The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "No, I'm good." Josie smiled at him.

  Archer didn't insist because he understood her reluctance. It would be some time before Josie was comfortable behind locked doors or surrounded by four walls. Even her beloved house wasn't the haven it should be. The minute Josie fell asleep, she dreamed she was back in that hut with Erika Gardener; the moment she opened her eyes she saw Daniel Young's face, not Archer's, next to her. Hannah suggested Josie go with her to see Dr. Fox, but Josie declined. A shrink was the last person she wanted to see.

  Archer leaned over and kissed her shoulder. She put a hand on his head and drew it down his face. Her skin was warm from holding the mug. He grasped her hand and kissed her palm. He could not get enough of her.

  "Here they come," Hannah called.

  Josie smiled. Time for her and Archer would have to wait. Hannah had risen and was facing Hermosa Boulevard. Josie followed suit and then helped Archer. She was cadaverously thin but not weak; Archer was awkward but still strong. Max got on his hind legs and put his front paws on top of the wall as they came together. Hermosa Boulevard had been closed to traffic since early morning, people began gathering by eleven, and now the first patrol car in the funeral procession was turning onto it.

  Archer put his arm on Josie's shoulder; she put her hand on Hannah's. Car after car rolled slowly by. One of their own had died in the line of duty, and all of law enforcement had turned out to honor her: LAPD, Sheriff, Marshalls, Hermosa, Redondo and Manhattan Beach PD. Fire engines from surrounding areas had joined in. They couldn't see the hearse carrying Liz Driscoll's body yet, but the three people on that patio were thinking about her.

  "He almost got away with it, didn't he?" Hannah said softly.

  "He would have except for Liz," Josie answered. "I don't think I'll ever come to grips with the fact that she died for us."

  "He would have killed all of us if he could have." Hannah glanced over her shoulder at Josie, but Archer answered.

  "Maybe. If he had to. But that wasn't the plan in the beginning. The cops found files full of information on Josie and Erika and Isaiah Wilson, all of it organized and detailed. Daniel had been stalking you and Erika off and on for years. Erika knew about it. That's why she had the restraining order in place, and that's why she moved so often. She didn't think to tell anyone involved in the trial because she thought it was personal.

  "He probably didn't know what he was going to do with it until Xavier's release was announced. Once that happened, the plan was simple. Kidnap Josie and Erika, blame Xavier, then Daniel would claim expert knowledge and lead the authorities to the hut at the right time. He would be a hero. Xavier would be arrested and sent back to prison. His brain injury left him pretty much without a reliable memory or decision-making skills, so he did whatever Daniel told him - including living in a storage unit."

  "But wait. Go back. Daniel knew all along that Xavier had been released?" Hannah asked.

  "He made a big stink about not getting the letter, but he had. I can't believe I bought his outraged act," Archer said, disgusted that he had been so easily duped.

  "But how did he find Xavier once he was out?" Josie asked as she moved into Archer. She was shivering partly from the wet-cold of the fog and partly because of the memory of her ordeal.

  "He went in through the back door and offered to conduct a psychiatric examination of Xavier before he was released. He told the prison health officials that he wanted to help Hernandez acclimate once he got out. Daniel asked that they advise him of where Hernandez would be living and his medications. That was one thing Cuwin Martin actually did right. He sent all that information to Daniel and then forgot about Xavier. Cuwin figured he was taken care of."

  "God, that was smart," Josie muttered. "Daniel never showed up on the visitor's list but he had access to Xavier."

  "I still don't get it." Hannah turned toward them. Her fingers were tapping, but not as frenetically as they had in the last few days. "Daniel was doing okay. People had forgotten about what happened."

  "He hadn't forgotten," Josie answered. "Neither had Isaiah Wilson or Peter Siddon."

  "So Daniel just took advantage of everyone and nobody figured it out." Hannah raised her green eyes and Archer almost smiled. She had an amazing way of boiling things down.

  "Yep," Archer answered. "We all cut him slack because he was on the list. Problem was, he made the list. He played us every step of the way."

  "Is the lady who worked for him going to get arrested?" Hannah asked just as Max tired of looking over the wall. He got down on all fours, turned a few circles and curled up at her feet.

  "Gay? No. He used her, too," Josie said. "She was in love with Daniel and was so impressed with his compassion. Gay made the calendar with the pictures on it because Daniel told her it would help Xavier remember his past. He never told her who was in those pic. . ." Suddenly, Josie lost interest in what she was saying. She nodded toward the street. "Look."

  A contingency of officers on horseback was making its way slowly and solemnly down the street. Looking majestic and ghostly, they cut through the fog that muffled the clopping of the horse's hooves.

  "Liz would have loved this," Archer noted.

  "She deserves it," Josie said.

  "She deserved better," Hannah sighed. "But I know she's seeing it all."

  Josie smiled and dropped her hand from Hannah's shoulder. Given all the things that had happened in this girl's life it was amazing she still had that kind of faith. That Hannah couldn't pinpoint where her faith lay didn't matter. She simply accepted that it was there as her mind went back to Gay and the choices women make.

  "How could Gay be so stupid?" Hannah insisted.

