The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  CHAPTER 33

  Southern California was back. The idea of fall blew out of everyone's head like dead leaves in Des Moines. It would be sun, sun, sun until Christmas and then some. Batteries were recharged. People moved faster through the day, ideas flashed in heads like the glint off a Porsche's bumper, kids ditched school, men took up with younger women, wives had their nails done and dried them in the sun. That's why the gate looked so good at Pacific Park. Not spectacular, but real good.

  Isaac shared the news with Greater United Parks. He also shared the news that Archer was bound over for trial in the death of Timothy Wren even though that had been reported in every media. He told them Colin Wren was rethinking his suit against Pacific Park. Happily, Pacific Park would be exonerated of any wrongdoing. There would be no settlement in young Mr. Wren's death. Greater United Park, already knowing this from a certain vice-president, was delighted to have the information confirmed and all was well in the world of acquisitions.

  "It was like a miracle, Roger. I thought they would worry because attendance was a little light, but they were happy. Truly impressed. . ."

  Isaac stopped talking and walking. It was unlike Roger to be preoccupied and it worried Isaac no little bit until Roger looked away from the phone memo he was reading.

  "Yes, Isaac." Roger cleared his throat and smiled under that thick mustache of his. These moments of joy were few and far between for the old man. Roger folded the message and put it in his pocket. It would wait until they were done.

  "I'd almost given up, you know, Roger. Almost." Isaac lifted a finger and waved it as a warning to Roger never to succumb to self-doubt. "I thought this place would go the way of so many others. The Pike. Remember the old Pike?"

  Isaac walked around Roger's desk, sat in a chair beside it and settled in for a chat.

  "Now, there was a place. Not like the new thing they got there. Long Beach was a big port then, you know. The young sailors rode the roller coaster and picked up the girls and got their first tattoos. The Pike was a fine park. This is a fine park and a fine day. Did I tell you the rest of the good news, Roger? Our insurance is being reinstated and the estimate on the Rotator came in exactly as I thought it would. Not a penny more. I know my machinery, Roger. No one can say I don't. What a good day this has been.

  "Yes, Roger, everything will be fine. I can rest easy. My life's work won't disappear. Your father's fine work won't disappear."

  Isaac's gaze wandered and his words drew out low as if to follow. It was something old men did. One thought led to another and another and it always led to something sad: A friend long gone, a competitor out of business. Loneliness.

  "I don't think there was ever a chance of that," Roger reassured him, startling Isaac as he did so. It was as if he had forgotten the younger man was there. Then his expression changed and he looked kindly, gratefully on Roger.

  "You're a good boy to try to fool me, but I knew we were in trouble. You're like my own son, the way you worry about me." Tears were in Isaac's eyes at the mention of the long lost son but they passed sooner than later today and Isaac brightened. "And I want you to know that I have made arrangements for you, too. It will be in the contract that you are to remain in this position for as long as you like – unless, of course, you do something bad. And stock options, Roger. I'm splitting those. Ah, well, you'll see. You'll see what I've arranged."

  There was that finger waggle again. Roger almost laughed aloud. This was like being a kid again.

  Don't eat too much cotton candy.

  Be careful there. Watch the lead rope.

  Roger, trust only those who have proved worthy. Like your father.

  That seemed a lifetime ago. Roger smiled at the finger wagging, knowing that bad things were subjective. As far as Roger was concerned he had done nothing bad and even today, this last bit of a problem, might be taken care of without him transgressing. It would all depend on that phone call he still had to make, that woman he still had to talk to. Roger tried to help Isaac wrap it up so he could get on with his business.

  "I think I'll be around here a good long time," Roger assured him. "And I promise I'll keep an eye on the place for you."

