"But Michelle McCreary never shared any misgivings about her sister-in-law with you?" Josie probed.
"Not with me but, again, I didn't see her in the weeks before her death."
"When Mrs. McCreary did mention suicide, what form did it take?" Josie asked.
"Usually she couched it in religious terms. If God gave us free will, why didn't he allow us to choose when to go to heaven? That kind of thing. I knew what she meant."
"How many times did she make statements of that kind?"
"I would have to refer to my records."
"For the purposes of this hearing, could you say she made them often? Almost never? Sometimes?" Josie prodded.
"Often. I could say that. But again, I hadn't seen her in crisis in about a year and a half."
"Approximately the time Grace McCreary came back into the family."
"Yes," the doctor confirmed.
"How did Mrs. McCreary feel about her husband?" Josie changed tracks. She walked slowly in front of the witness, her voice modulated to a respectful tone.
"I believe she loved her husband but was conflicted when he chose to enter politics. She imagined all sorts of things that he might be doing other than campaigning."
"Are you telling me that Mrs. McCreary was not in touch with reality?" Josie stopped, appearing stunned by his statement when all along this had been her objective.
"No, I believe her fantasies allowed her to cope with reality," the doctor answered, not quite willing to play along but close enough.
"Explain," Josie prodded.
"For instance, if her husband was late she would rather imagine him with a sexy, gorgeous woman than lying dead on a freeway. She chose what she wanted to believe, that's all."
"So if she decided to take her own life, would that action be triggered by fantasy or reality?"
"A strong enough reality, one so abhorrent that she couldn't fantasize it away, could be the catalyst."
"Were you aware of any such event in Mrs. McCreary's life?"
"I was not," Dr. Norton answered. "But let me say this. Mrs. McCreary was rational. In the event of a crisis she could go either way. She might take her own life or draw strength from her religion. I can't make that assessment."
"But suicide is not out of the realm of possibilities?"
"No, it is not."
"What medication was Mrs. McCreary taking, Doctor?" Josie asked, satisfied that she was on the downhill slide with this witness.
"Michelle alternated between two different anti-depressants. She took sleeping pills as needed. Sometimes I had to prescribe anti-anxiety medication."
"Have antidepressants been proven to cause people to commit suicide?" Josie asked.
"Studies have been done indicating children are susceptible," the doctor answered.
"That wasn't my question." Josie reminded him. She had her own exhibit and took it off her table, handing it to Judge Belote as she spoke. "Didn't a recent study published in the New England Journal of Medicine conclude that antidepressants prescribed to a general adult population can lead to suicide?"
"Yes, there have been studies that suggest that," the doctor answered.
"I've heard that, too."
Josie thanked the witness.
They ended the day with Michelle's lawyer. When Michelle married Matthew her estate was valued at over twenty million dollars. There was a prenuptial agreement between Matthew and Michelle that allowed her to keep and dispose of her estate as she saw fit. Her original will at the time of her marriage left the bulk of that estate to her husband. A year earlier, Michelle had added a codicil and directed that two million dollars be bequeathed to Grace McCreary. However, the lawyer had been in the process of revising that will when Mrs. McCreary died. The newly revised will would exclude both the defendant and her brother. That codicil had not been executed so the will remained in its original form. P.J. pointed out that it was a stroke of luck for the McCrearys that Michelle died when she did. Then she sat down.
Josie asked why the will was being revised. The lawyer had an answer.
Mrs. McCreary's estate, while still sizable, had taken a beating in the stock market. It was now worth approximately half of its original value. The revisions also reflected her desire to fund a new church in Long Beach.
Josie asked whether or not the lawyer was aware if either Matthew or Grace McCreary had ever approached Michelle for money. He was not. She asked whether or not he was familiar with Matthew's company. He was. He owned stock. Josie asked whether or not he believed that Matthew or Grace McCreary was desperate for Michelle's money.
