The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  When he got out he took the carefully prepared package, breathed deeply and thought 'lovely'. It was cooler up here and quiet and calming. He started to walk using only a small flashlight to show him the way. He walked a good long way, thinking of nothing in particular now that he was at his destination. Though there was no path, he knew the way well, and, when he reached the cement hut he took no care to disguise the sound of his approach. They would be asleep, his little lovelies. Asleep until he let them wake.

  Josie Bates' House, Hermosa Beach

  Hannah had every intention of staying awake all night, but when she heard Billy Zuni start to snore softly from his bed on the couch, when Max climbed into bed with her and curled his back into her, even those perpetual numbers running through her head stuttered and stopped. The scars on her arms didn't tighten and ache as they sometimes did when the world was dark and quiet. Sleep came and she was peaceful and that was something Hannah seldom was. It was as if God knew she would need every ounce of energy in the days to come, as if He had reached out his big and graceful hand and drew it softly down her brow and over her eyes. It seemed He cupped her cheek, but it was only Max's soft fur she felt against her face, not God's hand. Hannah put her arm around the dog and rested. No matter what happened, at least she would have known what it was like to have a home. For that she would be eternally grateful.

  An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

  He arrived at the hut so quickly he had to look behind to make sure that he had not unwittingly cut a path others could follow. There was nothing. He might as well have been a heavenly spirit gliding over the dried leaves and brittle sticks. It was only his exceptional sensibilities that made the journey easier each time. Or, the ease might have to do with the fact that he carried so little this time.

  He whistled a little tune, softly out of respect for these lovely surroundings. Most would be afraid of nights in the forest. Not him. Not he? No matter. He put down the small flashlight he carried and took out the two bottles of water, the picture and the tape he had carried in his backpack. He would be in and out in seconds, then he would go home for a nice cup of tea, say his prayers and lay himself down to sleep.

  Smiling at this little turn of phrase, he slid back the round piece of metal that locked the door from the outside and opened it wide enough to slip through. He left the flashlight pointing toward the opening. Inside it was blacker than pitch and smelled of urine and sweat. He took a moment to gaze at the silhouettes of the two sleeping women. Oh, he thought, how the mighty had fallen. But the moment was over and he went to work.

  Stepping between them, he put a water bottle near the blonde. It was not laced quite so heavily with the medication. He wanted them to start coming out of their stupor slowly. Hesitating, he almost touched her but then decided the desire wasn't there any longer. How could it be when she looked like this?

  He turned and stepped over the tall woman, straddling her. Leaning over, he taped the paper to the cement. She would see it when she woke up and the light would begin to dawn as to why she was there. Almost finished, he bent over and placed the water bottle by her head. Before he set it just right, Josie Bates woke.

  Primal instincts drove her. She clutched at him, her hands hitting his crotch, her fingers grasping for anything to hold onto. But his reactions were good, his instinct for survival finely tuned, and he acted even more quickly than she: flinging himself away, kicking at her, flailing at her. She made sounds like the animal that she was, but he took no pleasure in it as he twirled, fell, and threw himself through the door.

  Then it was his own grunting he heard, his own scraping breath as he pushed the door closed, grappled to find the metal bar, and shoved it through the lock. When that was done, he stumbled toward the closest tree, whirled around, fell onto the ground, and collapsed against the trunk. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and buried his face against them.

  In the dark, he heard her calling for him to come back. Help! Help! Save us! He heard her make promises. Then she stopped promising and started begging. Slowly, he lowered his hands, raised his head and sat up straighter. The sound of her begging calmed him and brought him pleasure. Finally, he stood up and smiled. He was beyond pleased. He had thought she was stronger than this. In his wildest dreams he never expected to hear Josie Bates beg.

  Picking up the flashlight, he turned his back and walked down the mountain. Soon, he was back to the car, starting the engine, driving away down the winding road. By the time he reached his home, he was in control once again. He showered, lamented that he had not changed clothes before going to the mountains, realized there was nothing to be done now about his favorite pants and climbed naked into bed.