  "How could she not?" Josie laughed. "Daniel convinced her he loved her. When he signed over the red Toyota to her and registered it to his address, she thought he was getting ready to make the relationship permanent."

  "She sold out for an old car?" Hannah said. "That's lame."

  "She just heard what she wanted to hear." Josie shook her head in solidarity with that woman. She and Gay had a lot in common. During Hernandez's trial, she thought nothing of using words that would be interpreted to suit her defense rather than discover the truth. It was a game; it was a challenge; it was wrong.

  "We all did the same thing," Archer admitted. "I just thought he was a buffoon. I'm so sorry, Jo."

  "No worries," she assured him before her gaze encompassed Hannah and Max, too. "I'm home now. We all are."

  Archer kissed her, pulled her back into him, and wrapped his arms around her.

  "I hope Gay realizes how lucky she is. Her fingerprints were on the photos and calendar, her car was at the pier, he drove her car to Erika's house. Daniel could argue that she was jealous of Erika and wanted vengeance on Josie for hurting the man she loved."

  "He might even have killed her if he thought he needed to," Josie noted.

  "It sounds stupid," Hannah said.

  "It sounds crazy," Archer agreed, "but it was also kind of brilliant when you think about it. He averted any suspicion by admitting he was near the pier with his bike group the day Josie disappeared. I never asked if he finished the ride – which he didn't. He veered off, hid out in the underground parking garage and waited for Hernandez to meet Josie. Once contact was made, he went up to put the list in the Jeep – that's when he ripped his bike shorts - then hustled back to the parking garage to act as a Good Samaritan. He helps Hernandez get Josie in the car, locks the bike, drives Xavier back to the storage unit, switches to his own car and takes off with Josie unconscious beside him. He comes back later and loads the bike in the SUV. The Toyota is at his place where Gay can get it if she needs it, and she's none the wiser. She was used to them switching off cars by this time.

  "Next it's Erika's turn," Archer continued. "Daniel has Xavier handle the wine glasses, drives to her place alone, somehow talks his way in, they have a drink, he plants the glasses in the trash, and that's it. He's back in the of
fice by the time I burst in like an idiot. There were so many things that should have tipped me off."

  "Maybe your radar wasn't working because you were worried out of your mind," Josie chuckled.

  "Who told you that?" Archer murmured and pulled her closer.

  "But why did you go to the pier in the first place?" Hannah asked Josie.

  "I'm assuming Xavier called," Josie said. "I would have met him if he asked because he had been a client. I probably would have met Daniel if he called. The truth is, I don't remember anything other than waking up in that building."

  "What was Daniel going to get out of all this?" Hannah pressed.

  "Star status. He would be given credit for rescuing Josie and Erika before Xavier killed them," Archer answered. "And the two women he hated most in the world would live out their lives beholden to him."

  "But when he panicked and killed Erika, his plan changed," Josie said. "He had to leave me where I was. Then Liz called about Xavier, and Daniel thought he was home free. If Xavier died, everyone would assume he took the secret of our whereabouts to his grave. Daniel would simply be back where he started. No harm, no foul."

  "What about Peter Siddon and Reverend Wilson?" Hannah insisted.

  "Someone had tipped the local authorities to Siddon's history. He thought it was me. Reverend Wilson? That poor man just never got over his daughter's death. My disappearance gave him reason to resurrect her memory and broadcast his grief. Everybody blamed me for ruining their lives." Josie put aside her tea and looked over at the procession. "I'll never stop blaming myself either."

  "It was a long time ago, Jo," Archer said, kissing her lightly, breathing in the scent of her hair. "You did what you were supposed to do. You were just smarter than the rest of them."

  Hannah looked over at Josie and their eyes met, but Josie really wasn't seeing Hannah when she said:

  "No one should be that smart."

  With that, she turned to watch the hearse carrying Liz Driscoll's body disappear into the fog.

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  Turn the page to read EYEWITNESS

  EYEWITNESS

  Eyewitness

  E-book Edition

  Copyright © Rebecca Forster, 2013

  All rights reserved

  The e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then you should return to your bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Though certain elements of this novel were suggested by actual events, it is a work of fiction. All characters, whether central or peripheral, are purely products of the author’s imagination, as are their actions, motivations, thoughts, and conversations, and neither the characters nor the situations were invented for them are intended to depict real people.

  For My Son, Eric

  Thanks for Sharing the Adventure

  Writing is not a lonely profession when you have excellent friends to cheer you on. Many thanks to Hamilton C. Burger, fabulous author of children's books, Jay Freed, fabulous keeper of the emoticons, Bruce Raterink most fabulous bookseller and buddy ever, Judy Kane fabulous eagle eye, and Jenny Jensen who is just plain fabulous. Steve, couldn't do it without you and to my eldest son, Alex, thanks for your unshakeable faith.

  CHAPTER 1

  1966

  Yilli had been left to guard the border, a chore he thought to be a useless exercise. No one wanted to come into his country, which meant he was guarding against his countrymen who wanted to get out. But even if those who were running away got by him (which more than likely they would), the government had mined the perimeter. It would take an act of God (if God were allowed to exist) guiding your feet to step lightly enough so that you didn't blow yourself up. Yes, it would take quite a light step and a ridiculous will and he, Yilli, didn't think there was anything outside his country that was any better than what was inside. So, he reasoned, there was no need for him to be sitting in the cold on this very night with a gun in his hand.