  "So sure of yourself, Roger? But you're young. Why not be the cock of the walk?" Isaac chuckled. "Today, though, we're both the cocks so you'll come to dinner and tell me all the crazy things the new owners will do. I'm not fooling myself about that. But I will remember the way it is today." Isaac tapped his head and his heart and gave Roger a wink. "Come on, Roger, let's walk the park. Nothing like a good crowd on a sunny day to make an old man feel happy. We'll ride the roller coaster like we did when you were small."

  "No, no." Roger waved his hands. "I've got work to do if you want Greater United Park to close the deal."

  "Work! I'm still the boss. I say you can stop work for an hour or so," Isaac said heartily.

  "All right. Give me ten minutes. I'll meet you by the coaster."

  Roger gave in without much of a fight. If an hour stretched to two, what was the harm? It would make Isaac happy and give Roger time to think. The next move had to be well thought out. It might be as simple as a phone call. Or it could be as delicate as. . .

  The sound of his office door closing brought Roger back. He retrieved the phone message from his pocket. Pity it had come through the general switchboard but nothing to be done about that now. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number that had been left along with the short message. The phone rang three times before it was answered.

  "Hello? Is Mrs. Tronowski there?"

  Roger's mustache twitched with his faint smile. He hit the jackpot. The lady herself had answered.

  It took only few minutes to reassure her that he did, indeed, have everything well in hand. Yes, he said, he had talked to the gentleman in question. The gentleman had called him, too, and she should not worry because now Roger would take care of everything. Thank you, Mrs. Tronowski, for covering your bases. This information will mean a great deal to the gentleman in question, I'm sure.

  Ten minutes later Roger was standing with Isaac at the Perilous Peak Roller Coaster. The old man's excitement was catching but for Roger it translated to a strange and subdued giddiness, the kind of feeling he had before a covert op. It had been too long since he had had this sense of purpose, this desire to complete a critical mission. Funny how something small, some little piece of unexpected intelligence, a fleeting communication, could set a man on a road he never imagined he would take again.

  ***

  "And pursuant to our agreement, you will cease and desist from using the name. . ."

  Annoyed, Jude glanced toward the door and his secretary who stood there waiting for him to finish his dictation.

  "What?" It was unusual for Jude to be short with her but she was an excellent secretary and did not take it personally.

  "Wilson Page is on two. He says he needs you. There's a lot of action on the site and he needs to show you something important."

  "Crap."

  Jude put his head in his hands and brooded. He didn't want to go help Wilson because Wilson really didn't need any help. Jude had already told him to shut down the Pacific Park probe on Colin's behalf. All Wilson really needed was company and he needed company because Wilson had no real life. He had no friends except for Jude and he only had Jude because Jude was superstitious.

  When they first met, Jude was as repulsed by Wilson as most people were. Then, one day, Jude had an epiphany. He realized that there but for the grace of god went him or any other successful person in this world. The same twist of fate that made Jude Getts rich, handsome and smart made Wilson smart, grotesque and needy. Wilson was Jude's fly. Jude knew that if you killed a fly for no other reason than it was a fly, it came back in its next life as a teacher who hated your guts, a woman who sucked you dry, a boss who ran you into the ground, a client who ruined you.

  So Jude did nothing to harm Wilson and, over the years, found out how little it
took to be compassionate – most of the time. Tonight was not one of those times. He pulled his hands through his hair, sighed deeply.

  "Did you tell him I was here?"

  "No, I told him I wasn't sure if you'd left for the day." Jude blushed. He hated having someone lie for him.

  "Tell him I'm gone for the evening with a client," Jude directed, needing some time to finish the pile of work on his desk.

  "He'll try you at home. On your cell," she reminded him.

  "Yeah. Yeah." Jude dismissed her. Everyone knew that he was one of the few people Wilson actually called and, when Wilson decided you were 'phone worthy', he pursued that instrument of communication with a vengeance.

  The door closed. The office was quiet again. Jude picked up his tape recorder only to forget what he was going to say as he fell back in his chair and rotated toward the glass wall behind him. He had a few thoughts and none of them was about the business at hand.

