The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  Roger pushed through the smoke glass doors and snapped his sunglasses on before the first ray of light had a chance to make him wince. Thanks to the year 'round school schedules the park was still busy even at the end of October. Halloween decorations were everywhere. On the 31st the park would be wall-to-wall kids causing all sorts of problems. Today there were none.

  Roger dodged a couple of teenagers who weren't looking where they were going, stopped long enough to oblige a woman who asked him to take a picture of her family, and noted that the paint was peeling on the door of the men's bathroom near the park entrance.

  He took a sharp right, ducked under a velvet rope and walked through a real door hidden in a fake rock. The air-conditioning hit him hard with an annoyingly prickly cold. Isaac liked it that way. That was strange for an old guy. Usually old guys liked things warm. Down a small hallway he went, through another glass door, across another reception area and into the executive suite. The receptionist there was of a different caliber all together. She was slick. Expensive haircut. Older. Had too much style to be stuck behind the scenes.

  "Mary." Roger nodded as he went by her.

  "He's waiting," she said.

  "Yes."

  Roger opened one of the double doors just far enough to slip through then stood inside the office, arms at his side, posture perfect as always. Isaac's office was nice. Very adult, very sophisticated considering the kind of business they were in.

  The silver haired man behind the mahogany desk was on the phone. That call wasn't as important as Roger. The receiver went to the cradle, and Isaac Hawkins' hand held onto it as if he were bracing for bad news. Roger's mustache twitched. He didn't want to get the old man's hopes up so he made his report without elaboration.

  "They got him. Everything's moving forward."

  "Then it was true."

  Isaac's shoulders slumped ever so slightly in his relief. Roger moved closer to the desk just in case he was needed. Isaac looked ten years younger than his years but even that would have been old.

  "The District Attorney made the decision," Roger answered as Isaac got up from his desk. "We just gave them what we had."

  Isaac Hawkins walked up to Roger. He took him by the shoulders, looked into his face and then drew him forward.

  "Your father would have been proud. Thank you, Roger."

  "Don't worry, Isaac."

  "I'm glad we did the right thing," the old man said before he sat down again. "Let me know how it goes. You'll do that, won't you?"

  "I will."

  Roger turned away; satisfied he had done his work well. At least that was one monkey off the old guy's back – one that should never have been there in the first place. Not after all these years.

  ***

  Of the five attorneys, five secretaries, two paralegals, receptionist, mailroom boy, suite of offices in Brentwood and shark tank, Jude Getts was proudest of the shark tank. It was a cliché, sure, but in his case it was a cliché that worked. Getts & Associates was not the largest law firm but it was the leanest, most voracious personal injury firm in Los Angeles. Lose a leg? A lung? A life? Jude's associates put a price tag on everything and collected with amazing regularity. They didn't as much negotiate with defendants as hold them hostage until they coughed up the big bucks; they didn't try a case as much as flay it, peeling back the skin of it slowly, painfully, exquisitely. And, of all the attorneys in the firm, Jude Getts was the best.

  Bright eyed, boyish, his blond tipped hair waved back from a wide, clear brow. Jude was tall but not too tall, dramatic without being theatrical, a master of the touch, the look, the smile. He had timing whether it was offered during closing arguments or a rare intimate moment with a woman chosen for the length of her legs or the look of her face. But what made Jude a really, really good personal injury attorney was that he loved a challenge more than anything else. He rejoiced in it. A challenge made his heart flutter, made him smile wider, laugh heartier, and made his work even more impeccable. What he was hearing on the radio as he drove to meet his client was making that heart of his feel like an aviary just before an earthquake.

  Jude passed the keys to his car to the valet and said 'keep it close' before he bounded into the foyer of the Napa Valley Grill, past the hostess who was gorgeous but rated only his most radiant, thoughtless, everyday smile. He gave his drink order to his favorite waiter with a touch to the man's arm, a tip of his head that indicated Jude really didn't think of him as a waiter at all but as a friend. The drink arrived at the table just as Jude was sliding onto the chair, giving his very best professional smile to the man across the table.

