Hermosa Beach Police Department
"There's a reason they call it a lunch hour, Driscoll."
Captain Hagarty had noticed she'd been gone a while. He was busy and unhappy. Liz could tell by the way he shoved a message slip across his desk at her.
"Thanks." Liz snatched it up, turned and tried to make her escape only to miss her window of opportunity.
"Hand it off to LAPD, Driscoll."
"Captain, Josie Bates is a Hermosa resident and. . ." Liz began her argument and he finished it.
"And her car was found in Redondo and neither department has the resources to handle something this big." Hagarty sat back and clasped his hands over his middle.
"It's an inquiry at this stage," Liz insisted.
"It's a problem." Hagarty looked tired but no less determined. "The Bates thing is tied to a woman in Hollywood. Both have a history with Hernandez who was in a level four institution. He's out. The parole officer doesn't have a handle on where he is which means he could be anywhere and you playing Sherlock Holmes will just get in the way."
"It's not like that. I can help. I've tracked down people who saw her-"
"You're not hearing me Liz. You have a job and right now you have eight open files."
"Nine," Liz muttered.
"Nine," he reiterated.
"And I'm handling them so what's the real problem?" Liz planted her feet and squared her shoulders.
To Hagarty's credit, he didn't look away. She wouldn't have had much respect for him if he did.
"You don't have the chops or the back-up," Hagarty answered flatly. He sat forward, his expression softening and his talk sharpening. "I'm not saying the heart isn't there, Driscoll, but this is way out of your range of experience. We don't have the tools even an experienced detective would need for an investigation as intricate as this. A woman's life may hang in the balance for all we know, and, if it does, you don't want to be the one who tips the scales."
"Did it ever occur to you I might tip them in a good way?" Liz challenged.
"This isn't personal, it's fact. Step down. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Captain. Is that all?"
"No. When you get the report on the Jeep, I want that over to LAPD before the ink is dry," Hagarty said. "That's all."
Liz turned and marched out the door, closing it behind her hard enough to make it sound pissy, but not sharp enough to express her displeasure. Even Jefferson, who was coming off the afternoon shift, turned his head and gave her a look. Liz smiled back and headed to her office cubicle hoping she looked like she had it together. Her cheeks burned, and there was a nice tight spot in the middle of her chest. She totally accepted the second part of Hagarty's argument. Hermosa PD didn't have the bells and whistles L.A. did, but they had some resources. It was the first part of his argument that made her feel sick and mad and agitated.
She never thought of herself as a second-class detective. Sometimes she wondered if she was a second-class woman, but she never questioned her ability as a detective. She had excelled at the academy. She stood up when people tried to make her back down. When it came to chops or balls or both she had more than she knew what to do with. Questioning that was like a slap in the face. No, not just a slap. A bitch slap. She kicked the damn, grey upholstered thing that was supposed to make her floor space into an office, and it shook like it was going to fall. Joe Moore was at home on the other side. He got up and looked over the top.
"Got a problem?" he asked.
Liz didn't look up. She knew exactly what she would see: a double chin, a mustache and a nose that was perpetually red.
"No," She fumed
"You in trouble?"
"No," she muttered.
"What'd you do?" he sing-songed.
"Nothing."
He lost interest, sat down again, and left her to fume. Moore started to two-finger peck on his keyboard – probably tweeting that his fellow officer was in a snit. Liz looked at the crumpled note in her hand.
"I haven't done anything. Not yet," she muttered as smoothed it out, picked up the phone and dialed LAPD.
CHAPTER 26
Josie Bates' House, Hermosa Beach
The knock on the door was timed perfectly. The three people inside Josie's house paused, and simultaneously turned their heads. Their hearts thumped in unison. Max got up and hustled to the entry on his old legs. His tail wagged low as if he, too, was afraid to hope for good news. Hannah started after him, put her hand on the knob and then stopped as Mrs. Crane insisted they pay attention to her.
