don't worry about Grace,'' he said.

  ''Matthew, sometimes you can be so naive,'' Helen chuckled. ''You think because you're a man women will forgive you everything. Well, my dear, you stepped over the line tonight and Grace called you on it. When a woman isn't happy, everyone better watch out.''

  Matthew laid both hands heavily on his benefactor's shoulders, leaning on her, closing his eyes as he thought of all the women he had known in his life: his dead wife, his sister. Josie Baylor-Bates. Maybe Josie wasn't as beautiful as Michelle or as dutiful as Grace, but she was the only real woman he'd ever known. An equal who didn't want anything from him because, whatever she wanted, she could get for herself.

  Looking down he saw the intricate details of Helen Crane's beautifully coiffed hair and suddenly he realized he didn't miss Josie at all. In fact, Matthew McCreary was just damned tired of women in general. But he knew how necessary they were so he kissed Helen Crane chastely on the cheek.

  ''Don't worry,'' he whispered. ''Tomorrow we'll know which way the wind blows. Once we do, I'll take care of Grace.''

  Helen tipped her head. She smiled up at Matthew McCreary who smiled down at her.

  ''Your confidence knows no bounds where women are concerned, does it, Matthew?''

  ''Not women, Helen. Only Grace. Grace, I can handle.''

  ''Let's hope so, darling.''

  CHAPTER 33

  ''Where is your client, Ms. Bates?''

  Judge Belote drummed the fingers of one hand on the arm of his chair, asking his question one more time, turning the room icy with a look. Impatience had evaporated to be replaced with a hard core fury. Three times he directed Josie to track down her client, three times insisted she leave her cell on the defense table. Three times he suggested they would wait with her for the defendant to call back. Spectators squirmed, the press doodled, Josie sat stoically alone at her table while P.J. wrote letters on pink stationery. They were waiting for all hell to break loose. The silence was punctuated by the sound of the judge using his pen like a sword as he jabbed at dots and slashed at cross strokes while he wrote orders.

  ''If it please the court.'' Josie pushed back her chair. ''My client wasn't well last night and I can only assume that her illness has taken a turn for the worse. I ask the court's indulgence and would like to request a continuance so that I can find out what kind of assistance she needs.''

  Josie spoke easily because she spoke the truth – sort of. Grace was sick with anger and nothing else. Now her little grandstanding was going to get them both sanctioned. That made Josie no happier than Judge Belote.

  ''You're honor,'' P.J. called, barely able to hide her glee at Josie's predicament. ''It is a condition of Ms. McCreary's bail that she be available and visible each day during any court proceedings. I would ask that you direct the defense to either produce the defendant, or a witness to verify Ms. McCreary's illness. In lieu of that, I request the court issue a warrant and bring the defendant here in custody.''

  Before the judge could direct anything, the door of the courtroom opened. All heads turned and Josie thought she heard a distinct groan of disappointment when a clerk appeared, handed something to the bailiff who, in turn, passed it up to the bench so that the judge could ignore it. Josie looked back again; hoping against hope the next person through that door would be Grace.

  ''Ms. Bates? Ms. Bates!'' Judge Belote snapped and there was nothing to do but give him her attention. ''Ms. Bates, do you have an affidavit from the defendant's physician?''

  ''No, your honor. Again, respectfully, I would like to request we continuance so that I can sort this out. I'm concerned that Ms. McCreary might be sicker than I originally . . .''

  ''Save it.'' The judge cut her off. ''I've already given you far more leeway than you deserve.''

  ''Chambers then, your honor,'' Josie asked, trying to stave off the inevitable. ''Last night I became aware of a situation that could result in a change of plea . . .''

  ''Unless you're going to raise the late Mrs. McCreary from the dead, you're wasting my time. Is the investigating officer here?'' Belote dismissed Josie with a sniff as his eyes swept the courtroom and Babcock identified himself.

  ''Detective, the court believes that the defendant has voluntarily absented herself from these proceedings. I'm issuing a bench a warrant for her arrest. Defendant will be remanded to custody and I will not entertain any motions to the contrary. Court is recessed and let's pick up the pace when we reconvene. I want that to be soon, detective.''

