The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  CHAPTER 42

  Gingerly Tim raised Josie's feet while Archer took her shoulders. Together they laid her down on the watchman's cot. Archer touched her head, brushing the gravel out of her hair. He lifted her shirt. The bruise at her waist and hip would be big and painful. He moved her arms and touched her legs. Nothing was broken.

  "We should have you checked out anyway," Tim fretted as Josie struggled to sit up.

  "Don't worry, I'm not going to sue you." Wincing, she got herself upright. "Damn that hurts."

  "I didn't mean it that way," Tim mumbled. Josie held up her hand before he could say anything else.

  "Forget it."

  "He's right, Jo," Archer agreed. "We should get you to a doctor."

  "First things first, just give me a minute." She touched the scrape on the side of her face. Minor. The knees of her pants were ripped and bloody. A lost cause. Her arm hurt bad and there was no adjective to describe the pain in her side. "Is there a cup around here for some water? And I saw a towel in the bathroom. Could someone wet it?"

  Tim went for the cup, Archer for the towel. Archer was back first, sitting beside Josie, starting to wipe the dirt off her face. Josie took the towel away. She needed to do it herself. Archer sat tight-lipped and grim beside her, blaming himself for leaving her alone when all the while Josie knew he should be blaming her for everything.

  "I'm calling Babcock," Archer said.

  "Not yet. Let me think," Josie asked, wanting to have more to give Babcock than an apology when she finally did talk to him. She let her gaze roam around the room, hoping to find something Babcock could use.

  The clothes Grace had worn to court the day before were folded neatly on the bed, her shoes were side by side under the cot. Her purse was still there. She had no money so she wouldn't get far. Tim came back with the water.

  "Tim, what was Grace wearing the last time you saw her?" Josie asked as she took the cup.

  "Jeans and a sweatshirt," Tim answered. "I got her some tennis shoes at that discount place near the freeway."

  "And the car?"

  "One my dad kept here. We tried it earlier to see if it worked so she could go out if she needed something before I could get back to help her."

  Josie nodded and she started to stand. Archer put his arm around her waist as she tested her legs, her ankle, twisted her neck to work out the pain.

  "We'll need the make and model," Archer said as he helped Josie make her way to the bathroom.

  "It's a Chevy. I'll see if I can find the records in the office," Tim called after them.

  Once there, Archer backed off and Josie leaned on the closed door for a minute. Finally, she washed her hands and face while she berated herself. Judge Belote would throw the book at her, the ethics committee would call her up, Matthew would blame her for putting Grace in jeopardy and Babcock would have every right to be royally ticked off. Josie had asked him for a courtesy that she wasn't willing to reciprocate. How could she have imagined herself above the law? Better than Babcock? Not that it mattered what she thought. Josie had put herself there and now she had to pay for her arrogance. She opened the bathroom door. Archer was still there.

  "You might as well call Babcock. My phone is in the car. I'll get Grace's clothes and meet you out there."

  Archer didn't argue. When he was gone Josie gathered up the clothes, snatching at the white shirt, knocking the navy skirt to the ground. Angrily she swept it up but, as she did so, something fluttered to the ground. Josie sucked up the pain, got down and groped under the cot. Her reward was the pictures from Grace McCreary's dresser. Lowering herself to the floor, Josie put her back against the bed and felt a wash of sadness come over her. Overwhelmed and alone, Grace McCreary had brought a picture of her family for comfort. Tears came to Josie's eyes and she took Grace's hurt as her own. This was the only part of this mess she could understand; this longing for a family to love her—to save her.

  Closing her eyes, Josie's hands fell to her lap. She took a minute for herself and, when she looked again she saw something she never expected. On the back of one—the photo of the man in the office—there was a phone number. Here was a connection to Grace that had nothing to do with Matthew and Michelle. Before Josie could get herself off the floor or call out that she had found something important, Archer was back, offering one hand to help her up while he held her cell phone in the other.

  "We gotta go, babe," he said. "It's the cops. It's Hannah and it's bad."

  CHAPTER 43

  Susan O'Connel was on the verge of death.

