Wendy's sigh and disappointment that playtime was over were both exaggerated.
"I told him between three and four."
Mike checked his watch. "That doesn't give us much time. Let's see what you got."
Wendy handed over the first sheet of paper for Mike to follow along.
"The guy in the living room was Jak Duka. Works for Fed Ex, but he's also a daily with local #927. Lives in San Pedro."
Mike put a star on the employment information. Being a daily meant union, and you didn't get to be a full-fledged brother unless you were pretty tight with someone. It wouldn't be hard to track down his friends; getting them to talk would be another matter.
"You take Fed Ex, and I'll follow up on the union," Mike directed. "Anything else?"
"Duka was married. I caught the wife just as she was coming back from the grocery with her two little kids." Wendy paused before adding. "I hate that."
"I'm glad you were the one to break the news."
"My specialty. Telling people that other people are dead."
Wendy grimaced. Mike had seen her impart the news of a murder, an accident, an unexpected natural death and leave the survivor with a sense of peace and direction. Of all Wendy's natural gifts, that was the one Mike most admired. Hers was a unique position. Though she was a senior criminal analyst, the department had recognized she was also valuable in the field as the first contact with victim's families.
"Did the wife have anything to say about why he was in that house?" he asked.
"She figured he was making a delivery."
"In the wee hours of the morning? Using his own car?" Mike's brow beetled. "No one could be that gullible."
"Sometimes you don't see what's in front of your nose. Wives are especially susceptible to that." Wendy handed him another sheet of paper.
"Victim number two is Greg Oi. Quite the Barbie Doll all decked out in a satin dress and heels. I would expect that kind of thing in Los Angeles or San Francisco, but this is the first time I've seen it down in the South Bay."
"Nothing surprises me," Mike noted.
"Wouldn't you like to be surprised just a little?" Wendy's pretty eyes stayed on her report for a millisecond. When she raised them, her lashes threw shadows across the top of her cheeks.
Mike considered her longer than he should. When he couldn't reconcile her professionalism with her audacity, he folded his arms and leaned on the desk.
"You do know what you're saying, don't you?" He was genuinely curious.
"That I do," she answered.
"Then why do you say it?"
"'Cause you are the sweetest, Mike, and there aren't many of you around. Who knows, maybe someday you'll take me up on the offer."
"Jesus, Wendy," Mike sighed. "That's no answer."
"Yes, it is. I'm selfish. I want what I want. Men have been like that forever. Just say I'm a liberated woman." Wendy leaned close to him and he could smell soap.
"There's an office pool on when you're going to cave."
"What are the odds?" he asked, unable to help his amusement.
"Not good," she admitted as she pulled a sad face.
"In whose favor?"
"Not telling."
She laughed and, as she sat back, she knocked a bag off his desk. They both went for it at once. Mike got the bag, and Wendy came up with the contents.
"Books on tape? A little chick-litty for you, aren't they?"
Mike took the CDs back and put them in the bag.
"They're for my wife. Our anniversary is in a few days."
"You charmer," Wendy drawled. "How many years?"
"Twenty-five." Mike opened a desk drawer and put the bag inside.
"I don't think you'll be getting lucky with a gift like that. You want some action? Jewelry. Every woman loves jewelry," Wendy said.
"I think she'll like these," Mike said.
Wendy shrugged. It was clear the conversation was over, but Wendy was not going to give up. Twenty-five years was a long time to be with the same woman and audio books weren't exactly a passionate gift choice. Still, Wendy knew when not to push her luck. She tapped the paper on the desk in front of him.
"Greg Oi, the victim with the platinum wig and the size 12 pumps? In real life, he owns Marshall Fasteners out on Lomita Boulevard."
"Union shop?"