He answered that he could not speculate, which, of course, didn't mean that they were not.
Josie thanked him. There would be plenty of time to establish her point when she put on her witnesses but this was a good start to show that money wasn't a motive for murder.
All in all, everyone went home happy that day except P.J. Vega. She needed a whole lot more than a draw to bind Grace McCreary over for trial and a draw was about all she had.
CHAPTER 32
There is only one promise a commander makes to his troops that cannot be kept and that is the promise of victory.
Josie had heard that at a dinner party years before her life in Hermosa Beach. Everyone at the table excelled at something, including, but not limited to, self-love or self-loathing. This pearl of wisdom had come from an otherwise rather dull man who was an undersecretary of something at the UN. He was a strategist not given to humor or speculation. Black and white were to him what a rainbow was to a romantic heart. When questioned further he explained that the only surety in battle—be it in war, business or personal strife—was that you could be sure of nothing and should be ready for anything.
Why? Because all sources of information are subject to inaccuracy, errors, blunders, ineptitude and, sadly, agendas. Personal agendas. Political agendas. Practical agendas.
Why? Because, he said, no cause is completely just or unjust. Memories fade, judgments cloud, motivations and desires are revised, the human condition is never perfect. Therefore, people engaged in a battle and especially the person leading the cause, must adjust their thinking and refine their strategy based on what they perceive to be accurate, righteous or truthful.
Josie hadn't thought about that dinner conversation in a long time and certainly not after her day in court. She believed victory was hers because for every blow P.J. landed Josie was there with a counterpunch, neutralizing the importance of the prosecution's evidence. It wasn't until she opened the door to a somber Archer just before she left for the black tie dinner that Josie realized the gentleman's philosophy of war and victory was dead on. If P.J. Vega had the same information Archer did, the prosecutor would have the upper hand. That thought made Josie angry because it was her own stupidity, her belief in Matthew and Grace's basic decency, that had led Josie not to ask the obvious.
"The records are sealed, Jo," Archer explained. "I only came across them because I was looking for O'Connel's paperwork and there was the McCreary filing instead."
"Great."
She walked off the length of her living room as she cross-examined Archer, oblivious to his scrutiny—and his scrutiny was intense. Archer had never seen her like this before. While he could appreciate the way she looked, he wasn't too sure he liked it. A cascade of white silk fell straight from one shoulder to the ground. High-heeled sandals were on her feet; a diamond ring was on her right hand, diamond hoops in her ears.
"McCreary didn't tell you? Didn't even hint at it?" Archer asked.
Josie flipped the fingers of one hand on her next pass as if to say, what else is new? Liar. Liar. That's what Matthew was and had been since the minute she met him, but she wanted to believe that Matthew was at the mercy of a demanding, self-indulgent wife and a secretive, moody sister who had invaded his life against his wishes. Now she had to put Matthew in the same category as the women in his life. Matthew was rich, selfish and se
lf-serving. To intentionally keep a piece of critical information from Josie that would tip the scales of the prosecution's case was unforgivable.
"Let's think about this a minute." Josie made a turn and the silk waved against her, clinging to her small, high breasts, the linear stretch of her hips and legs. She wore nothing under her gown and nothing she wore changed the way she thought— only the way Archer did. He thought that she belonged in McCreary's world and not his. Then Josie sat down in the leather chair, planted her feet hard, propped her elbows on her knees and put her clasped hands to her lips and the finery didn't matter. She dropped her hands, looked him straight in the eye and said:
"Let's go to a party."
"I'm not dressed for it, Jo." He held out his hands, underscoring the obvious.
"You look good to me, Archer."
Josie got her bag then checked on Hannah and Billy. Babcock had called and assured her that Kevin O'Connel was still safely behind bars and would probably stay that way for the night. Still, she left the teenagers with the warning not to open the door for anyone. Hannah was not to be left alone. With Archer following behind, Josie headed out to the party where she was supposed to meet Michelle McCreary's friends.
