The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  Archer was on the deck again, shaking under the weight of his fear and anger. With a great cry he brought his hands down on the deck railing, gripping it as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling off the edge of the world. Beads of rough stucco bit into him, punctured the skin of his palms before he marched through the house again, looking for something to put him out of his misery. Booze. Pills. Not his style. His service revolver. He had never even thought about it until now.

  Archer paused.

  Archer headed toward his bedroom. He would find it. He would touch it. He wouldn't use it, but he needed to know the option was there. Five more steps. Hard and heavy on the floor. He didn't get far because he stumbled at the sight of Lexi's picture, the small one he kept in the living room up on the bookshelf. Without thinking, reacting to its mere presence, he let loose with another bellow, grabbed it and threw it against the wall. Archer didn't know how long he stood there, his arms akimbo, his breathing labored, but it couldn't have been long. The sound of the shattering glass still rang in his ears, the sight of Lexi's face crumpling in the cheap twisted frame the only thing he could see. With no glass to protect her, no frame to hold her straight, no gold shiny metal to make her pretty Lexi looked back at him as if he had punched her down then and there. He might as well have killed her and left her body lying on his living room floor for all the grief he felt.

  Falling to his knees, Archer picked up the photo and ignored the small cut that bled when he brushed the glass against the wall with his bare hand. Sitting back on his heels he cupped the photograph in both hands. Lexi still smiled but her eyes looked through him knowingly, stoic in her acceptance of what he had become. There was a gash on her cheek where a shard of glass had cut through the color to the white paper beneath. The way the picture had crumpled and creased aged her.

  Slowly Archer got to his feet, cradling the picture in his hands. Ignoring the frame and glass at his feet he frantically tried to smooth the wrinkles, work the shreds of paper to cover the cut. It was useless. The more he tried, the more insistent was the thing welling inside him. It felt like a cry. It felt like something living, like a huge thing that was growing and bringing with it a sense of doom. Archer wanted to be rid of that awful feeling, the premonition that his life had caught up with him. Maybe if he didn't look at Lexi, maybe he could put that feeling away, too.

  Turning her face away, Archer wiped the photograph on the side of his hip, cleaning it up before he slipped it between two books on the shelf.

  Better?

  Not yet.

  Carefully, Archer tapped the picture in until he couldn't see even the edge of it anymore. He had made a little tomb, buried Lexi one more time and this time it was easier. In a minute or an hour or a year Archer wouldn't even remember where he put it.

  Better?

  No, it was too soon. He knew Lexi was in there, damaged by his hand, exiled because of his fear, wedged between two books. She was in the dark. Alone. Archer put a hand on those books then his head fell onto his hand and his lips moved. The words reverberated in his head and he hated himself for speaking them, thinking them, meaning them right at that moment.

  "Damn you, Lexi. Damn that kid."

  CHAPTER 10

  Ruth Alcott went back to college before her third marriage. She graduated law school in time to handle her own divorce from a husband who had settled neatly into a routine she found boring. Now fifty-four and independent, Ruth made just enough money to keep herself in elastic waist pant suits, sensible shoes and yearly trips abroad to check out medieval churches. Her husbands hated all three of her vices.

  Ruth Alcott was a deputy district attorney who had no illusions that she would ever actually amount to anything under the generally accepted guidelines for success. She would never be the District Attorney – not enough media appeal. Private practice was out – not greedy enough. She would never marry again – too selfish. She was, however, a fine deputy because from nine to five, fifty weeks a year, Ruth Alcott was a rabid good guy. She believed if the cops brought it to her, and there was the slightest appearance of cause, it was her duty to pursue that matter to the bitter end. For Ruth, that end was usually conviction. Today Archer was the bad guy and Ruth was seated high on the white horse of justice. In fact, that horse was so high she couldn't seem to hear a thing Josie Bates was saying.

  "Look, Ruth, you guys have been messing with Archer six ways from Sunday."

