Suspect Witness

by Ryshia Kennie

  “Georgetown. Damn it, Vern. Too bad you didn’t have that for me sooner. You know the Anarchists don’t waste time. They’re not just any biker gang. As it is she’s been running for five months.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Vern said with a hitch in his voice that was part wheeze, part cough. “She’s tired and with the trial going forward, they won’t stop.”

  “Right, and they want her dead, and odds are they’re on their way. Fortunately, no one knows where in Georgetown yet.”

  “Then quit wasting time on the damn phone.”

  Josh grimaced as he clicked off and tossed the phone into a nearby garbage can.

  Chapter Two

  Georgetown, Malaysia—Monday, October 12

  “Give Respect, Get Respect.” Erin Kelley repeated the words as she wrote the phrase on the chalkboard and ended with a sweeping flourish. Her fingers shook and she had to stop. She ran her tongue along her lower lip, her back to the class. But even writing the word respect sent a slight tremor through her. The chalk dust clung uncomfortably to her sweaty palm.

  The temperature was unseasonably warm and this early in the morning the heat was already unbearable in the small, cramped room. A finger of light skittered across the blackboard, briefly illuminating the words. She mentally shrank from the light as if under a searchlight, as if they’d found her after all these months. Impossible, she reminded herself as the chalk sweated in her hand, and the children shifted anxiously behind her. And as she had done so many times before, she reminded herself that she was safe, that her trail was cold. Enough time had elapsed. They’d never find her. They were no longer interested. And as she did at odd times throughout any given day, she considered the truth of those beliefs and whether she was really safe, whether these children were safe. One day, she knew, despite her hopes, the answer would have her on the run again but that wasn’t today.

  She put down the chalk and turned to face the class.

  “Today, we’re going to learn about respect,” she said in English. The school’s curriculum was taught in English to children who were already bilingual, fluent in both Malay and English, and who, in many cases, if they hadn’t already, would master a third or even fourth language in their lifetime.

  At the back of the room a heavyset boy shifted in his seat. Beside him, a sullen-faced classmate shuffled papers across his desk. And at the front one boy whispered furtively to another. The rest of the boys eyed her uneasily. They knew what was coming. There wasn’t a boy who had missed the taunting in the schoolyard and not one who didn’t know what was going to happen as a result. She had made it all perfectly clear from her first day.

  She fixed her gaze on the targets of this lecture. The two culprits dressed in crisply pressed navy pants with matching jackets, white shirts and sleek haircuts stared back without a flicker of emotion. They were both the sons of successful Malaysian businessmen, and neither lacked for pride or esteem. They were children of wealth and privilege with attitudes she had struggled to control since her arrival. Yesterday, their attitudes had threatened to harm another student. It was a scenario that played out in schoolyards across the globe and through the decades. They had taunted a slight, studious boy on the playground. She bit back the scathing words she wanted to say. Bullying aside, they were still only children. But for a second she saw another classroom a world away, and another child and a small girl pummeling another.

  Leave my sister alone!

  The skinny, carrot-haired girl stuck in her mind, running through reel after reel. The knobby knees, the brilliant hair, the circle of taunting children. And always she stood screaming those words, running intervention as she grabbed and punched and pulled hair, freeing her sister from the circle of tormentors—over and over again.

  Her gaze went to the thin boy in the front of the class. He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was fumbling through his backpack, which was emblazoned with a variety of action figures.

  “Before we begin today’s lesson, who would like to volunteer to go tell Mr. Daniel that the air conditioner isn’t working?”

  “They’ve shut it off, Miss,” Ian said. “They always do in October.”

  “Besides, Mr. Daniel’s left.” Isaac waved his hand frantically in the air even as he spoke.

  “On an errand,” Ian added.

  “In your new car,” Isaac finished. He was fascinated by vehicles of any sort and had followed her into school last week pestering her with details of her new vehicle purchase and clearly unimpressed with what had impressed her; gas mileage.

  “Right. I didn’t realize he was leaving this soon.” She pulled at the back of her cotton blouse, which was beginning to stick. She wiped the back of her hand across her damp brow as her eyes drifted to the parking lot and she thought of Daniel. Friend or not, she wasn’t apt to lend out her vehicle on a whim, but Daniel hadn’t asked. Instead, he’d planned to use public transport and lose over a half a day’s pay to attend a dental appointment. Knowing the pain the tooth was causing him and that he was too proud to ask for help, she’d offered him her car. Insisted, really.

  “So, let’s begin.” She swept a hand to the blackboard. “Respect.”

  The class of ten-and eleven-year-old boys in their fourth year of the six-year Malaysian primary school system should have been sweating and fidgeting. Instead, they now sat with backs straight, their eyes fixed on her.

  “Anyone know what that means?” She placed her hands on the back of her chair. The sunlight seemed to shift and for a moment blinded her. She pushed the small crystal bowl to the front of her desk. The orchid and the bowl were a birthday gift from a group of teachers she’d had lunch with since she’d arrived. They’d presented the gift yesterday and even had sung a round of “Happy Birthday.” Except that her birthday wasn’t yesterday, nor was it this month. Her birthday was months past and a lifetime away.