"Three o'clock. I have another appointment, and since neither of you seem to want to fill me in on where Ms. Bates might be, or the particulars of why she might be there, I have no reason to extend this visit. I'm sure you're going to be busy trying to find her, unless this is some kind of prank." Mrs. Crane rustled the poster and looked at Hannah one more time. "Is this a prank?"
"No. We're figuring it out."
It was Archer who answered as he moved the woman toward the door, wanting nothing more than for her to leave so he could get back to work. Mrs. Crane paused before she got to the foyer. She lowered her voice.
"You have to understand, my job is to look after Hannah's welfare. This case is unusual, and we know that she is high risk."
"She's being taken care of. I'll take full responsibility for her."
"That's really not for you or me to say, is it Mr. Archer?" Mrs. Crane held her portfolio to her breast like a shield. "Hannah and Ms. Bates are scheduled to appear before Judge Leisinger tomorrow. I'll advise the judge's clerk that Ms. Bates will not be present. The judge will decide whether or not she'll remain here."
Archer looked at Hannah. Her hand was frozen on the knob. She didn't have to be part of the conversation to know what was going on. Archer looked back at Mrs. Crane, and did the only thing he could do; the one thing that always got him into trouble. He was honest.
"I can't be her legal guardian."
"Given your relationship with Ms. Bates, I thought you'd have some interest in the girl."
The woman was the Wicked Witch and Hannah was her Toto. She would have the girl no matter what. If Archer thought dunking this one in water would make all their troubles go away, he would do it.
"We'll be in court tomorrow," Archer said.
Whoever was outside, knocked again. No one was under the illusion that it was Josie. Mrs. Crane opened her purse and took out her keys. Archer looked at Hannah and his jaw tightened. He could see that she was stricken behind her beautiful green eyes, that she had paled beneath the chocolate colored skin, and that she shivered even though the late afternoon was hot.
"Hannah?"
She blinked, seeming surprised to see Archer in the house. He nodded toward the door. Hannah opened it and Liz Driscoll rolled into the room like a bowling ball.
"Hey, Archer. Why aren't you answering your phone?"
Hannah dropped back, Archer turned, and Mrs. Crane stood her ground. She ignored Liz and spoke to Archer.
"I could take Hannah into custody right now, you understand. Your choice, Mr. Archer."
"Hannah's choice," Archer responded.
Mrs. Crane smirked, "This is about the law, not a child's self esteem."
Archer's eyes locked with Hannah's. The two of them tied together legally, even for a few days, was not something either would relish. He tried to think of the greater good and what Josie would want. He tried not to see that beyond the pride in Hannah's expression was a deep, childlike terror. But he could see it, and he knew what the right thing was.
He said: "We'll see you in court."
Mrs. Crane swept past them all, off to do her best to wreak havoc on other lives under the guise of legislative compassion. She was a happy, content, bitter woman, unlike Liz who was as jittery as a bug.
"Archer. LAPD found Hernandez's place. Let's roll." She turned toward Hannah and stuck out her hand. "You the kid Josie took in?"
; "Hannah. Who are you?"
"I'm Liz Driscoll, the cop who's gonna find her."
Liz turned on her heel and was out the door assuming Archer would follow. As he passed Hannah he put his hand on her shoulder. The girl looked at it then up at him. When her hand covered his, he expected her to brush him away. Instead, she gripped it briefly.
"Be safe," she said, her eyes never leaving his as she stepped back and put space between them once more.
Archer nodded and then caught up with Liz. Before they turned the corner onto Hermosa Boulevard, he glanced back. Hannah had followed him out to the street and Max stood beside her. In another time she would be facing to sea on a widow's walk, looking toward the horizon and hoping to see a ship bringing her sailor home. He could only imagine what she was hoping to see now: not just Josie returning but maybe him, too. It was a heavy burden. Archer didn't know how Josie dealt with it all, but he had an inkling of why she did. Hannah was worth saving and protecting.
"Archer, times awastin','" Liz called.