  Josie stood up and planted her hands on Ruth's desk. She thought about swiping the desk clean to make Ruth sit up and take notice. Instead, she lowered her voice and picked up the pace of her argument.

  "Using your own investigators to make the collar was bad enough, but it's been more than twenty-four hours and there hasn't been an arraignment. This whole thing stinks, Ruth."

  "I don't remember that class in law school that said prosecutors had to lay out their case for the defense within twenty-four hours," Ruth said, unfazed by Josie's indignation. "Your client was advised of his rights. "

  "After your people ground his face into the street," Josie objected.

  "And he was told he was being booked for the murder of Timothy Wren and he did not request an attorney. We followed procedures to the letter."

  Ruth finished as if Josie had never spoken. Josie threw up her hands, simultaneously chancing a glance at Jude. He was sitting quietly, watching closely. Josie gave him credit. It seemed he could play well with others when it was called for.

  "If I didn't know better, I'd think that you were helping John Cooper do an old friend a favor." Josie went after Ruth again. "Everyone and his brother knows that John's first job as a teenager was at Pacific Park. That little bit of folklore is standard media chatter when he's trying to pretend he's just a regular guy at election time. And, it's no secret that Pacific Park reciprocates with a nice fat check every time he gives them the free publicity. So, if this doesn't look like there's a whole hell of a lot of back scratching going on, I don't know what does."

  "That's good, Josie, but it won't fly so don't try to get this office to recuse itself," Ruth clucked. "First off, John isn't prosecuting this case, I am. For the record, I never worked at Pacific Park. I couldn't fit into those cute little costumes even when I was sixteen."

  "But John isn't keeping his distance. He spoke at the press conference," Josie pointed out. "He didn't give one good reason why my client's been arrested much less charged. So either step back and apologize or you give me that one good reason right now."

  Ruth, full of energy, happy to have this glorious work to do and someone to do it with, was in her element.

  "No problem, Josie. I'll share one with you and your cohort. You are still with us aren't you, Mr. Getts?"

  "Most definitely," Jude answered, gracing Ruth with a truly magnificent smile. She was unimpressed and gave her pants a little hitch to prove it.

  "Excellent. Then I'll get to it," Ruth said, amused that he seemed to be trying to charm her.

  Josie sat next to Jude and crossed her long legs. She cocked her elbow on the arm of her chair and put a finger to her lips as she watched Ruth. A cheap television set with a built-in VCR was propped on a stack of reference books on her credenza. A Starbuck's coffee mug and a brown paper bag shared the space along with dog-eared files, souvenirs of Ruth's travels and two new case boxes. One was completely filled, and the other was not.

  Ruth took a videotape from one like she was pulling a rabbit out of a hat. She put it in the machine and with a little flourish hit play, stepped back and gave her elastic-waist pants another snap for good measure. The images were instantaneous, cued in anticipation of showing it.

  Shot from a stationary security camera, the lens panned a wide angle of Pacific Park. The crawl of the San Diego Freeway could be seen in the distance. The San Bernardino Mountains were snow-tipped and sparkled brilliantly in the Southern California fall. In the foreground was the Shock & Drop: a huge, hulking mass of steel columns and pulleys, lev
ers and cogs, bright paint, grease and rust. Small platforms were attached three across to the outside of the structure. Neon bright. Happy, jarring colors. The kind of colors that would make a heart race just to look at them. Colors that would make children scream out and dib.

  Dibs on red. No yellow. Blue. Blue! No worries. Pick one just for you.

  The platforms were narrow: wide enough to accommodate all sizes of feet, small enough to feel precarious if you were the one standing atop them. Webbed safety harnesses were wrapped over the shoulders and strapped the rider tight to a backboard of what looked like Plexiglas. A huge medallion – the locking mechanism – lay on the middle of the rider's chest like a badge of courage. Pacific Park patrons reached up for handholds that forced the body into a rigid, upright position.

  So fun. So safe. Something to hold on to. Something to stand on. Something to strap on. No worries.

