The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  He was unlocking the unit and starting to roll the door up as Liz eased her gun out of her holster and inched to the left. She held it casually by her side, but Archer knew if anything came out of that unit too fast it was toast – including Xavier Hernandez. He only hoped Liz was a good shot and downed him. The last thing they wanted, however, was a dead guy who couldn't tell them where Josie and Erika were. Archer did not draw his weapon. The last thing he needed was to be involved in a shooting with an officer at his side; the first thing he wanted was his hands around Hernandez's neck.

  The door rose smoothly, riding its rails with a slight, well-oiled rumble. Inch by inch it went up, revealing nothing initially. Six eyes squinted through the gloom of the setting sun into the black cave-like interior of the storage unit. The manager, so fond of reveals on television makeovers, had latched onto the fact that Archer and Liz were looking for something that might not be all that cool, so he had moved behind Archer and was ready to duck if he had to. The door stopped moving, the motor stopped whirring and the three people stared into the unit. A dozen heartbeats were shared between them as they waited.

  Nothing happened. Josie did not call out. The stench of death did not hit them broadside. A frantic Hernandez did not rush them.

  "Is there a light in there?" Archer asked.

  "Want me to turn it on?" The man whispered.

  "You're just checking to make sure everything's okay, right?" Liz suggested.

  "For God's sake. Flip it," Archer barked.

  "Right. Right." The manager wrung his hands, swallowed hard. Taking one giant, Mother-May-I step forward, he reached around and flipped a switch, stepped back and put himself against the wall next to the door.

  "Holy moly." Liz whistled as she stowed her gun and rested her hands on her hips. "You ever see anything like this, Archer?"

  "Nope," he said.

  The manager poked his head around the corner, saw what they were seeing and laughed with giddy relief. All thoughts about privacy rights and the need for a warrant flew out of his head.

  "I'll be damned," he whistled and walked right on in.

  He squeezed his skinny body past the towers of toilettes: white, pink, blue, beige, high boys and elongated seat models. There was even one that was painted with flowers. All of them were new and stacked to the ceiling, packed into the place from one wall to the next. Curious as a kid in a corn maze, the manager kept up a steady stream of chatter as he picked his way into the unit. When he came out again he was grinning from ear to ear.

  "Look what Hernandez had in the back."

  Here came that laugh again. The guy sounded like a honking goose as he held up his treasure. Archer rolled his eyes. Liz stifled a chuckle. Plastic, life sized, blow-up dolls were draped over each of the man's arms. One was dark haired and bore a striking resemblance to Betty Boop. The other was blond. Both had lips like blowfish. It would take a whole lot of hot air to puff up the rubber babes, but it didn't look like they'd been inflated for a while. Archer had a funny feeling that the manager was going to take some liberties as soon as they were gone. At least someone would get something out of this.

  "What's your name?" Archer asked the man who was carefully inspecting his rubber friends.

  "Benny," he answered offhandedly. "Think Hernandez would notice if one was missing?"

  Archer gave himself a mental checkmark for reading the guy right.

  "Think your wife would notice she had competition?" Liz pointed to his wedding ring, and Benny appeared crestfallen.

  "Come on, I'm talking a joke. You don't think I'd really, well, you know."

  "'Course not, but curiosity can be powerful, Benny. Besides, we couldn't let you steal. Just wouldn't be right," Liz went on.

  "We're obliged you took a look inside," Archer mumbled as Liz holstered her gun. As much as he was relieved, it was still a huge disappointment not to find some clue that would lead them to Josie. Hernandez's profile was getting weirder by the minute.

  "Hey, my pleasure. That's the most fun I've had in a long time." Benny stuffed the plastic dolls into a toilette. "Your guy sure has an interesting inventory."

  "I didn't think Xavier was kinky that way. Thought he preferred the real thing," Archer noted. Benny stepped out and hit the switch. The door started to come down.

  "Who's Xavier?" Benny asked.

  "The guy who owns this unit," Liz reminded him.