  Kevin O'Connel, it was alleged, had put her there.

  Hannah and Billy Zuni had found her before she crossed over.

  Josie Baylor-Bates blamed herself for everything: for Susan's predicament, for Kevin O'Connel's freedom to do the deed, for Hannah and Billy being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Josie knew she deserved every pound of that blame. She had assumed Susan was safe, been impatient with Susan's worries, forgotten her meeting and all because the McCrearys had wounded her pride.

  Now, standing in the middle of Susan's dingy apartment, a place so far away from Wisconsin that it might as well have been the center of the earth, Josie Bates wished she could turn back the clock, remember her appointment with Susan and leave Grace to the police.

  The furniture was tossed. Chairs and cushions, tables shoved aside, lamps broken. Kevin O'Connel's fist or foot had made holes in the wall. The window overlooking the street was streaked with Susan's blood where she had tried to open it and call for help before being pulled away. The wall next to that window was marked with an arc of blood where Susan had probably hit it and slid down to the ground. The spatter followed her as she ran—or crawled. She made it as far as the kitchen. Drawers had been pulled out and the few things Susan owned were smashed before Kevin found what he wanted: a knife. He had pulled the blade across Susan's neck once again. This time he missed the artery and this time Susan was left on the old linoleum with a severed windpipe. That was the way Hannah and Billy had found her. The only sign of life was the gentle whoosh of air that came through the gaping wound in Susan's throat. According to the cops, Susan had been attacked about eight forty-five. Forty minutes after her last phone call to Josie. Hannah had tried to take it all on her shoulders.

  "I'm sorry," she sobbed into Josie's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left without telling you . . . I tried to call . . . You didn't answer ... I wanted to help . . ."

  Josie held Hannah tighter as the girl sobbed. Her shirt was crumpled in Hannah's fist and that fist knocked rhythmically at Josie's shoulder.

  "No, no. You did a good thing. You saved her life, Hannah. It was my fault. My fault. I'm so sorry for everything."

  Josie spoke quietly, as naturally as if she had soothed this child her whole life. Her arm wrapped around Hannah's shoulders, her hand stroked the girl's long, long hair. When she laid her cheek against Hannah's head and found herself looking into Archer's eyes the closeness felt awkward but Josie didn't let go.

  Archer sat beside Billy Zuni. The boy was pale and drawn, terrified, sick at heart that Hannah had seen what he had seen. Archer did not touch Billy but there had been words and Billy was better for Archer being there. Gently, Josie pushed Hannah away and sat her up. She put her hands on the girl's shoulders.

  "Think you can get home now?" she asked. Hannah nodded with a stuttered little gesture.

  "My man." Archer murmured and Billy stood up with him. Archer touched Josie, his big hand lingering on her cheek.

  "Will you drive Hannah's car?" she asked quietly.

  "No, Josie. I want to go with you," Hannah gasped and clutched at Josie once again. Grasping and releasing. Releasing and clutching. Twenty times without counting.

  "I'm going, too," Josie soothed as she captured Hannah's hands. "It's all right. Tim drove us here but he's gone. We'll get our cars from Grace's place tomorrow. I just don't want you driving, Hannah. We're all going together."

&
nbsp; Reassured, Hannah left with Billy and Archer so that Josie could have a word with the detective.

  "You should be proud of those kids. The girl stopped the worst of the bleeding until the paramedics got here. The boy called it in. Real cool. Both of them."

  "I am proud," Josie answered. "And I'm worried. Was O'Connel still around when Hannah and Billy got here?"

  "Nope. He was gone. A store-keep down the way saw him running like a bat out of hell. The people below heard him on the stairs. Those kids were scared though. There was a kitten that came out the door when they opened it. I'm surprised they didn't run when that happened."

  "But you're not positive Kevin O'Connel was gone." Josie persisted.

  "He could have come back or hung around. I don't know if he saw your kids if that's what you're asking."

  "Yeah, that's what I'm asking."

  Josie looked at the wrap-up. Susan was gone to the hospital in critical condition. The neighbors had gone back to their apartments and locked their doors.

