"And we don't have anything else," Archer answered sharply, hating the cavalier way Liz referred to Josie and Erika Gardener. "We know Josie was at Quality Seafood. Let's get a picture of Hernandez down there for a confirmation. We know she had a drink with a guy who fits his description. We know she was unsteady and needed help. We can make the assumption she was drugged, and we know he took her toward the parking structure. We know she got into a small red car. We know someone in a blue and white shirt was on the other side of the car helping Hernandez."
"Yeah," Liz admitted reluctantly. Archer was on the right track, she just couldn't spend all that time running this down without raising some eyebrows.
"And we don't have to check a twenty-four hour cycle. We know Josie was at Quality Seafood about four thirty. Get a range of tickets from two through five o'clock."
"It could be done," Liz admitted. "And it would just take a phone call. I'll follow up with the literacy teacher who worked with Hernandez, too. Will you take care of showing the picture around?"
"Not a problem," Archer said, grateful that Liz was getting on board. "Do you have someone who can run the credit cards?"
"Yep, as long as we're not talking a couple hundred," Liz agreed.
"Great. We get the names, we run them through DMV, come up with some registration information. If we get a hit with a red compact, we check it out. It's not like the pier is a hot bed of activity that time of day. If twenty cars went in and out I'd be surprised." Archer turned toward her. "Right? It's doable. Right?"
Liz swerved out of the high occupancy lane and back in again in one smooth move. She gained only three car lengths. That made her as ticked off as not thinking the car park through on her own. Some big-time detective she was. "Yeah, I'll see if I can pull in a favor from the city clerk. But, Hernandez won't have a credit card."
"Nope, but I don't think he's our man," Archer said.
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course he is." Daniel barked a laugh from the back seat.
Liz's eyes went to the rearview mirror, and Archer slid his own right to check out the traffic. He looked back just in time to catch Liz looking at him, and he smiled. Daniel was an acquired taste that neither of them was acquiring.
"You want us to drop you at your office?" Liz asked.
"Yes, if you don't mind," Daniel said but he wasn't to be deterred. "But I can't believe you don't think Xavier is your man. That's patently ridiculous given all we know about him."
"We don't know anything about him," Archer said as the freeway opened up. "And what you know about him is irrelevant. It's ten-year-old information."
"It's relevant. Believe me," Daniel sputtered. "I've already told you enough to fill a book about Xavier Hernandez."
"We're talking about a different Hernandez. First, he's impaired. Second, the place where he was living trumps your volumes of information you got from him behind bars."
"Really? Well, then, fill me in since you're the experts now."
Before they could answer, Daniel unlocked his seat belt and thrust forward. He reminded Archer of Max putting his snout between the seats when he and Josie were in the car. The damn dog didn't want to miss a thing and neither did Daniel Young. "This affects me, you know, and if you're thinking there's someone else in the mix, I have the right to know."
Liz raised a shoulder as if to give Archer permission to answer, but it was more to say 'he's got a point."
"It's what we didn't see in that place," Archer answered.
"Like what?" Daniel demanded.
"Like a yellow highlighter. A pen." Archer suggested. "Hernandez took some quality time making that list we found in the cars. What's he writing with?"
"People keep those things all over," Daniel scoffed. "A pen could be in the drawer or under the bed."
"LAPD would have bagged them if they found them." Liz shot that his way just as she swerved again.
"What about a camera?" Archer suggested.
"Not everybody owns a camera," Daniel came back.
"People who take pictures do. There are pictures of you and the two women." Liz threw that out for consideration. "Good pictures, I might add. "
"Maybe he has it with him." Daniel said. "Maybe the people who visited Xavier have the camera."
"Maybe the people who are visiting Xavier are setting him up," Liz said. "That's the point. Maybe Hernandez isn't the mastermind; maybe Hernandez is the dupe. You've got a guy who suffered severe brain trauma, he's on all sorts of meds and he's running around leaving a ton of clues for us to follow that point right at him? That is really strange."