  Then he did what he always did when he thought of the blond woman in the hut: he touched himself. Just as he felt his manhood responding, just as he was sure he was going to end the night on an explosively satisfactory note, he stopped his pumping and caressing, and he wilted into a pitiful, pliable little mound of flesh. The blond woman's image could not keep him erect because there was something about the tall woman that made him afraid in his own bed. Finally it dawned on him. He knew exactly what it was. Josie Bates had grabbed him. She had stood up and called to him.

  Josie Bates was free.

  CHAPTER 19

  Day 2

  Hermosa Beach Police Department

  "Driscoll."

  Liz looked up from the printouts to find Captain Hagarty standing in the doorway of her cubicle. He was a good-looking guy; he could have gone back on the street any day in uniform and cut a fine figure.

  "Yeah?" Liz hoped he didn't notice she was green around the gills.

  "It's damn early." He sipped from his Starbucks cup. He hadn't taken his jacket off yet.

  "Yeah," Liz mumbled.

  "Anything you want to share?"

  "Nope. Just being a conscientious public servant," she answered.

  Hagarty nodded, sipped his coffee again, and kept his eye on her as she did on him. Liz prayed that her eyes were not too wide, her smile not as brittle as it felt, and the sweat starting to form under her arms not evident.

  "Okay then. The citizens of Hermosa Beach can rest easy."

  "Absolutely. On the ball, Captain."

  Hagarty lingered a second longer, stepped into the cubicle and put a piece of paper in front of her.

  "Do not misunderstand. That's as far as it goes on my dime," he said and then he was gone.

  Liz picked up the paperwork he'd dropped on her desk. Hagarty had given permission to sweep Josie Bates' Jeep for evidence.

  Mira Costa High School, Manhattan Beach

  "Hannah Sheraton?"

  Hannah stood up and walked past the woman who held the little swinging gate open like it was the door to the death chamber. The gate swung closed with a little thump and whoosh, and the woman hurried ahead to open the door to the principal's office. Mrs. Letitia Gray-Manning, head honcho at Mira Costa High glanced at Hannah but reserved her smile for the secretary.

  "Thanks, Mrs. Taylor," Leticia Manning said even as she looked at Hannah. "Have a seat."

  Hannah did as she was told and pulled her satchel onto her lap. It was Louis Vuitton, a reminder of her mother who looked darn good on the outside, but had a lot of baggage on the inside. Hannah held onto it partly because it had belonged to Linda, her mother, and partly because her artist's heart couldn't bear to part with something so beautifully crafted. In the same way, her artist's eye couldn't help but be drawn to the incredible hand stitched quilt on the wall behind Mrs. Manning's desk or the jewelry she wore. It was always the same, silver fashioned by designers who lived for their craft. Someday she'd like to talk to Mrs. Manning about art, but now Hannah was on her guard and art was the last thing on her mind.

  "So, what do you want to tell me?" Mrs. Manning said.

  "Other than Mr. Dreyfus doesn't know how to teach history?" Hannah responded.

  "How about
why Ms. Bates missed her appointment with me yesterday?"

  Hannah's eyes flickered behind long lashes, but Mrs. Manning, for all her attentiveness, missed it.

  "She's sick. I'm sorry. I forgot to tell you," Hannah lied easily, another talent she learned from her mother. Hannah, though, used the gift sparingly and only when absolutely necessary. Sadly, it was necessary now and she regretted it. Mrs. Manning was one of the few people Hannah trusted.

  "I see." The principal clasped her hands and leaned forward. She was an attractive lady: petite, pretty, stylish, and no dummy. Hannah's gaze skated over the pictures that covered the woman's credenza: a husband, two children, and a pug dog named Homer who seemed as much a part of the family as any of the humans. It was all so normal. Hannah would kill for normal. Hannah would kill to get out of this office fast. Hannah would kill for. . .

  "Hannah!"