  "Look," she said, "O'Connel's been around my place. I've got a restraining order but I'd appreciate it if you'd touch base with the Hermosa PD. Detective Babcock in Long Beach knows about him, too. Maybe you could coordinate. I'm not so much worried for myself, but Hannah . . ."

  "I wouldn't worry if I were you." The detective cut her off. "I'd venture to guess this guy shot his wad. Just keep the doors locked. Keep an eye out."

  "You want to take a chance that you're wrong?" Josie challenged.

  "I'm not unsympathetic. I'll get this out on the wire but maybe you should think about some private security if you don't think Hermosa can handle it." The man gave her a pat on the arm and walked away. It was late, he was on the clock and he was right. Hannah was her responsibility; Hermosa was her jurisdiction.

  With one last look at Susan O'Connel's pitiful apartment Josie walked heavily down the narrow staircase and onto the street where Archer, Billy and Hannah waited. She got in the back of the VW Bug. Hannah was crumpled against the far door. Without a word, they came together. Hannah's head resting on Josie's shoulder as Archer pulled out and headed for home. Once Archer put his hand on Billy's shoulder and squeezed. The radio was turned off, the windows rolled up and their thoughts were dark as the night.

  Back in Hermosa, Archer took Billy home first. It was earlier than his mother usually let him in but Archer was in no mood to be put off. Josie strained to catch sight of the woman but the door opened just wide enough for Billy to squeeze through. Archer left Hannah and Josie at their door, took Max out for his evening walk, offered to stay the night, to keep watch, but Josie sent him on his way. Kevin O'Connel, if he came, would not come that night. He would need time to feed his anger and find his courage.

  Josie sat by Hannah's bed until the girl settled into a deep but restless sleep, then showered with the bathroom door open. Max stood watch just outside. Her brain was crowded with visions of Susan O'Connel and Grace McCreary. Matthew McCreary and Kevin O'Connel. Josie touched her bruised ribs, she put fingers to the scrape on her face. Even the pain couldn't make those images go away.

  Wrapped in her robe, edgy, unable to separate the physical pain from mental anguish, Josie went to the kitchen and heated milk. She prowled the house, scarcely aware that Max the Dog watched her, his head on his paws, only his eyes moving. Sitting, she cradled the cup in her hands and found no pleasure in her home, no peace in the silence. Leaving the mug on the table, Josie went to her bathroom and rummaged through her hamper, rifling through her dirty, torn clothes until she found the things she had forgotten: Grace's emerald ring and the pictures. In her bedroom Josie sat on the side of her bed. The stone caught the light. It gave up none of Grace's secrets. It was nothing more than a gaudy symbol of all that was wrong with the McCrearys.

  Opening her bedside drawer, she put the ring next to her father's gun but held the pictures in her hand. Lifting the phone, she dialed the number on the back of the most recent one. Josie could only hope the person on the other end cared enough about Grace— or knew enough about her—to help. An answering machine picked up. Josie left a message.

  She climbed under the comforter and let her head sink into one pillow while she pulled another close, holding it as if it was Archer. She went to sleep mourning Susan O'Connel's pain and her own mistakes and Hannah's trauma and Billy Zuni's sad life and Archer, who, Josie knew, sat on his balcony sleepless with worry about her. Josie wished she could pray for all of them but prayers never helped anything. She had learned that long ago when she prayed for her mother to come home. Still, Josie fell asleep wishing she could talk to God for Susan and Grace. Just once she wished He would hear. Six hours later, just before dawn, her phone rang. Stiff, sore and barely able to move, Josie groaned as she reached for the receiver and put it to her ear.

  "Is she all right? Grace McCreary? Is she all right?" a man demanded.

  "I was hoping you'd tell me." Josie put her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, gritting her teeth against the pain.

  Three hours after that Hannah was given to Faye Baxter's care. Archer answered the next call and drove Josie to the airport, where she caught a plane to Vermont. Dr. Emile Wharton, Grace McCreary's psychiatrist, awaited Josie's arrival.