  "Nobody named Xavier on this docket. It's Havier Hernandez. Havier," he insisted, snapping his head between Liz and Archer. "I'm sorry, I guess I wasn't listening."

  "Geeze," Liz breathed, chancing a look at Archer who was none too pleased.

  He turned away, disgusted that they had wasted more than an hour on a wild goose chase. He kicked at a stone and headed toward the car. Behind him, Benny continued to apologize as Liz continued to assure him anybody could have made the mistake. That was a lie Archer wouldn't have told, but that's what women brought to the force. Peacemakers, dammit. Lost in his thoughts, trying to decide which way to turn next, Archer only half-registered the rest of the conversation between Liz and Benny. The other half of his brain was noting that they weren't alone on the lot.

  About fifty yards down, a man was working a unit lock. He was short, light skinned and dark haired. Archer paused. He tilted his head. The man looked familiar, and in the next second he knew why. He had seen this man in his dreams and carried his image with him every waking minute since finding that note in Josie's Jeep.

  Xavier Hernandez had finally made an appearance in the flesh.

  An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

  It took him longer to get there than he had anticipated since he wasn't driving the old car, but it had been a lovely ride nonetheless. So it was quite dark as he hitched his pack and picked his way through the forest. He had been feeling a little blue, a little lack-luster until that afternoon. Then the girl had made such a fuss, a wonderful fuss for the television people. Boy, didn't she get everyone's attention? Her method was a little awkward but her intent was spot on. That's really what it was about, wasn't it? A little recognition of the harm being done to so many. Well, that and a little retribution, and retribution was just another word for payback and that was just another word for justice. She was just too young to know how to exact her pound of flesh with grace and creativity. He had the advantage of time, hindsight and maturity to plan, and execute a plan, and that plan was going better than he ever could have imagined. Soon he would pull the PR trigger and he would be back in the game. And the women? Well, they'd be back home safe and sound but he would always be there, in their nightmares. That was perfect justice. Make 'em sweat forever.

  He chuckled. Then he laughed, and his laugh carried through the quiet mountains, and he loved the sound of it. It had been so long since he felt so good about himself or seen the future so clearly.

  A-1 Storage, El Segundo

  Archer pushed off just as Hernandez shot upright and bolted for the front entrance. He had fifty yards on Archer, and Archer had fifty pounds on him. The fifty pounds would hold him in good stead if he caught the guy, but it wasn't doing him any favors now. Hernandez was in good shape, slim and quick and afraid. It was the fear that made Hernandez faster than Archer would have anticipated; but Archer's emotional inventory gave him a shot at getting his man.

  Seeing what was happening, Liz ran to the car, threw herself in, grabbed the radio, called for officer assist, and gave their location over and over again. Behind her, Benny screamed questions, swore he didn't know who that guy was, and then screamed just for screaming sake. This was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. If he didn't die of a heart attack, Benny would, no doubt, swear that it was he who fingered the bad guy and caught him after a grueling chase. He would be on TV. He would be the reveal, the transformation, just like one of his makeover shows. For his part, Archer didn't care who took credit. All he wanted was to catch Xavier Hernandez. When he had him, when he kne
w where Josie was, he was going to kill the son-of-a-bitch. First, he had to catch him.

  As Archer ran, the wide road down the center of the A1-Storage property seemed to lengthen and narrow. His foot hit a rock and his ankle buckled, sending him smashing into one of the roll-doors. The thing shook and rippled and trampolined Archer back on track. Pain registered in his shoulder, his ankle may need some looking after, and his lungs weren't those of a thirty-year old cop anymore, but none of it mattered now. Hernandez was almost at the gate.

  Archer saw that traffic on Sepulveda was at a dead stop. Headlights cast a kliegish glare north, and red brake lights haloed the southern exposure. Archer had no idea how long the traffic had been stopped for the light, but he hoped it turned green soon. If that happened, Hernandez would be no match for commuters trying to get home. They would just as soon run over him as stop. But Hernandez didn't try to shoot across the eight lanes north and south. He grabbed the post of the gate and swung himself right with the grace of a pole dancer, landed on the sidewalk and shot off again.