"Funny you should ask that. Local #927 has a lock on the place. They make stuff for airplanes, cars, and motorcycles – nuts and bolts. You'd think he'd be a little more macho, considering." Wendy editorialized but she was back on track a minute later. "Seems Oi's been having labor trouble. The contract is up for renewal and the sticking point is benefits. Oi was standing firm on not upping them and bringing in new hires at much a lower hourly. He also wanted them to contribute a whole lot more to retirement and allow the dye cutters to work on multiple projects. The brotherhood is royally pissed."
"Maybe Duka was sent out to put some pressure on Oi and things got out of hand," Mike suggested. "It can't be coincidence that Oi and Duka were in the same place at the same time."
"It could be anything with this guy. Oi is really rich. I just started checking him out, and already there's a web of subsidiaries, all of them privately held by Mr. Oi. He has some loans but they appear to be for tax purposes. The man could pay them off. Oi lives behind the gates in Rolling Hills."
"Family?"
"I talked to his wife briefly and gave her the news. I have you down to see her tomorrow at nine," Wendy said. "Don't know if there are children in the family, but Oi is involved in a nonprofit that works with needy kids from overseas."
"What kind of needy kids?" Mike asked.
"Don't know yet. I'm getting the public records. All I've got is a website so far and it's pretty lame." Wendy twirled her pencil giving Mike the minute he seemed to want. "What are you thinking? Some connection with the kid in the ocean?"
"I'm not thinking anything. I want to start with why Mr. Oi was on the wrong side of Hermosa. Our surviving victim was young, but she is not a child. Her name is Rosa Zuni, and I don't think Oi was doing charity work in that house."
"He was slumming. Being naughty where he thought no one could see. Everyone does it." Wendy handed him the third page, her suggestiveness more a matter of habit than real flirtation. "More than likely Oi's wife didn't like him prancing around like a Flamenco dancer and for a fee this little lady didn't mind. Our survivor works at Undies, by the way. You know, the strip joint near the airport?"
"I'm liking this," Mike muttered as he made more notes.
"I spoke to the manager. He said he was sorry to hear about what happened. He thought Rosa was a nice girl, but he doesn't know much about her. The club only gets involved if someone's coming on to the girls on the premises. All of them are independent contractors. No insurance, no workman's comp. Smart business."
"Yeah, but he still had to have a social security number for her."
"He did," Wendy said. "It's bogus. As of right now, this woman doesn't exist."
CHAPTER 7
1996
Teuta pulled her six-year-old daughter along as they searched the hospital for Yilli. Room after room it was the same: dirty beds, attendants who seemed to be more wardens than nurses, relatives feeding patients food they had brought from their homes since the hospital provided none. Blood had stained the sheets and had dried where it fell on the floor. Old and young alike languished. They did not look so much sick as starving, lonely, and surprised to find themselves in such a predicament.
On the second floor, Teuta came upon a dark room filled with more beds. Instinct told her to take her children and run. She kept going because it was her father she had to find. A man missing an arm reached his stump toward her. A woman with a burned face watched with one eye, but Teuta didn't think she could really see. There was a boy curled into himself, and he was nothing more than a little ball of bones. Teuta was now glad they had no hospital in her own village. This wa
s a place to die if ever she saw one. She turned away from the little boy and that was when she saw her mother sitting beside a metal-framed bed. She rushed toward her.
"Nënë." Teuta kissed her mother, first one cheek and then the other. "How is he?"
"He will die" The mother shrugged as Teuta took off her shawl. The baby woke and cried. The mother patted the older girl's head and then reached for the baby. Teuta let her go. The mother said:
"This is a good baby." She put her old hand on the older girl's back and then kissed her brow. "This is a good girl."
"Yes. I am fortunate," Teuta answered.
Gingerly, she sat next to her father and tried not to disturb the thin mattress laid over broken springs. He did not open his eyes. He did not know she was there. She took his hand. It was cold; his skin was thin. He was drying up. Soon he would blow away, dead and gone. It would be a blessing for he was a tortured soul. She kept her eyes on his gaunt face to keep from looking at the plastic sheet and the things that came out of a dying body.
