The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "Naw, but I figured I'd ask if maybe Hannah is on to something." Another little calamari donut went into his mouth but his gaze was steady on her. "So, I'm asking, Jo. Should I be worried?"

  "No, Archer." Josie hunched her shoulders and touched his big hand, drawing her finger down the back of it before laying her palm atop it. "So, that was it? Hannah was worried about you and me?"

  "Not exactly," he snorted. "She thought if McCreary was in the picture you might leave her by the wayside. She wasn't worried that you were going to dump me.''

  "Her priorities are straight for a teenager," Josie mused and moved her bottle of beer around until the water ring was a figure eight.

  "So there's nothing to be concerned about on either score, right?" he asked quietly.

  "What would you do if there was?" She raised her eyes, tipped her lips, meaning for the moment to be light, a tease. It wasn't and she was sorry she had tried to make it so.

  "We've never really worked that way, have we? I mean the jealousy thing," Archer answered solemnly.

  "Guess not."

  "Then if you wanted him, I guess I'd step back," he answered.

  Josie was shaken at the thought that he would leave so easily but not truly surprised. Archer would want her to be happy even if it meant letting her go. In that moment she knew she had never been loved as well. They sat together a minute longer, turning their heads, looking out over the plaza, the trees, listening to the sound of life by the beach. Josie squeezed Archer's hand.

  "I'm glad you're back," she said softly.

  "Then it was good Hannah told me to come."

  "I'm glad you're back because I missed you," Josie assured him. "Nothing else. Matthew McCreary is my client's brother and an old friend, that's it."

  "Then it's all good." Archer's fingers entwined with hers. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. His beard scratched her and it made Josie want him in the worst way. She would have a bath with him. She'd shave him. They'd make love.

  It was a nice idea that would have to wait. Archer dropped her hand, crossed his arms on the table and asked, "What can I do to help, Jo?"

  "I've got it covered," she said, then gave him an overview of the facts, her strategy and the loose ends. "I want to walk that balcony tonight to make sure my expert is on the money."

  "I could go with you," he suggested, pushing a little to see how much space there was for him in her business. There wasn't much. Josie made excuses.

  "Not with the way you look. Take a shower. Get some rest. When I'm done at Matthew's place I need to get Grace ready for court. You're a new face. I don't want to have to explain."

  "Okay, Jo." He held up the last calamari for her. When she declined he left it on the plate.

  "I'll call you tomorrow," Josie said as she got up. Then she thought of something else. "But I wouldn't mind if you did a flyby at the house. Just to make sure Hannah is okay. Billy's coming over every afternoon and staying through the evening."

  "Bet Hannah loves that," he chuckled knowing how little patience Hannah had for Hermosa's young beach bum.

  "It doesn't matter if she does or not. I don't want her to be alone and she doesn't want to go to Faye's place. It would make me feel better if you went since I'm out tonight."

  "Not a problem."

  Archer stood too and put his hand on the small of Josie's back as he guided her down the narrow staircase and onto the plaza. The sun was setting. The evening felt lazy and Josie had to be on her guard against giving in to it. They walked toward the beach, arms around one another's waists, Josie's hand finding its way to his back pocket.

  "There is something else you can do for me, Archer." Josie filled him in on the O'Connel settlement. She needed to know if Kevin O'Connel was being paid under the table, hiding his assets.

  "When do you need to know?" Archer asked.

  "ASAP?"

  Archer draped his arm over Josie's shoulder. "Tomorrow okay?"

  "Great. I want this guy out of my hair."

  "I'll get on it in the morning," he promised. "Give me the times and dates on the vandalism and I'll find out where he was. Never hurts to let a guy like that know someone is looking at him, even if it isn't the cops."

  "I'll call you before I leave tonight. I'll be at court tomorrow—"

  Josie started to break away but Archer crooked his arm around her neck He pulled her close and kissed her hard with lips warm from the Mexican sun and dry from the desert air. Josie's hand went to his chest, then her arm went around his waist and the kiss was over as quickly as it had begun. Still they stood together, lingering on the plaza, nobody giving them a second look.