  First, he pondered the plants behind the glass and tried to remember when the guy from Gerry's Jungle had been there. It would have been nice to see him stand up and wave.

  Next, Jude wondered why he didn't just get on the phone and be honest. He was tired and busy. Wilson hadn't seen half a dozen clients, dealt with office politics, made two appearances in civil court and had to cancel dinner with a gorgeous woman. The most strenuous thing Wilson had done all day was go to the bathroom and type on the computer.

  Finally, Jude thought of calling Josie. She was the one who still needed Wilson's help. She could put in a few hours of sweat with him if he really needed it. After all, Josie wasn't making the big bucks, she didn't have the caseload he did or the responsibilities he did. She couldn't even bother to call him back when all he was trying to do was help her – even if all he had to give these days was moral support.

  Jude Getts turned back to his desk, clicked on the tape recorder and proceeded to dictate a new letter that outlined the ramifications of Colin Wren dropping the lawsuit at this time. Jude was explicit: if Colin did this and Archer was acquitted Colin would have nothing.

  Jude was not going to let this go without a fight. Everything else was secondary to getting this client focused again. Even Wilson.

  An hour later, unable to concentrate, filled with superstitious guilt and more than his share of peevishness, Jude Getts locked his office, unlocked his car and headed to Wilson Page's house.

  ***

  Nothing had changed at The Greenwood Home. People were still broken, puttering around in wheelchairs, driven forward by their own breath shot into tubes. Words were spoken through electronic simulators; unending rest was taken in beds that moved with the touch of a button. Some of the people didn't know where they were; others were horrified to find themselves still in this place.

  Josie felt better being in Greenwood this time. There was no overt compassion or curiosity; there was only the chore that brought her back and Barbara Vendy, an administrator who didn't particularly want to revisit the problem of Tim Wren.

  "I'm sorry to ask you to do this again, but I haven't found any of Tim's medical records so you must have them. I absolutely need to know what medication he was taking. There must be some mention of it in the records you retained."

  "Look, Miss Bates, I searched high and low and I haven't got what you want. Tim's mother must have gotten rid of the files after they were sent to her. There was no reason for her to keep them after he died and, in all honesty, I don't see how this is my problem."

  "It's not. It's my problem. But, if I don't get some information about who medicated Timothy Wren, there's a chance my client will be wrongly convicted of that boy's death. I would find that hard to live with, wouldn't you?"

  Barbara was annoyed that the day was ending and Josie had laid a problem before her to which she had no solution. And, yet, when put that way, she relented. She pulled a stack of papers toward her and shuffled through them. "I pulled everything we had that even mentioned Tim. I just don't see anything in here about a medication schedule."

  "How about other doctors?' Josie persisted. "Do your records indicate that a private doctor was involved with him? I imagine they would have shared their information with your staff doctor."

  "No, no and no. I'm sorry." She flipped fast and furious. "This page outlines a general diet; there are some notes on his physical therapy. I can't even believe we kept that. There's nothing in here about his medical situation except that we have a release from his mother regarding an injury he incurred about four months before his accident."

  "May I see that?"

  Josie held out her hand and Barbara Vendy whipped the paper across the desk. Josie scanned it. Tim Wren had hit a wall, running as best he could and knocked himself out. There were no contusions. He was observed for twenty-four hours. Partially restrained. The release was signed illegibly in a tight, close hand that veered off the signature line.

  "Are you sure this is Lexi's signature?" Josie asked but Barbara talked over her. Her voice had taken on new shadings. Instead of impatience, Josie heard a dissonant note.

  "We have the final request for records from Lexi and–" Barbara shuffled the papers again and looked closer, muttering to herself. "Christ, it's so hard to find good office help. This request is dated five days before Tim died. Can you believe it? Doesn't anyone ever look at a calendar anymore?"

  "Are you sure the date is incorrect?" Josie asked, setting aside the accident release.