  And then there were people in the picture. Three teenage boys laughed and joked, hollering at each other. They scrolled through the screen in an excruciatingly slow crawl. Questions raced through Josie's mind. Who were they? Friends? Acquaintances? Strangers sharing only the anticipation of the ride? Did they have anything to do with the day Tim died? How old were those boys? Sixteen? Seventeen? It didn't matter. This moment was long gone. They were older now. Tim Wren was not.

  Far in the distance a plane glided into the frame and out again.

  The gears of the Shock & Drop rotated.

  The boys had been so joyous and, with that realization, Josie took note.

  Something wasn't right. Something was missing.

  Sound.

  There was no sound. They were watching a silent movie. Suddenly, Josie blinked, her head jerked. Jude had touched her. One finger pressed against her arm warning her not to give anything away to the opposition, not even an expression of curiosity. Josie moved away from him but took heed. Her expression was impassive as the boys on that platform were pulled out of the frame. Josie was left staring at the main track of the Shock & Drop – but not for long.

  Suddenly the three boys shot past the camera. Their mouths were open, their jackets were flying and on their faces were expression of abject terror. In that split second they learned a grown-up lesson: life hung in a balance. Without the platform, the harness, the handholds, all was lost. The camera followed to a certain point and went no further. The film hiccoughed. It ran another minute? Maybe less. It would be important to know the split second timing between the drop and the next riders, but Josie couldn't even formulate the question before the stars of the show appeared on the screen.

  Archer was staring straight ahead, and looking ludicrously large. His barrel chested body was held back by a crisscross of fabric, his huge hands dwarfed the safety holds. He was not having a good time.

  Lexi in life. She was ill but still the kind of woman Josie would have been drawn to. No frills. She was having a good time without being giddy. She wanted to share the moment. She was too far away from Archer, so she shared it with her boy.

  Tim Wren was big in a way Archer wasn't. He was soft. He carried too much weight at his middle. Baby fat, muscles soft from lack of exercise. On his upper lip was the soft down of a young man's mustache. Puberty was upon him. Even on the tape she could sense his strength and his unpredictability, his damage. Tim would have been a good-looking boy if his features had not been rearranged by nature to reflect the defects of his body and mind.

  His head moved in a slow wave of a pattern, his eyes were closed as if he were blind. His lips were lax, not quite open, perhaps ready with a word but less able to form a sentence. His hands gripped the safety holds loosely, one arm slanted at an odd angle. His fingers jerked as if his grip was unsteady. Tim bent at the knees in a sequence that might have been meaningful to him or simply the irresistible reaction to the impulses of his poorly wired brain.

  There was so much to see in him, so much to analyze and yet, the one thing Josie knew for sure, was that Tim Wren was just a kid and Lexi loved him. It was there in the way she let go of her hand-holds to pat his arm, the way she looked at him and smiled, tipping her head, trying to make eye contact with Tim. Josie saw Lexi mouth the words I love you as they were drawn heavenward together.

  And then they were gone like the boys before them. The ascension was complete. The silence was deafening in Ruth Alcott's office. The air was close; Josie thought she might not be able to breath. She reached for Jude's arm; barely aware she was doing so. He moved just enough to let her know that he was there and before either of them made contact, Archer, Lexi and Tim shot back through the screen.

  Three of them for a moment; then there were two.

  Josie saw it. Jude saw it. Ruth Alcott had seen it before, and was pleased with her little surprise. She rewound the tape with incredible precision and played it again. This time in slow motion. This time with a voice over.

  "Your man's hand was on the safety latch and then the kid fell," Ruth pointed out at the appropriate time, freezing the frame to underscore the point. "Want to see it again?"

  "No."

  Josie had seen enough. In the blink of an eye Archer's hand reached across Tim Wren. The boy's hands came down. Lexi's arm – the one near Tim – was thrown up in shock; the other was across her mouth. As the tape tortuously tracked the descent of the platform Archer looked down, his face expressionless. Lexi turned her head. Her eyes were screwed shut, her mouth clamped so that it pulled the lower half of her face into an expression of unbearable pain. The camera tracked only so far. Josie shut her eyes. Her stomach turned and her heart bled for Lexi. There was nothing for that woman to do but wait to be delivered to where Tim lay dead.