  The girl started, her green eyes turned back and met Mrs. Manning's dark ones. Her lips opened. All she had to do was say the word and this woman would. . . Hannah had no idea what this woman would do if she knew Josie was missing.

  "If there is a problem," Mrs. Manning went on kindly, "I'm here to help. If you're having trouble with Ms. Bates we have counselors to help you work it out. I know your situation is an unusual one and we are. . ."

  "No," Hannah interrupted. "No trouble with Josie. Everything is good. She just forgot because she's got this big case."

  "I thought she was sick."

  Mrs. Manning picked up a pencil and ran it through her fingers. Mesmerized by the action, Hannah mentally tapped a finger to keep time with the pencil's journey. It turned once, twice, four times. Eight. . .

  Hannah's jaw clenched when Mrs. Manning stopped at nine passes. The girl desperately wanted her to turn that pencil upside down twenty times. Since the magic number wasn't meant to be, Hannah forced herself to pay attention.

  "I'm sorry. She has a cold and this case. Even Josie can't do everything," Hannah answered smoothly.

  "I see." Tish Manning sat back, paused and finally drew a black, plastic bound calendar toward her.

  "I'm open Friday at noon or," she licked the tip of her fingers and flipped the page, "Next Tuesday. Three o'clock. Do you want to call Ms. Bates now and find out what's good for her?"

  Hannah shook her head. "Tuesday at three will be good."

  "Alright. I'll put her in. Don't forget to tell her." Mrs. Manning jotted the note, closed the calendar and smiled. "Thank you, Hannah."

  The girl nodded, got up and slung the big bag over her shoulder. She turned toward the door. Nothing in her demeanor reflected her feeling of both relief at dodging a bullet and concern that Josie may not be able to keep the appointment. But before she could get out the door, Mrs. Manning called to her.

  "Hannah?"

  "Yes?"

  "Cut Mr. Dreyfus some slack, okay?"

  She nodded and left the principal's office. In the hall, Hannah checked her watch as she hurried toward an empty room. Ducking in, she dialed the code for the home answering machine. No messages. She dialed Josie's phone as she had done almost every hour and, once again, got Josie's message.

  "Where are you?" Hannah whispered desperately. " Please call me."

  She hung up quickly, hoping Josie's battery wouldn't run out before she could return the call. She hoped Archer could connect with the phone company and track that phone. She was dialing Archer just as the bell rang. There was nothing she could do but go to her next class. The last thing Hannah wanted to do was draw any more attention to herself at school. Mrs. Manning was satisfied and she would have to be, too, at least for the next forty-five minutes.

  ***

  With fifteen hundred students to worry about, Tish Manning seldom wasted time wondering if she should act when one was particularly bothersome. She wasted none now as she picked up the phone.

  "Gracie? I hate to bother you, but I need a favor." Tish listened to the admonition that Gracie, one of four school counselors, was not bothered by the interruption and would be happy to do a favor for the principal anytime. Anytime at all. When Gracie's assurances had run their course, Tish said, "Pull Hannah Sheraton's file? Yes. Soon as you can."

  Christian Broadcast Complex, Orange County

  Archer was at the church before the doors opened. Technically, he wasn't really at a church. Rather, he was at the digs of Reverend Isaiah Wilson. The preacher's show was broadcast from the Christian Broadcast Complex in Orange County. Archer had seen the place in a long shot during a newscast when a whistleblower outed Three Crosses, a televangelist network run by a guy who liked white polyester suits and his wife who sported big wigs, fake eyelashes and crocodile tears. He and Josie had watched the report. Archer couldn't understand how people could fall for that crap; Josie understood the need to clutch at straws – even ones as short as those offered by Three Crosses. The performances were as mesmerizing, curious and compelling as was the downfall of the preacher and his wife.