He looked back at her and they got into the car at the same time: her behind the wheel, him to the passenger seat. Before Archer snapped his seat belt, he saw that they weren't alone.
"I thought he might have some insight," Liz said as she fired up the car. "Ready to slay the dragon guys?"
Liz pulled out into traffic and Archer faced forward not liking Daniel Young riding along at all; not liking that Daniel's eyes were on Hannah as they drove away.
An Outbuilding in the California Mountains
"Do it, or I will."
Josie looked at Erika and then at the small bottle of water that was still perched on the little ledge. It was so close and yet so far away. For the last two hours, Josie had talked Erika out of wanting that water. They both knew it was probably drugged, but in the end Erika didn't care if it was poisoned.
"Do it." Erika demanded. "We share it and neither of us will get enough to knock us out."
"No, we have to be ready when he comes back."
"Who died and left you God?" Erika cried, her voice shaking. "I want that water, but I'm not tall enough to reach it. You are, and I want it now."
Josie wanted it, too. In fact, one more day in this place and she might have taken it all for herself. But it would take more time for her to trust the person who left it. If she could have seen his eyes she might feel better about drinking from that bottle. But his eyes were hidden behind some sort of glasses: big glasses that covered part of his brow and some of his cheek.
"Do it," Erika snapped.
"Okay. Okay."
Josie struggled to her feet. Even at her full height, she was still a foot and a half lower than that missing brick. But arms up, pushing herself off the way she would on the volleyball court, she should be able to reach it. She took a deep breath, and put her bound hands on the wall.
Eyes up and focused on the little bottle that had long ago ceased to sweat, she bent her knees, balanced on the balls of her feet, and jumped. Tied as she was, there was no way to actually grasp the bottle. The best she could hope for was to tip it into the hut. Her fingertips touched plastic. In the next split second, Josie had that bottle in her grasp, and in the second after that it was gone. The plastic was slippery, the bottle small, her hands bound and her aim skewed. The bottle tipped and toppled, and disappeared on the wrong side of the cement hut.
Next thing Josie knew, she was crumpled on the ground, on her knees, the heel of her hands balancing her. Her head was bent, her breath labored. She had failed.
"I'm sorry," she breathed and when she turned her head to look at Erika, all she saw was a blur of color, and raised fists.
"You did it on purpose. I'm going to kill you!"
CHAPTER 27
Xavier Hernandez's Place, Los Angeles
They drove the last five miles down the Harbor Freeway in silence broken only by the crackling of Liz's radio. Archer prepared himself for evidence that Josie was dead, Liz tried to tamp down the sense that she was nearing detective glory, and Daniel? Who knew what Daniel was thinking? Archer checked the rearview mirror. He could see a sliver of Daniel Young's face and what he saw told him nothing. More than likely, the vibes Archer felt from the guy were worry. He had to be wondering when it was his turn to be the target.
Archer's phone vibrated. He checked it and saw a text from Hannah. Peter Siddon had called again. He texted her back: Ignore him.
Archer already had planned to track him down the next day, but tomorrow's court date might change that. Then again, this trek might change everything. Instead of chasing a guy down in the high desert, he might be bringing Josie home and they would both see Hernandez behind bars again.
He pocketed the phone just as Liz exited on to Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, and they were dumped into a part of Los Angeles few beach people knew existed. Archer had seen it before, though. All those years with the LAPD had sent him into every nook and cranny of this sprawling city. The nooks off the freeway weren't worth a second thought. Not because it was the poor and the illegal who lived behind barred doors and windows, but because nothing could protect them. It was fate, bad luck that the people who ended up here were born ignorant and forgotten. Best thing was to get in, take what you came for, and get out. Today, they came for Xavier Hernandez or Josie and Erika Gardener – not necessarily in that order.
"Here we go, boys," Liz muttered.