  "It must be," Barbara clucked. "We would have made copies of his medical records, not sent the originals if he was still here. But this says that the original records were released."

  "How is a request usually submitted? Could Lexi have called and asked for them?" Josie queried.

  Barbara shook her head and tossed the papers on her desk. She got up and stuck her hands in her pocket.

  "She could have but there would be a record of that in the medical administration office. We would keep that at least seven years in case of any liability questions. Wait here. I'll see what I can find."

  It took Barbara twelve minutes but, when she came back, she had more paper.

  "Okay, here it is. The dates match." She handed Josie a copy of the release request. "Lexi wrote to us asking for the records and her letter is dated five days before her son died. Here is a copy of the log that shows the request was honored. One of two things happened. The girl who initialed the log was new at the time and she only lasted a few months before we had to let her go. So, if she received a request with the wrong date, she probably just copied it into the log without questioning it and sent out the original records rather than a copy."

  "Do you still have the envelope this request came in? We could check the cancellation on the stamp," Josie asked hopefully.

  "That's really asking for a miracle," Barbara quipped.

  "Okay, so what's the other mistake that could have been made?" Josie prodded.

  "Maybe Lexi made the mistake. I mean look at that handwriting. It's uneven. Weak. She may have written the request after Tim died or put the wrong date on it and our girl just copied right off the letter without questioning it. Either way it was a clerical error on our part, and I apologize."

  "You're sure?" Josie muttered.

  "Sure as I can be," Barbara shrugged. "There isn't anyone we can ask about it now."

  "Do you have a forwarding address for the girl who worked here? Someplace you sent her last check?" Josie asked.

  "Sorry. She was on probation so we were paid up on the day she left. There were no benefits to worry about. So now you've got it all." Barbara sat behind the desk again and picked up her pen. "There's nothing else to give you. The only other avenue I can suggest is for you to ask your client about all this."

  "He didn't have anything to do with making decisions about Tim's treatment," Josie assured her.

  "But he might remember which other doctors Lexi took Tim to. She may have mentioned them to him or he could have overheard a conversation.
Those doctors could still have records if they weren't advised that Tim died."

  "Good thought. I'll see what I can come up with," Josie said as she stood up.

  "I assume you have Internet access," Barbara offered one last hope.

  "Sure."

  "Maybe you can do a search. Look for experimental procedures for degenerative muscle diseases, anything having to do with mental retardation. I guarantee you, if you find ongoing studies in Southern California during the time Tim was alive you can be sure Lexi tried to get onboard."

  "Thanks. I'll do that." Josie held up the request for the release of records. "Can I keep this?"

  "They're copies," Barbara said.

  "Great. Thanks again for your time."

  Barbara nodded, but had one last thought before Josie could leave.

  "Carol Schmidt is here this afternoon. She might be able to remember which doctors Tim saw."

  Josie felt her lips twitch and her gut take a nosedive. But the face she turned to Barbara Vendy was composed.

  "No, I don't think she would have anything to tell me."

  ***

  Colin Wren's home was very quiet. Light and heat were minimized. Staples were in the refrigerator. He was a man of few needs, but a man passionate about the things he deemed absolute necessities. One of the necessities of life was atoning for your sins. He had learned that late in life but he had learned it. When loneliness became chronic, when he found guilt kept him from new relationships, Colin Wren learned about the psychic necessities of righting wrongs. The wrong of Tim's life and death consumed Colin because it was wrapped up in all the wrongs committed against him. Lexi and her arrogance, that man she married, the solitary life she had left Colin to. It was funny that the idea of retribution against Pacific Park had been so easily put aside when Colin realized Archer was responsible for so much. Not just Tim's death, but Colin's own arid life. Yes, Archer and his macho defiance was an affront to the memory of Tim. Colin couldn't sleep without dreaming about Archer. Colin cursed the long and arduous court process. Enough was said at the preliminary hearing to condemn Archer twice over and, yet, they all played the game.