  That was as far as Yilli's thoughts went. He was a simple man: wanting for little, satisfied with what he had. Which was as it should be. All of these other things – politics and such – only served to make life complicated and very miserable. In his father's age and his father's before that, a man knew what was wrong and what was right because the Kunan said it was so. A man protected family above all else, not a border that no one could see.

  Yilli shifted, thinking about his mother, his father's time, but mostly about his comrades who believed they had tricked him. His mother had named him Yilli and that meant star. His comrades reasoned he was the best to watch through the night, shining his celestial light on any coward who tried to breach the border. Then they laughed and went off to have some raki, and talk some, and then fall asleep sure that they had fooled Yilli into thinking he was special.

  Yilli smiled. Simple he may be, stupid he was not. Star, indeed. Shine bright. Hah! They knew he was a good boy, and he knew that they made fun with him. That was fine. His comrades were all good boys, too. None of them liked to be in the army or to carry arms against their countrymen, but that was the way of the world and they took their fun when they could.

  Yilli picked up a stone and tossed it just to have something to do. He heard the click and clack as it hit rock, ricocheted off more stone, and rolled away. Rocks were everywhere: mountains grew from them, the ground was pocked with them, the houses were hewn from them. He threw another stone and then tired of doing that. His back ached with his rifle slung across it, so he slipped it off, leaned it against his leg, and sighed again. He sat down on a rock, spread his legs, and let the rifle rest upon his thigh.

  He, Yilli, was twenty years old, married, and he would soon have a child. He should not be sitting on a rock, afraid to walk out to pee in case he should be blown to pieces. He should not be sitting in front of a bunker made of rock, throwing rocks at rocks. He had a herd of goats to tend in his village. Or at least he thought he still had a herd of goats. Sometimes the government took your things and gave them to others who needed them more. He didn't need much, but no one needed his goats more than he did.

  Yilli's mind and body shifted once more.

  He wished he had a letter from his wife. That would pass the time. But he was told not to worry. The state would see that he got his letters when he deserved to get them. But how could he not worry? He loved his young wife. She was slight and pretty, and he had heard things about childbirth. It could tear a woman up and she could bleed to death. Then who would take care of the child? If the child survived, of course. And, if the little thing did survive, milk was hard to come by. Not for the generals, but for him and his family it was. If he didn't have his goats and his wife died, he would be screwed.

  Yilli picked up another stone. He held it between his fingers, raised his arm, and flung it away. The sound of rock hitting rock echoed back at him. He reached for one more stone only to pause before he picked it up. Yilli raised his head and peered into the dark, looking toward the sound that had caught his attention.

  Fear ran cold up his spine and froze his feet and made his fingers brittle. His big ears grew bigger. There was a scraping sound and then a cascade of displaced stones. Slowly, he sat up straighter and listened even harder. Someone or something had slipped. But how could that be? Everyone in these mountains took their first steps on stone and walked their journey to the grave on it. Yilli knew what every footfall sounded like and out there was someone stepping cautiously, nervously, hoping not to be found out. They were frightened. That was why they slipped.

 
Yilli raised his eyes heavenward just in case the government was wrong and there was a God. He thought to call out for his comrades, but that would only alert the enemy. That person might cut him down before his cry was heard. It was up to him, Yilli the goat herder, to protect his country and this border he could not see.

  He rose, lifting his rifle as he did so. The gun was heavy in his hands. His breath was a white cloud in the freezing air. Above him the moon shined bright and still he could not see clearly. He narrowed his eyes, looking to see who or what was coming his way. He comforted himself with the thought that it might be a wandering goat, or a dog, or a sheep, but he knew that could not be right. The hour was too late and livestock would not be out. Also, animals were more sure-footed than humans. Yilli swallowed and his narrow chest shuddered with the beating of his heart.

  "Who is there?" He called out, all the while wishing he were in bed with his pregnant wife, the fire still hot in the hearth, the goats bedded down for the night. "Who is there? Show yourself."

  He raised his rifle. The butt rested against his shoulder. One hand was placed just as he had been shown so that his finger could squeeze the trigger and kill whoever dared approach. His other hand was on the smooth wood of the stock. He saw the world only through the rifle sight: a pinpoint of reality that showed him nothing.

  The sound came again, this time from his right. He swung his weapon. There was sweat on his brow and on his body that was covered by the coarse wool of his uniform. His fingers twitched, yet there was nothing but the mountain in the little circle through which he looked.

  Sure he now heard the sound coming from the left, Yilli swung the rifle that way only to snap it right again because the sound was closer there. That was when he, Yilli, began to cry. Tears seeped from his eyes and rolled down his smooth cheeks, but he was afraid to lower the rifle to wipe them away. The tears stopped as quickly as they had begun because now he saw his enemy. It was only a shadow, but this was no goat or dog. This was the shadow of a man and he was coming toward Yilli.