She swung her vehicle down Rose Street, and then took a hard left onto an unpaved, unmarked road. It led to a duplex squashed between a triplex in front and the rise of the Harbor Freeway in back. An LAPD black and white, a van and an unmarked unit were already there. Liz pulled up behind the Crown Vic and set the parking brake, stopping in what was technically a front yard but was in reality a junkyard that happened to have a duplex built smack in the middle of it.
The ignition went off. Seat belts clicked. The heat sucker punched them the minute the door opened. Liz hitched her pants, touched the rolled up sleeves of her button down oxford, and then the badge and gun at her waist. Today she wore brown cowboy boots instead of her preferred biker footwear. She looked, as always, formidable for such a compact woman. Archer planted his feet and looked hard at the landscape: the duplex, the building in front, and the one on his left.
Windows were open and curtains drawn back to catch any bit of breeze. But cool air seldom found its way down here, and if it did it would have to squeeze through along with the constant roar of traffic, the gulag-light from hovering police helicopters at night, the screams of faceless neighbors and the crack of gunfire.
"Guess we're not in Hermosa anymore," Liz said wryly.
"Simply the cycle of civilization," Daniel added.
"Shitty luck," Archer wrapped up the discussion, his eyes constantly moving.
Five kids hung out in the yard behind the house on the left. The same dirt that was under Archer's feet was cropped into a private yard by a rusted and bent chain link fence. There was scruffy dead stuff that had been a bush once upon a time and a mattress that had probably been ten years old when it hit the Salvation Army, been put to good use for another five, and then tossed out back. Archer wouldn't let a dog sleep on it, but the dog penned in with the kids looked like it would sleep any damn place it pleased.
The animal was a hellish looking thing. A scar ran diagonally across its fist of a face. The kids kept their distance, and the pit bull kept its eyes on Archer and Liz. Those eyes were black and naked, as if the thing had no eyelids. In the middle of the night, that creature's eyes would still be open and glittering. All a bull like him knew was viciousness, and such limited knowledge needed no storage space in a brain.
What made the animal even more frightening was his stillness. He didn't strain at the chain that held him to a rusted tetherball pole, but Archer knew they weren't safe. That animal could snap any damn thing if it wanted; chain, pole or a neck.
Beside him, Archer felt Daniel Young move close and look over his should
er. Archer would have laughed except he knew the guy had good reason to be scared.
Archer's eyes moved from Daniel Young, skated over the brutish dog and noted the woman who looked out the window of the house on his left. Another click and he was looking over his shoulder at a woman pushing a stroller, head down as she hurried along. Two little kids bobbed in her wake: one in a first communion dress of cheap white lace and petticoats that had belonged to a much bigger girl, the other a boy who lingered, fascinated by all the cars. The pious little girl ran back to tug on her brother's arm. He pushed her and she fell in a cloud of petticoats. The mother hurried back to herd her brood away. Across the way, a shirtless young man lavished with tattoos lounged against the hood of a car. Whatever had brought the cops to his part of the world was no worry for him that day, so he watched to see who or what they would drag out of the duplex.
"Daniel," Liz said, "do you want to wait in the car until we get the lay of land?"
Archer knew Liz was giving an order more than asking a question, but Daniel seemed unsure.
"It's a hundred degrees inside that car," Daniel objected. "And these people. . ."
"They're more afraid of you than you should be of them," Archer said flatly.
Liz added: "Look, Doc, here's the thing. If they've got Hernandez, I want to see if it's better if we keep you out of sight or bring you in. I gotta check out his state of mind. It's for your safety. Okay?"
"I see. That makes sense. Yes."
Liz and Daniel peeled off. The door of Liz's car opened as she put Daniel inside. On her way back, Liz tapped Archer's arm as she passed. Archer took the cue and started to walk.
"We're here as a courtesy," Liz reminded Archer.
"I know."
"I don't want Hagarty's notice."
"Figured."
"My butt, Archer, so be cool," Liz insisted.
"I hear ya, Liz," Archer responded.
Liz picked up the pace. She'd given him the company line and knew neither of them was going to tow it if push came to shove.
The Witness Series Bundle Page 102