  "Did you get some good pictures?" Josie asked lazily as they swayed together, their heads close, eyes on each other's mouths.

  "Yeah, I saw some nice things," Archer answered. "Nothing nicer than what I'm seeing now, though."

  He kissed her once more, longer than the first time. They parted as easily as they had come together. Josie went home, showered, dressed, called Archer as promised and took off again. She pointed the Jeep toward Long Beach for one last look at the McCreary penthouse.

  ***

  "I'm glad we could clear this up, Father Frank." Matthew McCreary put his arm over the priest's shoulder and walked him to the door of his office.

  "I can't tell you how relieved I am. I didn't realize that Mrs. McCreary had—problems."

  "She was very good at keeping them to herself but I'm sure Father Sidney will confirm when he gets back. He's lucky to have a concerned man like you dealing with his affairs while he's gone."

  "It was just so strange, getting a letter from Mrs. McCreary when I knew about your sister's difficulties."

  "I understand completely. Father, I'd like people to remember how beautiful and loving my wife was. We worked very hard to keep her mental problems private."

  Matthew reached for the door and opened it. Father Frank apologized again and then again. Matthew stood in the open doorway and waved him off, smiling as the priest offered a blessing to the volunteer staff and then disappeared.

  "What was that all about?" Tim was right beside him as soon as the outside door closed.

  "Michelle sent a letter to that old priest. The young one was opening the mail and came across it. He was returning it."

  Tim turned toward Matthew to keep Frances from overhearing.

  "What was all that stuff about the authorities?"

  "Histrionics. Michelle sent Father Sidney a letter saying if anything happened to her he had to pray especially hard for all our souls because we were such sinners. She had proof that I was morally unfit to hold office and Grace was a devil and she was a lost soul. Well, look for yourself." Matthew handed him the letter.

  "Wow," Tim muttered as he read. Michelle had always been just a little off the wall but this made her look downright certifiable. He handed it back. "What do you think she was talking about?"

  "Got me." Matthew laughed ruefully. "She probably just didn't have anything better to do. When Father Sidney got back he would have called her in for one of their spiritual tea parties, then sent her home to pray. God, Michelle loved to play the martyr, didn't she Tim?"

  When the silence stretched, Matthew took the letter back, checked his watch and slapped Tim on the back. His politician's good humor had returned. "I better get going. Did you call John Schroeder like I asked?"

  "Yes, it's all taken care of. I told him you'd be a few minutes late."

  "Thanks, Tim. Keep the home fires burning. I'm going to wash up, and then I'll be on my way."

  Inside his office, Matthew went into his private bathroom, washed his face and took a minute for himself. When he came out, he put on his jacket, slipped Michelle's letter into his pocket, then picked up the phone and dialed.

  "Schroeder? McCreary. I'm not going to be able to make it tonight after all."

  ***

  Archer garaged the Hummer even though it was c
oated with Baja grime. Time enough tomorrow to clean it off. Grabbing his gear out of the back, he lugged it up the three flights to his place on the top floor of the oldest apartment building on the Strand. He owned it. He loved it.

  Inside the air was three weeks stale, so he dropped the duffel and opened the sliding glass doors to the deck. His bike was in one corner, the barbeque in another. The canvas director's chairs were high enough to see over the wall and positioned to look out to sea. Archer ambled out, crossed his arms and leaned on the balcony railing.

  He was as gritty as his car but just seeing the ocean made him feel clean. The phone rang. Archer turned his head to listen as Josie left the information he needed. He didn't want to talk anymore. He wanted to think about what had gone down that afternoon.

  Josie hadn't been unhappy to see him but she wasn't exactly thrilled either. He was too early. There were things she was working out and they had nothing to do with investigating or preliminary hearings or possible trials. This had to do with something inside her that was unsettled and Archer wasn't even sure she understood that. Maybe Josie had too much to juggle, maybe McCreary was the pressure.