  "Colin," Jude said as he snapped the heavy white napkin and laid it across his lap.

  "Jude," the other man nodded. He already had a drink. It was almost gone.

  "They make a good drink here, Colin. Damn good drink."

  "I've had two," the client noted.

  Colin Wren was not a man who really enjoyed life, and insisting he take time to smell the roses, gave Jude an unprecedented kick in the ass. But while he was laughing on the inside, the outside was always respectful. Colin was, after all, the client.

  "I'm sorry I kept you waiting but something came to my attention. It's definitely going to change the course of our business, Colin."

  "I don't want anything to change the course of our business," Colin said quietly and finished his second drink. "I've waited too long."

  The eyes that looked at Jude from behind wire rim glasses were soft brown, gentle looking. They were the eyes of a priest. Colin Wren was not a priest, nor was he particularly kindly or likeable. An opportunity brought him to Jude, but every once in a while Jude had the sneaking suspicion the matter at hand was more than business.

  "Well, Colin, I'm not sure you've got a choice. It seems our friends at Pacific Park have made a brilliant move." Jude took a drink, put his glass down and crossed his arms on the table. "They handed the problem off to the district attorney and suddenly we're talking a criminal matter here. Until John Cooper does what he's going to do, we don't have a snowball's chance in hell of collecting on a civil action." Jude picked up his glass again. "How's that for a surprise, Colin?"

  CHAPTER 1

  "Ms. Bates," Mrs. Crawford said. "I'm going to have to be brutally honest with you. Some parents are concerned about Hannah enrolling at Mira Costa High School. Ms. Bates?"

  Startled, Josie shifted in her seat. She'd been watching Hannah through the little window in the door of the principal's office. Hannah's head was down as she dutifully filled out registration forms. She was already behind, starting more than a month late because of the trial. There was so much against her, not the least of which was the problems in her gorgeous head, that Josie couldn't have felt more anxious if she was Hannah's mother. Now she forced herself to look away, giving her attention to the principal, Mrs. Crawford.

  "I don't know why they would be concerned. Hannah didn't kill Justice Rayburn," Josie said.

  "But they remember the trial. There was a great deal of publicity."

  "And there was even more when Hannah's mother was convicted of the crime. Now her mother is in jail and all ties to her have been severed. If anyone is unaware of the outcome of that trial, I'll be more than happy to fill them in."

  "Lawyers and educators both know that facts have nothing to do with emotional reality." Mrs. Crawford smiled. "I doubt the reality of gossip, innuendo and curiosity on the part of the students or their parents is going to surprise you. What may surprise you are the consequences of all that. You don't have children, do you?"

  Josie shook her head, "I'm not married."

  Mrs. Crawford nodded. The world was a different place for someone without children. For those with children the world was a lunar landscape without gravity, full of potholes and insurmountable mountain rises in the distance. Even those born to be parents had a tough time navigating the terrain. Mrs. Crawford gave Josie Baylor-Bates a fifty-fifty chance of surviving un
scathed.

  "Then you haven't had the pleasure of dealing," she chuckled before sliding into seriousness. "Parents will be wary of friendships formed with Hannah. They won't want her at their houses 'just in case' she's a bad influence. Other students may try to take her on to see how tough she is. They'll want to see how far they can push her. . . ." Mrs. Crawford hesitated. "They may want to see if she really doesn't feel pain the way the papers reported."

  "Since you are aware of what might happen, I assume you'll take every precaution to see that Hannah's safe," Josie suggested coolly, not unaware that Mrs. Crawford was trying to help.

  "I'd like to be able to promise you that, but I can't." Mrs. Crawford sat back. "We have a lot of children who are targets of their peers for any number of reasons. Things have changed since you were in high school. Kids can be targeted because of their sexual orientation, their IQ or just the way they look. We do the best we can, but Hannah is a little different. She's been to jail, she pled guilty to a murder. People will wonder; kids will get in her face."

