The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "And why is that, Mrs. Wilford?"

  "Because of the drapes, of course," Mrs. Wilford sputtered, not liking to be made a fool of.

  "Since you have looked in that room so often, is it fair to say that you may only think you know that room?"

  "Judge," P.J. called, "the prosecution requests that Ms. Bates stipulate to Mrs. Wilford's knowledge of the room. Nothing has been moved in that room for three years."

  "Your Honor," Josie countered, "this goes directly to the clarity of the witness's recollection. If Mrs. Wilford is so used to looking at the McCreary home, she may have a preconceived notion of what she should see."

  "I think you're reaching, Ms. Bates, but go ahead—quickly."

  "Yes, Judge," Josie agreed, not wishing to strain the man's patience. "Mrs. Wilford, would it have been possible for someone else to be in that living room or on the balcony without you seeing them?"

  "It's possible," she agreed peevishly.

  "Fine. Now, what did you see when Mrs. McCreary ran onto the balcony?"

  "I saw her turn all around like she was looking for a way to go. Then she got to the balcony and put this arm up on the wall." Mrs. Wilford indicated her left arm. "I saw her hip, it was like she was trying to scramble up to get away. Then the other woman came out and ran right at her. Ran right at her! I stood up and went onto my own balcony because I could see what was going to happen.

  "Then I saw Mrs. McCreary's back, she was pretty much sitting on the little wall and the other woman pushed her. Mrs. McCreary's arms were flapping like she was trying to find something to hold on to. One went out this way." Again her arms moved once and then again. "And the other arm went kind of straight ahead when that woman pushed her."

  "And when you saw the defendant on the balcony did you see her push like this?" Josie held her hands out flat and punched at the air.

  Mrs. Wilford's eyes snapped toward Grace and then back to Josie. She fidgeted a minute and resettled herself on the small chair in the witness box.

  "I saw that woman's arms outstretched and her hands on Mrs. McCreary. I don't know how they were on Mrs. McCreary."

  "Perhaps the defendant's hands were on Mrs. McCreary's shoulders like this?" Once more Josie demonstrated.

  "Yes, I think maybe that was the way. She might have had a hold of them that way."

  "That is your answer?" Josie prodded.

  "Yes. Perhaps that was it. The second one."

  Josie nodded as if to acknowledge an excellent answer.

  "Could you hear what the two women were saying?" Josie asked.

  "Don't be ridiculous." The witness laughed. "I was all the way across the street. I couldn't possibly have heard."

  "But you could have heard a scream or someone hollering. Did you hear that?"

  "I'm not sure. I thought I heard something. Maybe it was a scream."

  "Could you tell which woman screamed?"

  Mrs. Wilford shook her head as if she was sad she couldn't absolutely identify Michelle McCreary as the screamer. Josie snapped the overhead off and crossed her arms.

  "You testified the defendant was angry. You could see her face clearly?"

  "No, not very clearly, but I could see she was angry."

  "Really? So if you were looking at Grace McCreary you must not have been paying attention to Mrs. McCreary. I think if I had seen a woman scrambling over the edge of a balcony, I would have been looking at her."

  "I was looking at everything," Mrs. Wilford insisted testily.

  "When Mrs. McCreary fell who did you look at: Michelle McCreary falling or Grace McCreary on the balcony?" Josie raised a brow, unruffled by Mrs. Wilford's peevishness.

  Suddenly Mrs. Wilford seemed to compress. Her eyes became mere slits, her mouth nothing more than a seam across the bottom half of her face. She didn't like Josie Bates making her sound like an idiot.

  "I saw what I saw. That woman pushed the other woman."

  "When did you call nine-one-one?"

  "The minute it happened, of course." She laughed in a way that said she was appalled that Josie would think she would wait.

  "Did you look for the phone the instant you thought my client was going to push the deceased or the moment she touched her or after it was all over?"

  "I saw Mrs. McCreary fall. I saw that lady push her. What difference would a few seconds make if I looked down to dial the phone?" she snapped.