  He looked behind him to gauge Archer's progress and saw the big man closing. Xavier's blank expression surprised Archer. He expected more: fear, loathing, triumph. No matter, that connect was enough for Archer to drill into the man's brain. Hernandez's had only one, simple objective: get away. Archer wasn't about to let that happen.

  He pumped his arms and legs and picked up speed, shooting through the dark, sensing drivers taking note as he, too, grabbed the fence and redirected himself. Behind him he heard a car door slam and tires screech. Liz was giving chase but she had come to an abrupt halt, the way blocked by the stopped cars. She opened the door and slammed it again as she took off after the two men on foot.

  When Archer made the turn, it took no more than a millisecond to figure out why the cars weren't moving. The twice-a-week train was making its run. Archer's eyes went to the train then back to Hernandez and back again. He measured the speed of the locomotive and Hernandez's trajectory. The man was going to have to make a choice sooner than later. There were two: veer left and scramble over the cars that were nosed up against the crossing arms, or go right to a miles-long straight away that ran past local businesses.

  Archer stepped it up, guessing Hernandez would go right. That wouldn't be good for him. A right turn meant the person with the most stamina would win, and that person wasn't Archer. The only chance he had was to catch Hernandez before he got to the crossing and made the turn.

  Breathing hard, sweating like a pig, Archer stepped it up. Close. Closer. He was now so close he could hear Hernandez panting and see the sweat on his shirt. Archer's right hand shot out. His fingers scraped the man's back then he lost contact. Hernandez was within his grasp but every time he thought he had him, Xavier found another spurt of energy. Archer drew his gun though he knew there would be hell to pay if he used it. But he knew a good defense attorney, and he would happily put his life in her hands. If she wasn't around to defend him, then he didn't care what happened after his bullet found its way into Xavier Hernandez's head.

  Archer fell back a few steps. He could hear Liz's shoes pounding the pavement behind him, and he could only hope that the backup she called for was spreading out to catch Hernandez whether he went left or right. But that's not what he really wanted; he wanted Xavier Hernandez in his hands; he wanted to bring him down. One handful of shirt would be enough to do it. The gun in his hand was heavy and sweat made it slick to hold, so Archer stuffed it in his belt. Both hands free again, he made that one last heroic effort to catch up to the younger man, but Hernandez wasn't turning left or right. He was heading straight for the train. With superhuman effort, Archer sprinted.

  "Hernandez! Stop! Stop!"

  Archer reached out, extending his arm until he was sure it was going to pop out of its socket. He stretched his fingers. He was so close, a prayer away. All he had to do was knock the guy off his feet and roll him away from the train, but it was too little too late. Hernandez bolted past the red and white striped barriers and was airborne. For a split second he was alternatingly bathed in the glow of the red and white lights. His knee was raised, his arms extended as he vaulted in front of the locomotive.

  Archer saw it all: the conductor swearing, his expression going from shock to fury, his shoulders pulling back as he strained to brake. Archer thought he heard people in the cars gasping in shock, lamenting in dismay, shouting out with hope. Liz was calling behind him. They would lose Hernandez unless. . .

  That was when Archer did the unthinkable.

  He catapulted over the barrier; positive he could hit Hernandez hard enough to push them both to the other side of the tracks. In a split second he was airborne too and his hand clamped down on Xavier Hernandez's shoulder. For one miraculous moment, Archer had his man. The last thing he saw was Xavier Hernandez turn his head to look, not at the train, but at Archer's hand on his shoulder.

  CHAPTER 37

  A-1 Storage, El Segundo

  It took an hour and a half to get traffic moving again on Sepulveda. Commuters had gone from curious to cross to downright irate as the cleanup effort went on too long. They barely waited for the last of the emergency vehicles to clear the road before they revved their engines and went on about their business.