  Archer had never seen Isaiah Wilson's shtick, but as he parked the Hummer and checked the clock he held out no hope that Wilson was any different than the Three Crosses folk. While he waited for the place to open, he dialed Liz who filled him in on the progress with the Jeep. Archer was relieved that Liz wasn't just on board, now she was ready to row. Getting out of the car, he locked it despite the fact that he had parked on hallowed ground. There were a few cars in the lot including a buttercup yellow Rolls Royce. The license plate read IBELEV.

  "I just bet you do," Archer muttered as he passed it on his way toward the studios.

  The outside of the complex was impressive, sort of a mix of Persian palace and Malibu mansion. It was all white save for the giant gold cross on the ornate turret at one end and little gold crosses running the perimeter of a deck on the other. Archer could make out umbrellas on the deck and they were topped with finials in the shape of baby gold crosses. Behind the main building was a huge, white inflatable revival tent. The parking lot was large enough to accommodate any and all who flocked to the Word. A wrought iron fence held up a golden gate, and that led to a golden path, and that led to a golden door. The gate and the door were still emblazoned with the three crosses logo.

  The gardens through which Archer passed were beautifully tended: flowers and trailing plants and topiary shaped to look like saints and lambs and more crosses. Despite the fact that two freeways intersected close by, that a major shopping center wasn't more than spitting distance, and there was a very, very busy street running just behind, the place was silent and peaceful and comforting. Archer shook his head. He didn't want to be peaceful or comforted. He wanted some answers.

  He pulled on the huge gold plate handle on the door. It swung open on well-oiled hinge, and Archer stepped into the rarified air of Three Crosses studio. The garden had been serene, but inside was downright heavenly. Directly in front of him was a mini sweep of a grand staircase that led to a golden throne. The throne was bathed in a silvery light that danced, not with dust motes, but something that looked like glitter. Archer raised his eyes, trying to figure out where the light source was, but he couldn't identify it. Beneath his feet was white marble shot with pink veins. His ears filled with celestial music. He smelled apple pie baking.

  His soft-soled shoes made no sound, and he didn't call for anyone. He wasn't a believer, a sinner or a mendicant. He was on a mission, and from what he could tell today Isaiah Wilson would be filming. All Archer had to do was find him before he started.

  "Can I help you?"

  Archer turned smoothly and found himself face to face with a lovely girl/woman. Her eyes sparkled and her skin was polished to a luster. Her hair was caught up in two barrettes in front and hung down to her rear end in back. At least Archer imagined it hung to her rear end, but it was hard to tell where that would be since she was encased in a sack of a floral dress. A plain white Peter Pan collar circled her neck, and turned up white cuffs finished off the long sleeves. The sleeves were puffed at th
e shoulder, but there were no seams, no decorative stitching, and no tailoring that gave a hint of the body underneath. The fabric fell to mid-calf and her legs were covered in white stockings. Her feet were nestled in the most sensible shoes Archer had ever seen. His first thought was of the Amish; his second was that the Amish were more fashion forward.

  "I'm here to see Isaiah Wilson."

  "Oh, I didn't know he had an appointment." Her eyes widened as if she was ready to confess to a sin she didn't know she had committed.

  "I didn't call ahead," Archer informed her. "I wanted to catch him before he started filming."

  "The reverend is in contemplation before the show. Perhaps, I could give him a message."

  The girl in the floral dress smiled beautifully and made a mistake. She leaned toward the hallway behind her, taking one step as if to block Archer even as she spoke of Isaiah. Archer smiled back and patted at the pockets in his windbreaker.

  "That would be great. I don't have a pen or paper. Do you think you could find me something to write with?"

  "Oh, certainly."

  She brightened. Service was her middle name. She turned and left in a flurry of long hair and flowered cotton. Archer seized the moment and went down the hall.

  CHAPTER 20

  An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

  Josie sat in the corner of the hut, her eyes trained on the missing brick high up in the wall. She had been awake since dawn, not that she had slept that much anyway. The adrenaline rush when she realized someone was inside the hut had been impossible to shake. Her joy at believing they were saved turned to revulsion when she realized she was grappling with their jailer.