  "I don't know, but I would hate to have my client stand trial for murder just because a few seconds did make a difference," Josie said kindly before crossing her arms and beetling her brow. "Mrs. Wilford, is it possible someone else was in that house or on that balcony?"

  "Maybe, but I doubt it."

  "Asked and answered. We're here to determine probable cause, not grandstand for a jury." P.J. raised her hands. Those bracelets fell down her arm like Klik-Klak Blox. They were beginning to annoy Josie.

  "Your Honor, I have the right to question what Mrs. Wilford saw or didn't see. There is no way for her to tell if my client was trying to help her sister-in-law. No way to tell if there was someone else in that house the night Grace McCreary says she tried to intervene. Mrs. Wilford believes she saw my client 'clear enough' and I argue that she'd better be certain beyond a doubt if you are to bind Grace McCreary over for trial."

  "The identification is unequivocal, Your Honor," P.J. argued. "I say again, we are not here to try this case, and I resent Ms. Bates taking the court's time to attempt to do that."

  "Thank you, Ms. Vega. I appreciate the concern for the court's time," the judge said.

  "Your Honor, if the time isn't spent now, then the court will waste more trying an innocent woman. My client may well have looked angry but she was also scared and in shock. You can't tell what someone is feeling when you're looking right at them, much less from fifty yards away. Mrs. Wilford could have had no more than a few seconds to see my client's face before she turned her back and ran out of the penthouse in shock, horrified by what she had just seen."

  "Wait just a minute. That's not true. She didn't run away." Mrs. Wilford shot straight up, suddenly energized. She shook her finger at Josie. "That woman only ran into the living room. I watched her turn on the desk light and rummage around the desk before she left. It took as long as I was on with the emergency operator. Nobody came out to help her. She wasn't near the drapes. The desk light was on. I saw her opening drawers. She didn't run away until after she did all that. And even then she only hurried. She didn't run. I'll swear to that."

  CHAPTER 29

  Mrs. Wilford was dismissed just before Judge Belote, hungry and cranky, recessed for lunch. P.J. Vega was delighted. Scoring big gave her an appetite, too. Tim Douglas was sent away. Grace was perched primly in her chair, Josie sidesaddle on hers. When the courtroom was clear, Josie looked at Matthew, who sat behind his sister.

  "Somebody want to talk to me?" Josie crossed her arms and listened to the silence. When it stretched on she filled it. "You know, I've been beating myself up thinking I haven't been a good advocate for you, Grace. Now I'm beginning to think I've been played and that makes me want to just walk out of here and never come back."

  Josie waited for one of them to speak. When they still didn't, she gave them some direction.

  "Grace? Why did you lie about running out of the penthouse right after Michelle jumped?" Grace looked up, her eyes wide and blanker than Little Orphan Annie's. More games, more tiring exercises. Another lie was coming.

  "I only thought it was important that I left and didn't tell anyone."

  "What were you doing at that desk? Come on, we don't have time for this," Josie snapped.

  "Grace." Matthew spoke and her name became an order that Grace obeyed.

  "I was looking for anything. Michelle wrote things down. She wrote letters. I thought there might have been something that Michelle left behind that would be harmful."

  "Harmful? Harmful? To who? She was dead, for God's sake. It wouldn't
matter what anyone thought about her—" Josie's wail of frustration stopped as suddenly as it had begun. She put her hands on her hips, thought for a minute, then planted her knuckles on the table and got in Grace's face. "Were you worried Michelle left something incriminating about you, Grace?"

  "No," Grace answered defiantly just before Matthew stepped up to the plate.

  "Something incriminating about me," he said reluctantly. Josie swung her head his way. She was ready for anything. "Look, Josie, Michelle and I had a huge fight a few weeks before she died. She said I was worse than her father—a lying, filthy politician. She imagined I was with women; that I was going to disgrace her. She said she had proof. Grace was looking for that."

  "Proof of what, Matthew?" Josie begged. "Give me a break here. Give me a hint."

  As she spoke, Matthew reached out and put his hand on Grace's shoulder. Grace's head inclined ever so slightly toward it. Suddenly Josie understood something profound. Despite their history, blood was thick. Family ties were strong. Matthew and Grace were a team. Josie had been odd man out all along. And with that realization she also understood what she had just heard.