  Judge Belote was already halfway to his chambers when Babcock took off. The spectator's were leaving. Only P.J. lingered, looking for a chat.

  ''Want to tell me about the change of plea?'' P.J. asked.

  ''Nope. Gotta run,'' Josie muttered.

  ''If you change your mind, give me a call,'' P.J. chuckled as Josie pushed past her and hurried after Babcock.

  She spied him at the end of the hall and was almost in full sprint when she stopped suddenly. Matthew McCreary was coming through a side door looking like he had slept in his clothes. Josie hurried to meet him, pulling him aside out of Babcock's line of sight.

  ''Did you find her?'' she demanded.

  ''No. No. I don't know where she is. I swear,'' Matthew insisted. ''I went to her place last night and again this morning. Tim said he saw her go through the gate. He saw her go into her house and now she's not there.''

  ''When did Tim leave?''

  ''I don't know. As soon as he dropped her off. Jesus Josie, where could she have gone in the state she was in? You don't think she really did something to herself, do you? I mean, I wasn't really serious about that or I would have gone with her myself.''

  ''If she did I'm going to be looking long and hard at you, Matthew. Two women committing suicide in the span of a few months would be a stretch no matter how well I think I know you.''

  ''Oh, for God's sake! It wouldn't be my fault. . .'' Matthew stuck his hands in his pockets and threw his head back.

  ''I'm sorry, that was uncalled for.'' Josie shifted her weight, more angry at herself than anyone for not taking responsibility for Grace. ''Just keep out of sight for a few minutes. Go home, clean yourself up. We wouldn't want any of your constituents to see you like that,'' Josie said, trying to lighten the moment.

  ''The hell with them.''

  ''Kidding, Matthew. Bad joke.'' Josie squeezed his arm as she poked her head out into the hall. Babcock was on the move again. He was the man of she wanted to see. ''I'll call you when I have something.''

  Josie hurried away and burst through the doors of the courthouse. She didn't far to go to catch Babcock. He was sitting in his car with the door was open as he talked into the radio. Josie put one hand on the top of the car, the other on the do
or.

  ''How nice do I have to be to get you to wait before you act on that warrant for Grace?''

  ''No need to put yourself out,'' he said. ''I've got people over at her place now. The house is locked up tight.''

  ''Her car?'' Josie asked.

  ''Garage is locked. It might be in there, but we'll assume it isn't.''

  ''Okay, then, what do I have to do for you to give me a head's up before you take her into custody?'' Josie was ready to bargain with anything she had, which wasn't much.

  ''It's not going to happen, Ms. Bates. I'm sorry,'' Babcock said and she knew he was.

  Josie put her hand on her hip and suddenly realized she shouldn't even be there, talking to Babcock, worried about Grace McCreary, putting Hannah and Archer on the back burner. She should have been on the beach, scoping out the competition on the other side of the volleyball net, wondering if she should go for the winner or play it safe. Straight out was what Babcock would understand. He was getting out of his car and now was the time.

  ''Look, Babcock, this woman is downright brittle. The night you arrested her was nothing compared with what's going to happen if you send out the troops. Just find her and call me so that I can keep her from doing anything stupid, okay?''

  ''Tell me what I need to know and I'll think about it.''

  ''Like what?''

  ''Is she suicidal? Armed?''

  ''No to the second. I have concerns about the first. Give me time and I'll get her back together; I'll walk in with her.''

  ''I am sorry, Ms. Bates,'' Babcock answered simply and stood his ground.

  Josie took another step away. She swung her head, turned her face toward the sky and the sun that shined brightly but gave off no heat today. Babcock was waiting and she knew what Babcock was waiting for.

  ''I don't know where she is. I want you to know that.''

  ''I believe you. ''

  ''And she doesn't know how bad this is going to be for her,'' Josie said.

  ''They never do,'' Babcock agreed.

  ''And I don't think my heart was really in this from the beginning,'' Josie admitted. ''I don't like politics and rich people. I don't really like my client but I'm going make sure she's okay.''