  CHAPTER 44

  Doctor Emile Wharton was beyond middle age. His once dark hair had become a fringe of gray. His glasses were round and rimless. A border of fine lines called attention to his lips, making them seem as if they were stitched to a face that had fallen gently with the years. If it had ever occurred to him to mourn the passing of his youth, Josie was sure he gave it no more than a fleeting thought.

  His office was decked with the expected framed diplomas, citations and honors for a man of his stature. Three large tomes on the bookshelf bore his name. There were two teacups on his desk and a picture of an older woman, taken by a professional who obviously believed every hint of her personality should be airbrushed away. The furniture was comfortable and slightly worn. He was a busy man, running one of the most prestigious private mental clinics in the country, but Grace's name had been magic. His calendar had cleared. He thought it best to talk in person.

  "Two years ago Grace asked my thoughts on reuniting with her brother," he began. "She certainly didn't need my permission, but I appreciated the courtesy. I had come to think fondly of her. Grace had been my patient for so long, I felt a responsibility to advise against it."

  "It was my understanding she was only your patient for six months or so."

  "In residence, Ms. Bates," he corrected. "I was her psychiatrist for the last four years but I first saw Grace as a young girl. Matthew committed her to a facility in San Francisco where I was working. I was honored that she sought me out when she needed help in later years."

  "Commitment is a huge step. Matthew never mentioned it."

  "That's not surprising. Matthew felt such a failure when he had to take that step," Doctor Wharton said. "Grace was such a lovely girl I felt sorry that it had to be done, too."

  "Grace doesn't think she's lovely," Josie pointed out.

  Doctor Wharton laughed, "Heavens no. Grace believes herself to be quite ugly but she works very hard to be attractive for those she cares about. She aped styles of women she admired. If a man she cared for suggested he found something attractive, Grace would have it the next day. Grace could never embrace her exotic beauty."

  "That explains a lot." Josie thought of Grace's closet, the mimic bedroom she had created. All things Michelle would have loved. "But there must have been something more serious than low self-esteem for Matthew to have her committed."

  "There was, indeed," the doctor agreed. "Soon after her parents died, Grace began acting out. Running away. Destroying things. She was jealous of Matthew, angry with him for moving on with his life, fearful he was leaving her behind. Grace, though, took that fear to the extreme. It came to a head when she ran away from her boarding school and came home to find Matthew's girlfriend in the house
. Grace attacked the young woman. Her paranoia was out of control."

  "Was the woman badly hurt?" Josie asked, thinking of her own close call with Grace.

  "Not badly. But Matthew was shaken. He recognized that he didn't have the resources to deal with Grace. He felt he had no choice but to commit her."

  "That was a lot to put on his shoulders. Didn't the family have friends who could have helped?" Josie asked. "Didn't the parents designate guardians?"

  "Their will dealt with their financial affairs. Given their age, I'm sure they felt immortal."

  Doctor Wharton picked up the teapot on his desk and gestured toward an empty cup. Josie shook her head. He poured for himself as he spoke.

  "Had they died a year or two earlier the courts would have appointed a guardian. Matthew would have grieved and grown more gradually into his responsibilities. He could have been a child with Grace instead of being set above her by virtue of some arbitrary legal age. Sometimes, Ms. Bates, the law does not do us any favors." He sat back and blew on the hot tea as he mused. "Grace became sexual at a very young age. She never spoke about it in detail but I gathered the experience was beyond disappointing. The things she did, the men she took up with in her worst years, were designed to corroborate her pathologically poor self-image. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy."

  "Matthew didn't do anything to stop it?" Josie shifted in her chair, stiff and sore from the previous day.

  "What could he do? He was as protective of himself as Grace was thoughtless of herself. Matthew was terrified of upsetting the status quo he had managed to establish," Doctor Wharton explained. "He carried a great deal of guilt. He felt he let everyone down when he couldn't control his sister. I had so hoped the years had mellowed them both and that their reunion would be happy."

  "It wasn't," Josie said. "Matthew didn't know Grace was coming. One of his political hacks contacted her without telling him."

  "Oh, dear." Doctor Wharton stood up and put on a well-worn coat. "Do you mind if we walk, Ms. Bates? I have to visit one of the cottages."