  "Wait a minute. How would you know what Grace was looking for? That witness just dropped it on us a few minutes ago. Unless—" Josie waved a hand to ward off the bad news. "Christ, you knew all along that Grace was with Michelle when she died, didn't you, Matthew?"

  Silence was his admission and Grace simply looked straight ahead.

  "Damn it, you did know," Josie said flatly. "When?"

  "Grace told me when we were in the limousine leaving the cemetery," he answered. "It was eating her up, but I told her to let it lie. She had tried to stop Michelle and that was all I could have asked."

  Josie paced with long, agitated strides. She was sick with outrage, furious with both of them. Betrayal. Lies. The worst that could happen to a lawyer because it was their truth she had to speak in open court, but her words that would be on the record, her reputation that would suffer. Josie Baylor-Bates would be just another lying lawyer, bought and paid for. She had come full circle in the company of Matthew McCreary. Back to square one; an attorney defending rich, privileged liars.

  "Oh, great. That is just great." Josie gestured to Grace, who sat with her lashes lowered, her hands hidden, the ring nowhere in sight. Josie turned away for just a minute, and then she was at it again. "If we go to trial they could get you for obstruction, Matthew. Don't you think that would sort of hurt your precious political career? An accessory after the fact?"

  "It seemed the thing to do at the time." Matthew dropped his hands and stood up. "Grace was devastated. Michelle was dead. It was almost a week after Michelle died. Good Lord, Josie, look at it from our perspective. What would it look like if suddenly Grace popped up with that information after saying nothing for a week?"

  "And this looks great?" Josie cried just before she tagged Grace. "Didn't I tell you to be honest? Wasn't that the one thing I wanted from you, Grace?"

  "This wasn't lying," she insisted, defending herself. "I left the penthouse. I didn't tell anyone I had been there. Michelle was raving. She kept telling me that she could prove Matthew was evil. She said evil, Josie." Grace leaned back toward Matthew and his fingers tightened on her shoulders as she put her hand on his. "He wasn't that. He has never been that. But I knew if Michelle had written all this down people would believe it. I couldn't let Matthew be ruined because of lies, so I told him what she told me. Michelle was having a breakdown and there was nothing either of us could do about it. She wouldn't see her doctor, she didn't want to see Matthew, and she didn't want to see me. I forced myself into the house that night to try to help her. But if I told the police that Matthew knew I was there, they might think he was part of—of what happened."

  "You mean they might think that Matthew put you up to killing his wife? They might make this out to be a conspiracy?" Josie drawled. She threw up her hands. "What a concept."

  "It seems so wrong now," Grace murmured, far from ashamed, as cool and collected as Josie had ever seen her. Josie looked at Matthew.

  "You were looking for something specific last night, weren't you, Matthew? What I don't understand is, why now? Why not right after she died? Why ransack the place?"

  "Because yesterday I found out Michelle had written to her priest. Father Frank had the good sense to come to me with the letter. I thought if there was one letter, there might be something else. I don't know. A journal, some women keep those things. Other letters. I don't know what Michelle was basing her accusations on. Hell, she could find a receipt for a hotel and believe that I was keeping a mistress. I traveled, Josie, but Michelle could turn a hotel receipt into adultery."

  "Did you find anything?" Josie pressed.

  "No. The closer the election came, the more Michelle wanted to convince herself I was no better than her father. She told the priest she was cataloging the McCreary sins. Can you believe it?"

  "Grace? Did you find it? This sin catalog?"

  "No," Grace admitted.

  "Is that the truth?"

  "Neither of us found anything." Matthew was adamant. "And, yes, that's the truth."

  "So Michelle was overwhelmed by the sense that you were not capable of redemption and she was in this frantic, psychotic state and she went over the balcony when you tried to calm her down. Is that the story we're going to stick with?"

  "Michelle was hysterical that night," Grace confirmed. "She thought everyone she loved let her down. Rational people understand that mistakes are made but not Michelle. For her you were either a sinner or a saint. Her psychiatrist will testify to that. I'll never believe she meant to kill herself, Josie. I think she didn't know what she was doing. The more I tried to help, the worse it was."