  "I'm assuming this is leading somewhere, so why don't we get to the bottom line," Josie suggested, trying not to worry that the morning was flying by and she still had work to do. How real parents did this – sometimes with more than one kid – was beyond her.

  Mrs. Crawford took a minute to gaze through the small window. She lifted her chin toward Hannah. When she spoke, her tone had softened and her eyes were back on Josie.

  "Off the record, I think Hannah is a beautiful, smart, well-spoken young woman. On top of that, I think she's incredibly brave and bizarrely selfless. I don't think my kids would have gone to jail for me." She tipped her head and held up her hands as if helpless. "But this is a big school, Ms. Bates, and we draw from three different districts. Hannah might do better in a smaller venue, a place where the student body is more easily monitored and the administration could better control the reaction to Hannah's notoriety. Chadwick might be an option."

  "No, Chadwick isn't an option. I've spoken to Hannah about that. She doesn't want to go to a rich school. She's had enough of rich people. She just wants to get back to school." Josie glanced at her charge quickly. "As for the administration, I don't think you're going to have to control anything. Hannah is capable of doing that all by herself."

  Mrs. Crawford nodded. She picked up a pen and pulled a sheet of paper toward her.

  "Okay, then. You've made your decision. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Funding cuts have left us with only one psychologist on this campus. If Hannah needs help, she'll have to understand she isn't the only one who does."

  "No problem. Hannah's trial isn't going to be the talk forever. She'll deal with things and, if she can't, we'll know sooner than later."

  "I hope so."

  "Take my word for it, we will" Josie said, thinking one look at Hannah's arms was all it would take to know if Hannah was heading off the deep end. Josie shivered, remembering the first time she had seen the ugly roadmap of scars on Hannah's arms. It was one thing for a child to be tortured by an adult, another to know that child had so much pain she cut herself to be rid of it.

  "All right. I guess we're clear." Mrs. Crawford put on her glasses, sat up and pulled a file toward her. Josie paid attention. "You're Hannah's legal guardian?"

  "I am. Her mother signed the papers last week."

  "And will Hannah need a parking permit?"

  Josie shook her head. "Not yet. Her license was revoked. We're going to be getting it back, but for now I'll be picking her up. I'd like to keep a close eye on her for at least the first couple of months."

  Mrs. Crawford made a note, nodding her appreciation of Josie's concern.

  "I see that Hannah will have to miss sixth period every other Tuesday?" The principal's eyes flickered up.

  "She has an appointment with her psychologist. I figured since that was the PE period it would be better than missing math," Josie answered.

  "I imagine she'll be making up her exercise since you live on the Strand. Does she run?"

  Josie laughed, "No. Hannah's artistic not athletic. I don't think I'll get her running anytime soon."

  "Too bad, I'd give anything to live down there. I'd walk every spare minute. Are you a runner?" Mrs. Crawford made small talk as she filled in forms and pushed them toward Josie for a signature.

  "Some. Volleyball mostly." Josie scribbled her name.

  "That should have been my first guess," Mrs. Crawford laughed. "My next guess was going to be basketball.

  Josie signed the emergency contact card and pushed it back, grateful that there wasn't going to be an extended conversation about her height.

  "Well," she said as she stacked the forms. "I think that does it. And don't worry. We have a fine art department. I think Hannah will be a great asset."

  "Thanks." Josie checked her watch. A bell rang. Even in the principal's office Josie could hear the thunderous sound a couple of thousand kids made as they changed classes. It was time for her to go. She had a hearing at the pier courthouse in forty-five minutes. She got up. "So, do you need anything else?"

  "Nope." Mrs. Crawford stood up. "I'll take Hannah around to the classrooms. I've arranged for one of our students to help her out for the next few days."

  "I appreciate that."