  Ruth turned off the video. There was a heartbeat of silence and then she was at it again.

  "I have one of these for you. I figure you're going to want to watch it a couple of times and get creative on an explanation for the whole thing. You can have it checked out to make sure it wasn't tampered with but it's a waste of money. We already know it's the real deal." Ruth busied herself with the cardboard sleeve and then held it out to no one in particular. "Kind of hard to argue with something like this, don't you think?"

  Jude remained still, waiting for Josie to speak. When she didn't, he looked and saw that Josie was pale, her body quaking, she was shaken to the core. Unaware of the dynamic, Ruth was gaining speed, delighted by the sound of her own voice.

  "Eric Stevens, the ride operator, still works at the park. You'd think he would have quit after something so traumatizing. But he says he didn't do anything wrong so his conscience is clear. He also told us something very interesting. He tells us your client insisted on handling Tim's restraints himself. Stevens says no one before or since has ever insisted on doing that.

  "Without the tape, of course, you could argue that Archer made a mistake while strapping Tim in. But with the tape, you can infer that he did something to make it easier to release the safety. It looks awfully suspicious, I'd say."

  Ruth opened her hands, holding them to the sky in mock amazement, so darned pleased with herself.

  "There could be a hundred reasons why Archer was reaching for that boy," Josie objected. Her voice was shredded on the edges but she was regrouping. "Archer could have noticed something was wrong and tried to help. That tape doesn't prove anything. And the fact that he assisted with the harness doesn't prove anything either – not without a motive."

  Ruth chuckled and reminded her, "First off, Josie, he didn't assist with the harness he took over the job. Second, as you well know, I am not bound to offer a motive."

  "But you know you better produce one if we go to a jury." Jude moved into the conversation smoothly, standing up so that he stood shoulder to shoulder with Josie. "The fact that Ms. Bates' client was reaching for the release doesn't mean he pulled it. Without motive I think you're going to have a very hard time convincing a jury that he intended to harm that mentally challenged boy. They won't want to believe it."

 
"They especially won't want to believe it of a man like Archer." Josie took up the argument. "There can't be a motive for something like this. Tim Wren was a thirteen-year-old boy and Archer was a seasoned cop. He never hurt anyone, not even the bad guys. Check his record."

  "I have. And I know he was a man who had issues," Ruth answered cryptically. "As we all have issues, Josie. Just know that I have enough to prove reasonable cause in the prelim and I'd bet my bottom dollar, in the end, I've got enough to put your guy away for a good long time."

  "Then I can't wait to see who you've been talking to, Ruth."

  "I'll just bet you can't, but I'm not releasing my witness list to you."

  "That's absurd." Josie bridled at Ruth's coy smile. "Release it or we'll be in court so fast you won't know what hit you. A judge will understand that I can't investigate without your witness list. My client has the right to know who's accusing him."

  "Not if I am concerned about what might happen if I release that information," Ruth countered. "Your man is a trained investigator and he's not shy. If I give you contact information on my witnesses, I'm opening them up to possible intimidation."

  Josie rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Do you think I'm going to send Archer out to break some legs? Please, this isn't the mafia."

  "I don't like to take chances," Ruth insisted.

  "Great. If you want to make a fool of yourself, let's take this to a judge. You tell him you're afraid a retired cop with no priors is going to go on a rampage."

  Ruth considered this. She put a finger against her lips, choosing her battle, ready to accept a draw in return for expediency.

  "How's this? I'll release the names. No home phone or addresses before the preliminary hearing," Ruth offered. "Take it or leave it."

  Josie and Jude looked at one another, their thoughts running on the same track. The only chance Josie would have to make this whole thing go away would be to challenge the defense witnesses during the preliminary hearing. In the long run, taking the list and running down the contact information was more efficient than actually trying to get a court date and order to make Ruth release it.