  Liz hung out long enough to give a blow-by-blow of what went down to the investigating officer, offer some words of exoneration to the shaken conductor and watch as Xavier Hernandez and Archer were stabilized and loaded in to separate ambulances. When that was all done, Liz headed back to A-1 Storage, only to stop as she stepped over the tracks. The uniformed guys had missed something, and she didn't want them to have it. She bent quickly and swiped up Archer's revolver. Looking over her shoulder, seeing no one was paying any attention to her, she stuffed it into the inside pocket of her jacket and went on her way. Liz wished she'd stuck around to help clean up when she saw Benny waiting for her. He rushed up to her so fast that he overshot and had to retrace his steps to catch up.

  "Remember, you said none of this was going to be my problem? Remember you said that?"

  "There will be an officer around soon to take your statement," Liz said wearily.

  "Well, I'm ready. I'll give him a statement. I'm going to tell them you forced me to do it, to open that unit. Flashing that badge and everything. I only opened it 'cause you told me I would be doing my civil duty."

  "Civic, Benny. Civic duty," Liz corrected.

  "I don't care. I'm just saying there was some duress there, right?"

  "Sure, Benny. No worries. You tell 'em I threatened to hold your head in one of those toilets if you didn't do everything I said. You tell 'em that, Benny." She raised her hand over her head. Smart man that he was, Benny fell back and didn't follow. Had he kept up that nonsense, Liz would have taken him out.

  On her own, Liz made a beeline for the unit Xavier had been trying to get into. Pausing in front of it, she took stock: the lock was off, and the door was partially open. Liz hitched her pants, got down on her hip, rolled onto her back and stuck her head under the corrugated roll-up. The tangential light from outside was enough to show her that no one was inside, dead or alive. She scooted back, stood up, looked for a switch, realized this must be an older unit and heaved the door all the way up manually. Given the circumstances, she had probable cause to search, not that it would have made any difference if she didn't.

  "Hey!" Benny was yelling at her. "Don't go in there. I'll call my boss. I'll call the cops. Hey!"

  Liz looked over her shoulder. Benny was framed in the office door, watching her every move, looking like he needed to pee bad as he moved from one foot to the other. Her first instinct was to flip him off. Instead, she ignored him and flipped on the light.

  Inside, the unit was exactly like Xavier Hernandez's except it wasn't filled with toilets and inflatable dolls. In fact, it wasn't filled with much of anything but the stuff that was in it was more than interesting. Liz went to the center of the space, planted herself and d
id a slow three-sixty. There was a bed: frame, mattress, sheets and a pillow. It was neatly made and better than you'd get in lock up, but that wasn't saying much. Still, it struck her as odd since his place in L.A. was a mess

  Check on the bare walls, too. His montage in L.A. had been meticulously created: photos mounted with care, pins piercing the exact center of the prints, Isaiah Wilson's book cover spread out neatly and a calendar with uniformed red X's across the days of the week. If Hernandez was so fixated on the players in his trial, why live here for weeks with nothing to remind him of his loathing?

  "Why leave the notes?" she said aloud.

  Liz turned and put her hand on her hip and muttered to herself. Why didn't he just take the women, kill them and be done with it. He didn't advertise when he took Susie Atkins or Janey Wilson.

  She walked over to some storage boxes that were open and stacked on their side to create a make shift bureau. There was a kit with insulin in the top one. She picked up a prescription bottle. It was his seizure medicine. Liz put it back exactly as she found it. In the next one there were a few t-shirts, some socks and underwear.

  None of this was making any sense. Hernandez had laid a trail with boulders, not breadcrumbs, to his place in L.A. Tracking his movements once they found out about the GPS wasn't rocket science. So what did he want them to see? What did he want them to do once they found all this? Perhaps this was a trap, and they had been seconds away from tripping some wire. But there were no weapons, no booby traps, nothing that looked out of place here or in the L.A. house.

  Then again, could he simply have been taunting the three who received the notes? He probably counted on the ineptness of the cops to keep him safe. The system, after all, had proved to be filled with fools: reduced charges and a walk on compassionate release gave him good reason to assume they were all idiots.