"Josie! Josie!" Hannah called before she made it to the car. She held the phone out toward Josie. "Mrs. O'Connel needs to talk to you."
Josie looked over her shoulder. Archer was ready to go, seated and belted in. She looked back at Hannah.
"Is anything wrong?"
Hannah put the phone to her ear. She spoke. She listened. Shook her head, said a few more words then covered the receiver.
"No. She just wondered if you had a minute to . . ."
"Tell her I'll call her tomorrow," Josie said abruptly and turned her back.
"But . . ." Hannah called after her but it was too late.
Josie was in the front seat, pulling her long dress up over her knees, depressing the clutch, throwing the Jeep into gear and speeding off into the darkness before Hannah could stop her. Behind her, Hannah held the cordless out with both hands as if pleading for her to change her mind and come back. When Josie didn't, Hannah reluctantly relayed the message. She almost hung up but then put the phone back to her ear.
"Mrs. O'Connel? Don't worry. Josie promises she'll call you tomorrow. She always keeps her promises."
With a quick apology for being a bother, Susan O'Connel hung up. Hannah went back inside cradling the phone against her chest. Max-the-Dog came to her for a cuddle and Hannah gathered him up. For a long while she kept her cheek against his and felt his wet-hot breath on her neck and his sandpaper tongue trying to lick away the sound of Susan O'Connel's voice. But Max's affection wasn't enough. Hannah knew the lady was afraid and she was disappointed Josie hadn't stopped for just a minute. It didn't matter if the fear was warranted or not. If fear was in your head it was real. Anything was better than bad stuff in your head . . .
"You ready, Hannah?"
Billy Zuni stood in the doorway between the dining room and the living room. He had a stack of DVDs in his hand and popcorn and sodas were on the coffee table.
Shaking back her long black hair, Hannah took the movies and suddenly knew how right she was. Anything was better than bad stuff in your head—even another evening with Billy Zuni.
***
Susan O'Connel took a deep breath. Then another. Only the third one made it all the way to her lungs.
Josie was busy.
She couldn't talk.
Tomorrow.
Fine. Fine.
Susan walked from the living room of her apartment to the bedroom and back again. She did this more times than she could count before she stopped shaking and reason returned.
Of course Josie couldn't speak to her. Josie had a job and a life like most people in the world. Susan had a job—part-time at the deli—so now she needed to work on getting a life. What had just happened was nothing. A little bit of panic because Kevin was in jail. Funny how a piece of good news could make her feel awful. But from the minute she heard that Josie had Kevin arrested for assault, Susan O'Connel had a bad feeling that grew into wariness and finally exploded into total terror. Kevin would be furious. He would be murderous. He would look for the weakest link to get to Josie and the weakest link would be her.
Now, peering out from behind the curtains, Susan O'Connel calmed herself and that was a huge victory. No strange cars on the street. No one was here. Kevin didn't know where she was. Life was good and there was nothing to fear.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothi—
She was almost settled when something touched her leg. Susan O'Connel jumped back. Her hand went to her chest, a small scream came out of her mouth and then both hands went to her lips before she started to giggle. Reaching down, she swept up the little lost kitten she'd found in the hall. It was such an itty-bitty thing, so in need of rescuing, just like Susan had been. She held the mewling kitten to her cheek and rubbed its tummy. It was fatter now but not by much.
"You're right. You're right. You're my friend. You need me but what you really need is some milk."
Putting the kitten down, Susan picked up her purse. There was milk at the corner store. She had money, two strong legs, and people were out. She was almost divorced, almost self-sufficient and wasn't going to let the idea of Kevin paralyze her. She gave the kitten a kiss, put it down and headed out.
Outside Susan looked both ways and crossed the street. As she walked it occurred to her that she hadn't locked the door but, in a show of independence, she didn't go back. What difference would a few minutes make? She thought this as she turned into the corner grocery store.