"I brought money for medicine." Teuta whispered this as much in deference to her ill father as to secrecy. She did not want anyone in this place to know she had money. Teuta's mother nodded, her head going up and down as was the custom to indicate she did not want the money. Teuta understood. Even she could see that it would be a waste to bribe anyone to give her father medicine. Still, she knew her mother was grateful for the offer.
Then Teuta's attention was caught by a sound. She turned her head to see that it came from her mother. She was crying. Teuta had never seen her mother cry nor had she realized that she loved her husband enough to cry for him. Teuta slid off the bed and knelt by the old woman. She touched the scarf covering her mother's hair. The mother raised her faded eyes and looked at her daughter.
"He came."
"Then all will be well. He sees father dying."
"He asked about you. About your children."
Teuta froze. She opened her mouth, but it was a moment before she was able to ask: "What did you tell him?"
"That you had daughters and a strong husband. I told him you were a good girl."
The baby began to cry just then, and Teuta's father opened his eyes. Mother and daughter watched, sure that this was an omen. But he only stared at the ceiling for what seemed many minutes. Teuta moved toward him while her mother held tight to the children.
"Atë," she whispered. "It is me, Teuta."
He turned his head. His breath was hot and hard to come by, and his eyes were the color of a snow-sky over the mountains, flat and seemingly endless. But he did see one thing: the baby in his wife's arms.
"Boy?" he rasped.
Teuta shook her head. "Vajzë. A girl"
He closed his eyes. A tear seeped out of the corner, but did not fall. It hesitated as if it were looking for a way through the maze of the deep lines and wrinkles on the old man's face. Teuta wiped it away.
She didn't have the heart to tell him she was pregnant again.
2013
Josie tried to think ahead, but it wouldn't be a worthwhile exercise until she had coffee and a few hours of sleep. Still, one thought kept creeping into her mind and it was the worst-case scenario: Billy Zuni could be accused of murder. Josie had already been through that nightmare with Hannah and she didn't want to repeat it. Then again, it could be even worse than Billy being accused of murder; the boy might actually have committed murder. Either way, Billy would be in the mix of suspects until he was crossed off and that was just a fact.
Driving home, Josie called Faye who promised to come over and offer what counsel she could. The next call went out to Mira Costa high school. Josie filled in the horrified principal, asked her to check records for Billy's next of kin, and touch base with the school psychologist to see if there was any recent contact with the boy. Josie also advised that Hannah would be out for the day.
She parked the Jeep just as the news of the murders came on the radio. When she heard the names were being withheld until next of kin were notified, Josie got out of the car. She was dialing Archer as she went up the walk but disconnected when she opened the front door. Max was sitting in the entry beside a puddle of pee.
"Sorry, buddy," she said and ushered him outside. He slunk past her, tail hanging low. Josie let her hand trail over his back as he passed to let him know it was okay. Nobody could hold it forever.
By the time she mopped up the mess and got back to the patio, Max had his front paws on the low brick wall Josie had built. She planted her feet on either side of him, ruffled his ears, and wished she could have slept through that storm like he had.
"What do you say, Max? What in the heck happened last night?" She gave him a hug and took a minute to regroup.
Last night's storm had wreaked havoc on their corner of paradise. Tree branches and palm fronds littered the wide concrete walkway that led to the beach. Patio furniture had been overturned and the wind had blown screens off windows. The damage was a small price to pay for the good stuff the storm left behind.
The wind had pushed the smog out to sea, the rain had washed the street clean, and the day had broken sapphire bright. Everything sparkled under a brilliant but weak sun. That brilliance made Josie feel as if she could spread her arms and dip the fingers of one hand in the ocean while touching the snowcapped tops of the San Bernardino Mountains with the other. Life, in that moment, was incredibly simple – except that it wasn't.