  “He’s a loser.” A boy stood up. His height and classic good looks belied his age.

  The boy in question sat slouched over his desk, his untidy mop of black hair hanging forward and hiding his face from the class. She looked away and instead forced her gaze to the boy who had just spoken.

  “Sit!” she snapped at Jefri. The boy was one of a small, tight-knit group who thought his family’s wealth placed him a tier above everyone else. “No one’s a loser.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flicker of motion. Something moved in the parking lot. She allowed her attention to divert momentarily. Her heart thumped.

  “Miss Kelley?” Jefri’s voice was insistent and still had the high notes of childhood, despite the fact that at almost twelve, he stood tall enough to face her eye to eye.

  “Just a minute.” She motioned the boy to sit down. Outside the heat rose in shimmering waves from the pavement as the shadow cast by the voluptuous canopy of an ancient rain tree fell short of cooling the overheated tar. In the parking lot, her new lemon-yellow Naza Sutera gleamed. Daniel hadn’t left yet.

  Her hand curled on her desk, her nails biting into her palm. A familiar figure moved with an easy walk toward her car, and whatever or whoever had caught her attention previously was gone. She breathed out a sigh as she recognized the school custodian, Daniel.

  She turned her attention back to the class as she pointed to the chalkboard. “Shall we read this together?”

  “Give Respect. Get Respect,” the boys repeated, their childish voices rising solemnly to the occasion, some looking rather sullen, while others repeated dutifully as they did everything she asked.

  “So, now we’ll discuss what that means. I want—”

  A blast of light exploded outside with a roar that rattled the windows and knocked the remainder of her sentence into eternity, where it would remain forgotten. Somewhere outside the room someone screamed.

  A door slammed.

  “Stay where you are.
Sit down, all of you. Now!”

  She rushed to the window even as the children jumped from their seats.

  Flames shot into the air, smoke billowed, obscuring the parking lot, the grass. “Oh, my God!” She took a stumbling step backward. Her body seemed to freeze in position.

  “Miss Kelley?” a small voice questioned her.

  “Did you see that?” someone else shouted.

  The class, she’d almost forgotten... A boy pushed in beside her, fighting for window space.

  Voices chattered in the hallway.

  She needed to secure the room. Protect the children.

  “Sit!” she repeated as she swung around. “Stay away from the door!” She grabbed the edge of the desk and yanked it in that direction. But already the door had flung open and children scattered into the hallway.

  “They’re here,” she whispered.

  Chapter Three

  Flames shot in the air as Josh closed the space between him and the fireball that had once been a vehicle. Black smoke billowed through the flames, and the smell of gas and burning metal filled the parking lot. And there was a hint of something else, the putrid sweet scent of burning flesh.

  No.

  He shielded his eyes from the intense glare and grimaced at the sight of the blackened hulk behind the wheel. He watched silently, aware of two things in that instant—that the corpse was too big to be her and that the outlaw biker gang, the Anarchists, had found her. He backed up and returned to the shelter of a canopy of pepper vines that fronted the edge of the school and provided a leafy shelter. He had no qualms about moving out of sight now that he knew the victim was beyond his help. His attention settled briefly on the burning vehicle. Chaos erupted from the building as children yelled and shrieked. The sharp commands of authority cut through the mass of voices as two female teachers attempted to control a mob of children. He hovered at the corner of the building, away from the main crush, out of sight of curious eyes.

  He edged forward. The children milled excitedly, some cupping their hands over their eyes to get a better view. An older, gray-haired woman in a suit jacket and skirt was hurling orders and pointing inside. When one boy headed for the steps, she yanked him back by the collar of his navy blue school uniform. Josh’s gaze went to the other exit.

  “Where are you?” He pushed the knit cap back from his forehead and glanced at the car and the fire that continued to burn bright and hot. He turned his attention back to the school and debated rounding the building and entering through the back. But that would serve no purpose. He was well aware that a face-to-face encounter, especially now, would have her running. He’d come too far to lose her.

  “Come on,” he encouraged his absent quarry. He wondered how she’d managed to survive as long as she had. From what he could see she had only a rudimentary knowledge of the art of disappearing and a bucket of pure luck. That was about to change.

  “Daniel!”

  It was a woman’s voice, clear with a sweet edge despite the shock that so obviously laced through the words.

  “There you are,” he said under his breath. She had changed her name, her nationality and her look, but he would know her anywhere. Her hair was now a pallid blond contained in an elegant updo that he recognized as an attempt to add years to her youthful face. But even at a distance he would recognize those eyes and those cheekbones. He’d studied that face for hours, memorized it as he did for every job. Except this time he had wanted to know so many other things, such as what her voice sounded like. Now he knew.

  Her gaze seemed to fix on the scene. He inched closer.

  A movement out of the corner of his eye had him turning, and as he did he saw that one of the children had broken from the cluster and was moving much too close to the vehicle.