"Stranger things have happened." Daniel insisted.
"We don't count anything out," Archer said. "The point is that you're in our territory. We'll put the current pieces together because they have more immediate merit. We might find that Hernandez's cellmate had something against Josie and Gardener. Could be there's a girlfriend out there thinking she can make a few bucks off this."
"That's a stretch. If it was ransom, we would have heard by now," Liz said.
"Point being, we need to give weight to what we can see and touch, not theories about how Hernandez will act," Archer countered.
"That I can't argue with." Liz lowered her hand and clipped the turn signal. She exited on Pacific Coast Highway, made a right and settled in for the surface street drive to Hermosa via Manhattan Beach.
"What's really bugging me is that list," Archer continued. "It was a no-brainer. Once it was found, anyone on that list would connect it to the Hernandez trial. He had to know the cops would put it together fast, find out he was on parole, and run down to where he was living. Then he leaves that giant bulletin board? Come on." Liz rolled her eyes.
"Hernandez was always arrogant," Daniel suggested.
"Someone is." Archer muttered. "Could be someone out there is playing us."
"That's a definite possibility," Daniel suggested as he slid back in his seat.
Archer looked over his shoulder. He nodded at Daniel Young. That was the first thing they had really agreed on so far.
An Outbuilding in the California Mountains
Erika's head shot up just before she pushed herself up on her hip. Josie was on her feet, using both hands to steady herself as she hurried to stand just underneath the opening. Suddenly the inside of the hut was electrified, sparking and crackling with disbelief and hope.
"How much? As much as you want," Josie hollered.
"We have money," Erika joined in.
"There are two of you in there? Shit." The girl's voice was filled with awe and it wasn't the kind Josie liked. She sounded like Billy Zuni, high and happy and hallucinating.
"Don't worry about anything except what I'm saying. Pay attention to what I'm saying," Josie said evenly. "My name is Josie Bates. I live in Hermosa Beach. Do you know where that is?"
"Sort of," the girl answered warily.
"Do you have a phone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Ready? Dial 310-862-3510. A man named Archer will answer. Tell him where you are. Tell him I'm here with you. He'll know what to do." Josie waited. "Do you have him? Did he answer?" Josie fought to keep hysteria tamped down, but it was getting more difficult. "Are you there? Dammit, did you call?"
Erika put her fingers on Josie's leg as if to temper her reaction, but the tall woman would not be calm.
"There's no reception," the girl said finally, and it sounded as if she were half asleep. Leaves shuffled. She seemed to sigh.
Erika whispered. "She's leaving."
"Don't go. Please. Please," Josie called. "We'll give you anything you want."
"I'm so messed up." The girl mumbled just as they heard her companions calling, shouting curse words and saying they would leave her if she didn't get her butt in gear.
"Shit. Shit. I'm coming!" The girl yelled and started to run.
"Stop. Please. You can't leave." Josie and Erika cried simultaneously.
But the girl co
uld leave, and the girl did leave. When they were sure she was gone, Erika crawled to her corner and Josie lay down in hers.
"Don't worry. Someone else will come. Something will happen. I promise," Josie said, but she wasn't really trying to convince Erika Gardener. Hell, she wasn't even trying to convince herself anymore.
CHAPTER 31
Day 3
Hermosa Beach
The story of Xavier Hernandez was starting to niggle at the edges of big news again thanks to the freelancer who had tracked Levinsky down at Hernandez's place and sold a snippet of film to one of the local stations. At the same time, in a serendipitous moment, one of Hannah's flyers found its way into the hands of the local paper. The paper did a bio on Josie including a nice little history of the Hernandez trial and noted the fact that it was the ten-year anniversary of that particular 'trial of the century'. That article was read by the local CBS News at Five anchor who happened to live in Manhattan Beach. The freelancer made some bucks, the newspaper had a nice little bump in readership, and the CBS News at Five added some fuel to the fire with information on Xavier Hernandez's release from prison as part of the release of forty-five thousand felons to relieve prison overcrowding (which the California high court had decided was cruel and unusual punishment). Then they went a step further. They interviewed Daniel Young who, like an idiot, spilled the beans on the lists in the cars, speculated on why these two particular women were targeted, admitted he was also at risk, and offered to exchange himself for Josie Bates and Erika Gardener if Xavier was listening.