Josie gave the dog a quick pat. He lowered himself to the ground and limped back toward the house. In the bright light, the grey hair around his snout glinted silver. The thought that there would be a day when she didn't have Max brought a lump to her throat. Josie couldn't imagine that future. Yet, when someone left your life – mother, friend, beloved pet – someone else moved in to fill the void. Josie's dad filled hers after her mother left and she filled Hannah's and Archer's. Josie wondered who would fill Billy's if Rosa Zuni died? She hoped it wasn't the government. If that was his only option, it might have been better if they left him in the sea.
Shaking off the sense of doom that had dogged her for the last hours, Josie went inside to fill Max's water bowl and food dish. When that was done, she rested her hands on the kitchen sink and hung her head to think what to do next.
"Hey there, Max. Jo?"
Archer's voice lifted her spirits. She walked into the dining room, put her hands against his chest and kissed him.
"I didn't expect to see you so soon."
"Disappointed?"
"Never."
Her arms went around his solid body as she rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. The chink in her armor – the one her kidnapping had exposed – was still there. Those awful days as a prisoner proved that as much as she wanted to believe that she was mistress of her own fate, she was not. It had been months since that horrible time, and yet her voice still wasn't as strong as it had been, her gaze still not quite as sharp, her decision making not as sure. But good things had come out of that time, too. Josie knew exactly what Archer meant to her now. She wanted to stand beside him, not behind or in front of him and she wanted Hannah there with both of them. The other good thing was that Archer wanted the same thing.
"You okay?" He pulled her closer. Josie's head dropped back and she grinned at him.
"How come you're so chirpy? I feel like a truck ran over me," she murmured.
"Wait until five. You'll have to scrape me off the pier and pour me into bed." He kissed her forehead, let her loose, and held up a bag. "Breakfast."
"A little late."
"Never too late for this."
"Burt's egg sandwich?" Josie laughed as she went to the kitchen. "I'll put the coffee on."
"Brought it with me. Full service." Archer called, and Josie did an about-face. "I brought some for Hannah, too."
"She's not here. She wanted to walk home."
"You told her what we found in Billy's house?"
&nb
sp; "I couldn't avoid it. Montoya showed up and kind of forced the issue. Billy wasn't conscious. I appreciate that he let me tell Hannah in my own time once he saw he wouldn't be questioning Billy."
That was all the explanation Archer needed. Mike Montoya, the sheriff's investigator who had questioned them at the scene was nobody's fool. Billy would be the first one he would want to talk to.
"He seemed like a good guy," Archer noted. "How did Hannah take it?"
"Hard." Josie leaned against the archway as they chatted.
"That doesn't surprise me." Archer tossed a sandwich her way. She caught it.
"Déjà vu all over again," Josie agreed. "She's convinced that the cops won't look at anyone but Billy. I dropped her near the bike path. The fresh air will be good for her."
"I'll feel better when she's home."
Archer dug into the bag again and took out the coffee cups. Josie smiled. How times changed. Nothing like a little near-death experience to pull folks together, even folks as disparate as Archer and Hannah. It was a pity that common ground had come so dearly; it was a blessing it had come at all.
"Can I move this?" Archer asked and pointed to the mess of paper that was on the dining room table.
"I'll get it."
Josie swept swatches and checklists into the huge sample book that had taken up space on the table for the last few months. She was about to close it when Archer took her hand and pulled her into his body, cupping her from behind. He used his free hand to turn the pages of the giant book, flipping one then another and another. Her short dark hair rubbed against his unshaven cheek. Archer turned back to the page that had originally been opened, and put his finger on the white card with the black type.
"That one," he said.
"Funny thing. That's the one I ordered."
"Great minds think alike." He kissed her behind the ear.
"We'll have them in a week."
"Cutting it close if the big event is at the end of the month," Archer noted.
"It's Hermosa Beach. You invite people to a party the night before and they show up," Josie reminded him.
The Witness Series Bundle Page 121