  “Damn it,” he swore. The flames were licking at the vehicle and there was no way of knowing if the gas tank had gone with the first explosion. He moved fast, forgetting about keeping to the fringes or keeping his head low. He grabbed the child and rolled with him, sideways and away from the hot, still-popping metal.

  The boy squirmed, and Josh pinned the youngster with one hand. “It might explode again. Stay back unless you want to die.” He repeated the command in Malay for good measure.

  The boy nodded. Josh let the boy up and watched as he rushed back to his friends, who were all huddled a safe distance away. There was a look of hero worship in the group as the boys gathered around him. The boy was obviously considered a hero for undertaking such a risky business as getting close to the car or possibly being tackled by a strange man, or maybe a combination of the two. The adults were moving out of synch. One woman corralled another group of boys while another was frantically talking on her cell. Near the entrance of the school he could see two others, but all of their attention was focused on the vehicle, and all of them seemed to be moving in a disjointed fashion or not at all.

  Josh diverted his attention back to the vehicle. The smoke curled thick and black, and in the distance he could hear the wailing sirens. The canopy of a lone rain tree threw shadows over the shrinking fire in the parking lot, its arthritic trunk standing thick and knotted, a silent silhouette. Across the street a woman clutched the handles of her pedal-powered pushcart, the vibrant pink, yellow and red flowers muted in the gathering smoke. On the main street cars continued to move in a steady stream as if smoke and fire were a normal part of their daily commute.

  He scowled. He’d been so close. It had been gut instinct to check the primary schools in Georgetown, suspecting she would hunker down, consider herself safe again for a time. On Sunday, with the help of a local investigator that he’d met on a previous assignment, he’d acquired access to and checked the records of every school in the city that taught in English and that had acquired a foreign female teacher in the past few months.

  He’d gone to her apartment just as school would be beginning for the day. While he was fairly certain that they’d located her, he’d hoped to find something that might prove that the woman they’d found in school records was her. He’d jimmied the building’s back door. Fortunately the building was old and unalarmed, but who he suspected was the building’s owner had found him just as he left her apartment. In fact, he had just closed and locked the door, leaving it as he had found it including the small piece of tissue tucked in the latch, meant to alert her to an intruder. It had taken a bit of acting to back out of that situation, but he’d had what he wanted—confirmation that she was the teacher he was seeking and—what he’d thought at the time was an interesting tidbit of information—that she was the owner of a new Naza Sutera.

  In the distance, the Penang hills cast a sinister shadow as they cradled one against the other, their dark protrusions muted by distance. His gaze cruised across the bystanders, did a mental calculation of faces, numbers, positions. Nothing.

  Josh gritted his teeth over the expletive that wouldn’t change the reality.

  She was gone.

  Chapter Four

  Erin was fighting for breath as she rounded the corner and stood out of sight of the school. A lorry swished past belching exhaust as a convoy of motorcyclists followed close behind. It seemed as though they were all fighting for space as a truck jammed in behind the cyclists and the loud red of Coca-Cola overlaid it all as a delivery truck squeezed into the street. A horn honked and a bicyclist swerved as pedestrians weaved their way through the intersection’s traffic snarl.

  Her jaw was clenched so tight it ached, and her hand worried the strap of the bag as her eyes strained for a cab to flag. One broke with the traffic and pulled to the curb. She rushed to meet it, throwing open the door and flinging herself inside.

  “Focus,” she muttered. She fired off her address in panicked words that she had to repeat when the driver turned around with a puzzled look.

  Behind her, flames still punctured the oth
erwise quiet late-morning sky as sirens wailed and trouble inched closer.

  “Daniel,” she whispered. She dashed a tear away and unclenched her hands. She looked out the window as sun glared through the windscreen. A motorcycle pulled up beside the cab, a chopper. The driver’s legs were propped up as he sat back on the low-slung seat. He turned, a dusty-brown beard covering much of his swarthy face, and smiled. The smile was not one of friendship. It was a leer, maybe, or worse. She hit the door lock.

  She swallowed and clenched her free hand so tight that her nails dug into her palm. Her throat closed and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

  She’d hated to run but she didn’t have a choice. The conversation with Mike Olesk had made that fact clear. A retired police officer who had been a friend of her father’s and a man she hadn’t seen in years, Mike had been the only person she could think of whom she could trust and who might help her sort out her options. The conversation that ensued was one she would never forget, for it had changed her life.

  He tapped ashes into a glass ashtray, the Hollywood emblem once sharply emblazoned on it now blurred with ashes. “I know how these things go down. The authorities make promises. But face it, on this one we’re talking local police up against the Anarchists. They don’t stand a chance. If it were the feds it would be a different matter.”

  “Why isn’t it?” Her stomach turned over, anticipating what he would say.

  “It will be soon. The local authorities will be calling you in for questioning, unless you come forward first. I suspect you maybe have a day, maybe less.”

  “No,” she said shortly. “I can’t. I won’t answer their questions.”

  “You know you don’t have a choice. Why are you balking at this, Erin?”

  She shook her head.

  “It would be for the best. They could charge you with obstruction of justice.”

  “I’d go to jail?” There’d be safety in jail.