The Asian woman behind the counter didn't smile so Susan smiled instead as she walked past the wall of liquor bottles, wine bins and lottery tickets. Surviving Kevin made her a lifetime winner so Susan perused the cereal, looked at hand lotion and reveled in her good fortune to be standing in a store, needing milk and not having to hurry home for fear of being beaten if she was out too long.
Lost in her thoughts, humming to herself as she got the milk, Susan O'Connel didn't notice the man at the counter do a double take when he saw her. Susan didn't pay attention to him as he lit a cigarette just outside the window and watched her pay for the milk. Susan wasn't aware that the man walked the same street she did, or that he waited until he saw the light go on in her third-floor window before he got in his car and left. Susan only knew that the kitten was happy to see her and she was happy to see the kitten.
CHAPTER 33
"Don't bother announcing us."
Josie breezed past the maid who opened the door to a Bel Air mansion that looked like a hotel. Josie's attitude and attire didn't surprise the maid; it was Archer in his Hawaiian shirt and well-worn khakis that gave her pause.
"I'm with her." Archer flashed a tight-lipped smile as if apologizing for bringing trouble. The maid shrugged. It made no matter to her what they brought. Since the lady seemed to know exactly where she was going, the woman made herself scarce. Archer quickened his steps and followed Josie toward the noise that was coming from the room ahead.
Bubbles of brainless conversation bounced off the marble floor and popped into nothingness before either Josie or Archer could make sense of the words. Those little suds of banter that managed to escape were done in by the click of Josie's stiletto heels hitting the floor hard and fast. She hadn't brought her purse. She wouldn't be staying long. She didn't check to see if Archer was watching her back—Josie already knew he was. Not that she needed the assist. She'd made that clear in the car.
Archer had clutched the roll bar and listened as best he could as they slalomed through traffic. But the wind whipping past them, the traffic sounds assaulting them, made it difficult to hear everything, so he spent a few minutes getting the basics.
Bastard lied to . . . and his sister . . . and damn it, Archer . . . I don't care if he . . . she . . . they took me for . . . fool . . .
Instead of trying to
catch every word, Archer had admired the set of Josie's jaw when she ran out of them and fumed. He liked the way her bare shoulders and the white gown shimmered in the glare of the oncoming headlights. He liked that she put on her baseball cap out of habit, not caring that the rest of her was decked out to the nines.
Now Josie and Archer were at the entrance to an opulent room that awed Archer before he was amused. Conversations fell apart in bits and pieces as one perfectly coiffed head after another turned to look at him and Josie. Tim Douglas caught sight of them first. Assessing the situation, he gauged the distance between him and Matthew and Josie, looking for a way to cut off the assault. Archer was doing the same but the first order of business was to find McCreary. It wasn't difficult. Head and shoulders above the crowd, Matthew was born to wear a tuxedo, to drink from crystal, to stand on rugs that should have hung in museums. The woman Matthew was speaking to wore her wealth even better than he did. But Matthew's antennae were up. He knew something was amiss and his eyes wandered from his companion. He spotted Josie a second later. Archer was on the verge of a smile when he thought McCreary was confused. But the dimming light in the candidate's eyes was an expression of something else and Archer thought it was hatred when he figured out what Josie was up to. She wasn't coming to the party; she was going to bring it down.
Archer started to warn her, but Josie was quick and angry. Before he could get a word out, Josie was striding into the room and Matthew McCreary had plastered a politician's smile on his face. His companion narrowed her eyes and raised her chin the way a cautious hostess will when something was amiss at her affair.
Josie didn't stand on ceremony. Raising her hands she pushed Matthew McCreary at the shoulder. There was a collective intake of breath, a few unseemly exclamations from the well-turned-out guests but no interference. Someone called out. Josie pushed again and again until Matthew McCreary's back was against the ornate fireplace and he had no room to maneuver.
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