  "Didn't it occur to you to quit, Matthew? Wasn't it cruel to keep going with this campaign when it literally made your wife crazy?" Josie asked.

  "Nothing would have changed, Josie," Grace insisted, speaking for him. "The damage had been done a long time ago. Matthew was just the last link in the chain. I suppose I was, too."

  "Look, Josie," Matthew added, "I thought I loved Michelle when I married her but the infatuation wore off for both of us. We looked perfect together but the marriage was hellish. I was selfish and she was a zealot. As long as we were married Michelle could be the saint and I was the sinner."

  "And I was the Judas," Grace said quietly.

  Startled, Josie and Matthew turned toward Grace.

  "No. You weren't," Matthew said harshly.

  Grace averted her eyes, weary, it seemed, of the whole affair and that was when Josie had a revelation. That emerald nestled in dewdrops of diamonds wasn't an indication of Grace's agitation, it was a lie detector. It twirled with a half-truth, cut deep with a lie or a fantasy. Now Grace was whirling it round, pushing down, so that her finger was bruised with the effort. When she and Matthew looked at one another it was as if Josie wasn't in the room. Even after all those years of estrangement brother and sister were tethered in a way Josie could not fathom. Until she did, there was no use tugging on the rope—she didn't know how or where it was knotted. What Josie needed was an outside opinion of this marriage that had nothing to do with psychiatrists or priests or the McCrearys.

  "I want to talk to some of Michelle's friends," Josie announced. "She must have had some."

  "Sure. Not a problem," Matthew said and his connection with Grace was broken. "There's a dinner tomorrow night. I'll have Tim call you with the address. Helen Crane knew Michelle long before I did. It's black tie." Matthew looked at his sister, then back at Josie. "Can I take Grace to lunch now?"

  "You've only got half an hour. Don't be late."

  Matthew took his sister's arm and Josie was happy to see them go.

  She walked out of the courthouse nursing her misgivings. She could gloss over Grace's lapse of judgment. She could even make a case for Grace being protective of her brother. P.J. Vega hadn't proven intent on Grace's part and
without that it was Grace's word against that of a woman in her apartment fifty yards away. Still, for her own peace of mind, Josie wanted to know what Grace and her brother were protecting: Michelle's secrets or Matthew's. Before she could speculate further, there he was, out of the shadows, out of the blue, cocky and cross as a bantam cornering a reluctant hen.

  "You bitch. You just can't leave me alone, can you?"

  Kevin O'Connel shouldered Josie, steering her toward the steps that led to the shadowed walkway surrounding the courthouse. She adjusted her course, fell back, maneuvered street side, wanting to be in full view of passersby.

  "You blew it this time, O'Connel. You touched me and I'm going to press charges," she snapped.

  "And I'll press them right back," he growled. "You're harassing me. You sent some friggin' asshole to check up on me. Big mistake. He knows it and now I'm going to show you what a dumb slut thing that was to do."

  "What did you do to him? What?"

  Frantically she looked for security but lunch hour had drained the place as surely as if someone had pulled a plug. Rattled by the mention of Archer, aware that people in the cars were oblivious, Josie knew she was on her own. She made a move around Kevin O'Connel, thinking to sprint for the door. He moved with her. If she could make it a yard more they would be positioned in front of the security camera. She never got that chance. O'Connel grabbed her. He knew what he was doing and Josie's surprise worked against her.

  "Get your hands off me," she demanded without authority. Her voice quavered and O'Connel was pleased.

  "Scared now, huh?" He cackled. "Well, now you know how it feels. My friends don't take kindly when people come snooping around my place of business. Same way you wouldn't take kindly to someone coming around your place, maybe looking at your kid. Somebody could get hurt." He pulled her closer still. It felt as if her wrist was going to break. "Sometimes things get out of hand and people get hurt."

  Jose went rigid at the mention of Hannah. She tested his grip. He could break both of her arms without even trying. The only weapon she had was her nerve.