  The man had never really been a secret between them but he had been distant, coming into their lives so slowly that Archer didn't even notice right away. First McCreary was just a name, a part of Josie's history. Then he was a picture in the business section of the newspaper. Suddenly, he was an item on the broadcast news as he moved into politics, then a grieving public figure when his wife died. Now he was in Archer's backyard and that just didn't feel good.

  With a sigh, Archer went back inside and grabbed his camera bag. Using the last shots might settle him down. He adjusted the tripod, mounted the camera and looked through the lens at the Crayola-colored sunset. He framed the shot, snapped off the last of the roll, then took the equipment back inside. Falling into his chair, he busied himself until he knew he couldn't avoid the call any longer. That's when he dialed Hannah's cell.

  "I talked to her," he said when she answered. "Everything is okay. I got it covered."

  With that Archer hung up, knowing he had probably just told a lie.

  CHAPTER 23

  The sweep of the Vincent Thomas was beginning to feel like home as Josie maneuvered the Jeep past the trucks, crested the bridge and checked out the harbor on the downhill slide. Far below, the water was black, the sky a hue of navy blue. Containers from countries around the world were stacked five high, four deep—burnt orange and faded blue, tired red. Acres and acres of them as far as the eye could see; a giant child's building blocks put away for the night. The arms of the gargantuan cranes reached skyward, locked into arthritic poses—hundreds, it seemed. Barges and container ships were secure in their berths, a cruise ship was moored, small craft cut across the waterways and all of it was lit up with kliegs like a carnival. It was Kevin O'Connel's world, and Josie was glad to drive over it rather than wallow in it. She slid over Terminal Island and onto Ocean Boulevard. She parked outside Matthew's building, and tossed her baseball cap onto the backseat before she got out. She didn't bother to feed the meter. It was close enough to six.

  Josie lifted her face to catch the breeze that was ruffling her hair. The surf was breaking and she was glad. She had thrown a work shirt over a worn tank. Her rubber-soled clogs made no sound as she hurried past the spot where Michelle McCreary had died. But Josie couldn't go fast enough to escape the sense that Matthew's wife had left a mark on the place. Babcock had been right. Michelle McCreary was a soul squatter refusing to leave until someone figured out why she killed herself. Josie went straight on, pretending that she didn't imagine Michelle McCreary's corpse raising its head and looking after her, asking if she was going to be the one to solve the riddle.

  Inside, the air was mechanically cooled, the building was quiet and as Josie waited for the elevator she thought about P.J.'s generosity with the discovery documents. There were pictures of Michelle McCreary's face from ten different angles and more taken after they rolled her over. Those weren't so pretty. Josie counted fifteen close-ups of the woman's wrists and forearms; more of her fingers and her thighs. The prosecution would argue that the bruises and contusions were made as Michelle McCreary fought for her life. Josie's expert would counter they were made as Grace tried to restrain her sister-in-law. All Josie had to do now was to pace off the balcony again, measure the height of the railing, re-enact the scenario that Grace had laid out. If Josie second-guessed herself, then she'd be ready for anything P.J. Vega threw at her.

  Palming the key Tim had given her, Josie rode up the elevator only to find herself wishing she was anywhere else when the doors opened. The place felt like a mortuary where the only thing that came to visit was grief. Skittish, pretending not to be, Josie tossed the key in the air, caught it just right and put it in the door. The tumblers tumbled, she turned the knob, she pushed it open and exclaimed:

  "Oh, my God."

  ***

  "Naw, man, I don't want to do anything like that."

  "Come on. Come on, Pete. Just scare her a little. You know, rattle around the house, then run like hell. It's just the kid and a friend in there."

  "Jesus, Kevin, that's like dumb stuff. I thought we were going back to that place with all the TVs. I told Cheryl we were just going for a beer. I gotta get back in a couple of hours."

  Pete, the man with no neck, opened the car door thinking to get out and head to Sharkeez, but one look at Kevin O'Connel's face and he closed it again. He didn't like it when Kevin looked like he was going to explode. Better to keep the little light off. Better not to be with Kevin at all when he was in one of his moods.