When Archer saw it, he was disgusted. When Liz saw it, she was pissed. The freelancer's clip showed her standing with Levinsky and Arnson clear as day. She could only hope Hagarty didn't watch T.V. When Hannah saw it, she was sad. On one hand, they were talking about a Josie she didn't know and wouldn't want to know; on the other hand they were reveling in the possibility that Josie had come to a bad end.
Hannah turned off the set, and took Max out for a walk. When the dog was bedded down, she picked up her big bag, locked and checked the front door, positioned herself at the end of the walk-street on the corner of Hermosa Boulevard, and waited.
Archer picked her up exactly on time. She climbed into the Hummer, put on her seat belt and listened to the radio. The host was accepting calls concerning the question of whether or not Josie deserved what she got because she had defended a scumbag in the first place. Calls ran fifty-fifty that she did, and ten-to-one that the good doctor was brave, a saint, and the only one who might have a chance to save these women. Archer flipped it off. He had no intention of listening to a Daniel Young love fest.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, the miles melting under the Hummer's tires. That Archer drove too fast when there was a break in the traffic was something Hannah understood. Every hour away from their search was an hour that further jeopardized Josie. It would be many hours before they got back because the Edleman Children's Courthouse in Monterey Park was about as far from Hermosa Beach as you could get.
When they arrived, Hannah got out of the Hummer. She dragged her giant purse from the back seat and put it over her shoulder. The beach was hot, but Monterey Park was blistering. Archer slammed his door, came around and walked with her. It was a second before Archer realized Hannah had dropped behind. The heel of her shoe was stuck in the melting blacktop. Archer looked back just as she yanked her leg up and the heel released. The next step was the same. She yanked again. Then she stomped and yanked. She stomped once, twice, three . . .Archer went back and took her arm.
"It's okay, Hannah," he said quietly.
Her head snapped up. Behind the huge, gold-rimmed sunglasses, Archer could feel her green eyes turning to glass. That was always the first sign that her defenses were rising and her armor was clicking into place. Funny how well he knew her when all this time he didn't think he had been paying any attention at all.
"It's cool," he offered.
He tightened his hand on her arm, steered her toward a sidewalk, and gave her no time to count or argue. When they got there, Hannah pulled away. The fact that she didn't give him one of her 'looks' allowed him to take no offense. She leaned a hand against a stunted tree that, at one time, had probably been part of some long-forgotten beautification project.
Hannah raised her foot and peeled the black stuff off her heel. When she was done, she stomped the rest clean, and Archer turned away to give her some privacy. It was a ridiculous gesture considering they stood within a foot of each other, but he was embarrassed by her antics, unable to shake the idea that if she really wanted to she could control all the touching and counting. Yet a part of him also empathized. Hadn't he been uncontrollable when he was accused of killing his stepson? No one could have deterred his outrageous righteousness, so he let Hannah be. They were all on edge. If this is where she danced on the head of a pin, so be it.
Archer put a hand to his eyes and rubbed hard when he realized he was starting to count the heel-whacks on the concrete, too. When she reached twelve, she added a vocal.
"I should have gone with her. I should've." The words pushed themselves through her teeth so that they were shredded by the time Archer heard them.
He almost laughed, though, when he realized she had spoken eight words combined with twelve stomps, which brought her to her magic count of twenty. Archer wondered how she did that, decided Hannah must be some sort of savant, and then entertained the thought that she had lost a little of her mind.