  Josie took the hand Mrs. Crawford offered. She hitched her purse and glanced at Hannah. Finished with her own paperwork, Hannah was looking right back at Josie with those clear, spring green eyes of hers. Josie smiled. Hannah was even more beautiful than the first day she saw her. The nose ring was gone. The tongue stud was gone. Her hair had grown back where the hospital had shaved it. Today she had wrapped a sky blue scarf across her brow, her long black hair fell in curls past her shoulders and her dark skin gleamed under the light that came through a high window. And Hannah's fingers were busy. They gently touched the arm of her chair. Josie could count along with her – one, five, ten, twenty times. The doctors called her behavior obsessive/compulsive. Josie had another name for it: heartbreaking. It would end. It was already better. Hannah didn't cut herself up any more and that was a big step in the right direction. All Josie needed to do was hang in there with that girl. Josie had saved her once. It was time to finish the job. Josie dug in her purse, turned around again and handed the principal a piece of paper.

  "Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but Hannah's terrified of being left or forgotten. If there's ever a problem, that's a list of friends you can call. Family really. If I ever get hung up and can't get to a phone to call, I'd appreciate you calling anyone on that list. One of them will come get her. I'll talk to Hannah tonight and tell her to come straight to you if I'm late."

  Mrs. Crawford looked at the list and then put it under the picture of her own family. It wouldn't be forgotten.

  "That's something I can personally promise. So," she put her hands together. "I guess we both better get to work."

  ***

  Hannah didn't look back as she walked down the now quiet halls with Mrs. Crawford but Josie couldn't take her eyes off the girl. She wanted to go with Hannah just to make sure she was fine. That was something a mother would do – just not something Hannah or Josie's mothers had done. But Josie wasn't a mother. She had taken in Hannah because there was no one else. That decision had changed Josie's life and she wasn't quite sure it was for the better. Archer would say it was for the worse and Josie thought about that as she walked across the campus, looked both ways before she crossed the street and tossed her purse and jacket in the back of her Jeep Wrangler. She swung herself into the seat and a second later her cell phone rang.

  She checked her watch. Too early for the court to be calling to find out where she was on that settlement hearing, and the new client didn't have her cell number. She was freelancing for Faye so no one expected her at the office. Burt wasn't in the restaurant that day. Billy Zuni? Hopefully he'd be in school. Whoever it was, it couldn't be all that important. It kept ringing as Josie
rolled up her shirtsleeves and reached in back for her baseball cap.

  "Oh, hell," she muttered. Curiosity got the better of her. She grabbed for the phone, pushed the button. "Bates."

  Less than a minute later Josie was peeling down the street laying rubber as she headed to the freeway that would take her downtown to Parker Center and the detention cell where Archer was being held on suspicion of murder.

  CHAPTER 2

  Josie was twenty-seven when the call came that her father was ill. No, that wasn't exactly right. A hospital administrator called and said her father had a heart attack. There was a difference between saying someone's ill and saying they've had a heart attack. Josie didn't care what the difference was. Her dad was hurting. He needed her. She took off in the middle of a trial and it almost ruined her career. The judicial system had ways to deal with personal emergencies in order to side-step sanctions. Josie didn't have time to screw around with protocol.

  She left Los Angeles on the next flight out to Hawaii. It was two a.m. For five hours Josie looked out the window onto a very dark night. She didn't read or eat; she didn't watch the movie or sleep. Above all, Josie Baylor-Bates did not speculate about what she was going to find when she reached her destination. Her Marine father had taught her better than that. She knew the basics. When she arrived in Hawaii Josie would kick into high gear and gather information, assess the situation, speak to the experts and make decisions to insure her father's survival. Tears, fears, hope and prayers – those emotions were always kept behind the lines. They were an indulgence that Josie seldom allowed herself – until she arrived too late to help him. But that was the last time she had cried, the last time she had prayed. She knew he wouldn't have minded. It was forgivable when a good soldier passed. But that was a long time ago and she didn't allow herself to succumb to fears or tears now as she parked in the lot next to the fortress that was Parker Center, headquarters of the LAPD.