  "Okay, Kev. I'll drive you by and you can get out and do what you want. I'll wait for you, but I'm not going to do anything. That's not my thing." Pete made a face and waited for Kevin to dress him down. When he didn't, Pete offered Kevin a piece of advice for his own good. "Maybe you should kind of let it go now, man. Suzy's not getting all that much off you."

  "I'm not going to let it go. I'll never let it go because that lawyer screwed me. Every turn I make she's there. Every damn turn. Now I'm going to be there when she turns the corner."

  "But she's not at home. You said you saw her leave." The big man glanced out the window at the house on the corner. It looked like any other house— like his house. He wouldn't want someone scaring his kid; especially not someone like Kevin O'Connel.

  "Yeah, well, I'll get to the lawyer later. This is just fun; just a little fun. Come on. Then we'll have a beer."

  Kevin popped his friend on the shoulder. The big man inclined his head and rolled it around. He didn't want to do any of this but he didn't like to say no to Kevin. He didn't like the way Kevin called him a fag and pussy-whipped in front of other people when Pete didn't do what he wanted. It was easier to go along. He grunted. Kevin took that to be a yes. He was out of the car and rounding the front just as Pete opened his door. The big man was complaining and grumbling, still trying to make Kevin see this wasn't a really good idea, when Kevin stopped him.

  "Wait a minute. Wait."

  Pete was more than happy to do that and then he saw that Kevin hadn't come to his senses at all. He was just chicken. Across the street a man was walking up to the lawyer's house. He was standing right under the porch light and he didn't look like the kind of guy you'd want to mess with.

  "Is that the same one as the last time you were here?" Kevin asked.

  "Un-uh," Pete whispered as if the man across the street might hear him. He shook his head. "That guy's too big. I saw the other one on TV last night. He's running for something."

  "That one's no politician," Kevin muttered and they stayed still, watching while the door opened.

  "That the kid?" Kevin asked, squinting to get a better look.

  "Uh-uh."

  "Nice piece of ass," Kevin mumbled.

  "Kev, she's a kid," Pete complained. He put a hand on Kevin O'Connel's arm. "Come on. Let's get out of here. He's going
in. I don't want to get messed up with this. I gotta think about my family."

  "Okay. Okay." Kevin shook him off, watched a second longer then rounded the car again and got in.

  "We could still have a beer," Pete suggested but Kevin O'Connel was in no mood. His hand was clenching and unclenching the way it did when he was totally pissed off. That was not a good sign, so Pete didn't make the offer again. Besides, they had to be at work in a few hours, so Pete came up with another plan. "Then again, maybe I should get home."

  CHAPTER 24

  Josie thought twice about taking the next step but took it anyway. She left the door open behind her as she stayed close to the wall and cataloged what she saw.

  The furniture hadn't been moved but the small things were trashed: two-thirds of the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves had been swept to the ground, papers from the desk were everywhere, computer disks tossed in for good measure. The laptop had been thrown into a corner and its screen still pulsated with flat blue light. Whatever had happened, it had happened in the last couple of hours— the battery would have been dead otherwise.

  To Josie's left was the kitchen; to her right were the doorways and hallways that led to the private wing of the penthouse. The master bedroom door was closed, the hallway seemed empty. Josie eased herself into the kitchen. It was untouched, gleaming as if it had never been used. She slid a knife out of the block on the island. It was small enough to maneuver but big enough to do some damage. There was a phone on the wall, Josie connected with a dispatcher and told him to send a car—or ten.

  Keeping her shoulder to the wall she retraced her steps, easing past the guest bath. No one was reflected in the oval mirror over the sink. She looked left. The expansive balcony was deserted but she could see people in the adjacent high-rise: a woman doing aerobics, a couple eating dinner, a man standing in the middle of his living room as if he didn't know what to do. One more was on his balcony, blissfully unaware of Josie and whatever had happened inside the darkened McCreary penthouse.