"You couldn't go to work with Josie. That doesn't make sense."
Hannah put her foot down. The heel of her shoe still had some tar on it, but other than that she looked amazing. From afar she could be taken for an attorney in her crisp suit. Except that the skirt was a little shorter, her shoes a little too cutting edge and her hair a little too wild for an attorney. Still, she looked like she was ready to plead her case.
"I meant Mrs. Crane. If I had just let her send me to a foster home for a while, you wouldn't have to be here with me. You could be looking for Josie." Hannah let go of the tree and stood up. She shook her head back and set her jaw.
"Yeah," Archer mumbled.
"Really?" Hannah's shoulders pulled back, the set of her jaw softened but that was the only indication that some of the wind had been sucked out of her sails.
"Yeah about what you meant. If we weren't here, I could be looking for Josie," Archer answered. "But you shouldn't have gone with that woman, and you're not going today. You can't just leave with the clothes on your back."
"I packed my stuff." Hannah pushed her giant bag forward. It wasn't just a purse, it was her parachute in case she flew too close to the judicial sun and was cast down somewhere foreign. "I know how it works."
Archer pulled his lips together, considered the bag, and then took it off her shoulder. When she resisted, Archer gave her the look and she let go. It took him a minute and a half to go back to the Hummer, open the door, toss in Hannah's bag, and return. He didn't break stride when he came abreast of her, and she didn't hesitate when she turned on those very cool heels of hers to join him.
"You're not going anywhere," Archer muttered.
He hoped it was true. If he had to get the bag out of the back of the car it would be the longest walk he ever took.
Judge Leisinger's Courtroom, Edleman Courthouse, Montery Park
In the Edleman Children's Courthouse words like wretched, hopeless and desperate was the order of the day for attorneys, judges, clerks and investigators whose lot it was to take children away from their abusive and neglectful parents and put them into a horrendously flawed foster care system. There were other attorneys who fought to keep those kids home with drugged out mommy or fist-raising daddy. And there were the kids who didn't win no matter which way it went.
To mitigate the devastation experienced every day in this court, the building itself had been constructed as a testament to denial. The hall floors were carpeted; the walls were bright with pictures of cavorting ca
rtoon characters and super heroes. Just off each courtroom was a playroom rather than a holding cell. The judges and staff spent part of their salary buying stuffed animals, gifts meant to give kids something to cling to when Child Protective Services whisked them away with nothing more than the clothes on their back. The door between the courtroom and playroom was soundproof so the children could not hear the testimony against their parents, yet it was made of glass so that they could see them.
In the courtroom itself, the bench was nestled into a well rather than elevated on a platform. The entire place was well thought out so that the little ones would be less intimidated. Archer and Hannah were far from intimidated, but they were uncomfortable: Archer was too big and rough for the place, and Hannah was too sophisticated and knowledgeable. She'd been in children's courts often enough to know that the trappings didn't change the misery.
The county attorney was there when they arrived, and it took no time for her to assess the situation. Her look said that these two were trouble. Hannah and Archer looked back and thought the same of her. The woman, if, indeed, that's what she was, was huge. From shoulder to knee, there was no break for a waist, no indication of breasts, no ballooning of hips. Her hair was short and swept haphazardly behind her ears. She wore neither jewelry nor make-up, and there was just a hint of a mustache on her upper lip. Her hands were beefy, her feet flat and wide. Her jacket and pants draped over her without any consideration of fit or style. She had to scare the hell out of kids; she scared the hell out of Archer.
Mrs. Crane joined them within moments of Hannah and Archer's arrival. Her ever-present clipboard was clutched to her breast. She wore a matching sweater set despite the heat outside, sensible shoes, and well-pressed trousers. Her single strand of pearls was as thin and tight as her lips, and as fake as her smile. She paused and bent from the waist as she drew alongside Hannah.
"You look so nice today, Hannah." Her tone indicated that the last time she had seen Hannah the girl looked like a slut.
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