The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "Jo?" Archer gave her shoulders a squeeze. "You zoning out on us?"

  "No, I'm good," she answered. "You were saying, Montoya?"

  "I was just saying that the DEA checked out the story the American volunteer told Archer. The blood feud was confirmed. It's hard to imagine this kind of thing still goes on."

  "Italy has vendetta," Archer pointed out. "Gangs keep scorecards. The cartels just take out two for every one of theirs. This one was pretty radical, though, given that Isai was avenging a killing that took place almost fifty years ago. What I don't get is why he didn't go after Billy when he lived overseas?"

  "The feud rules are pretty specific. The male relative has to be at least nine years old. Billy's mother made the deal with Oi when Billy was eight. Arranged marriage was normal, Rosa was a beautiful young girl and there wasn't much time to get Billy out of the country. It seemed a win/win."

  "So what happened? Why didn't everyone live happily ever after?" Josie curled her legs under her and leaned against Archer.

  "Albania culture is steeped in a tradition where men are warriors. Oi's cross-dressing was too much for Rosa. She used her P.O. box like a safe deposit box. We found years of letters between her and her mother. It was pretty clear that the girl would rather die than live with Oi. It was also Rosa's job to protect her brother from everything. She couldn't allow him to live in Oi's house under those circumstances.

  "Oi probably never expected her to raise a fuss, but when Rosa ran away he felt guilty. He had failed family and in his culture that was not acceptable. His wife has receipts from a firm he hired to find Rosa and Billy. They found them, but they couldn't force her to go back to Oi. He let her live in one of the houses he owned, but she insisted on paying rent. He found her a couple of jobs, but finally she found her own job at Undies. There wasn't much more she could do without an education."

  "But how come Oi was in that house dressed up if Rosa didn't want anything to do with him?" Archer asked.

  "We can only speculate, but I assume Rosa was smart enough to know she needed a lifeline. When Oi told her Gjergy was here, he probably didn't know what to do. Kat Oi told us the dressing up was a comfort thing for him. Maybe Rosa was willing to let him act out because he was the only one who stood between Billy and Gjergy. If Oi hadn't been dressed the way he was, maybe things would have been different. Maybe he would have reached his gun and been able to fend off Lumina."

  "And Jac Duka?" Josie asked.

  "Ah, Duka." Mike was happy to tie up loose ends for his audience. "He told a friend that he thought Oi was going to make the shop non-union. He wanted to insure himself a place in the new organization. He and Oi had a meeting scheduled to talk about the contract vote, but plan's changed when Isai and Lumina came in. All we know is that Oi told Duka to meet him at Rosa's. He had no skin in the feud but he was Albanian. He probably wouldn't have tried to stop Isai, but Lumina says that Duka got nervous when he heard what was going on upstairs. Lumina couldn't believe he'd killed Oi, and when he thought Duka was coming after him he just reacted. That left the two men downstairs dead and a woman being slaughtered upstairs. Lumina couldn't take it, so he ran to his car. He saw Billy and Trey go in and was trying to decide what to do when they came running out with Gjergy Isai on their heels." Mike shook his head. "Crazier and crazier."

  "Rosa must have thought the inmates were running the asylum in this country when she saw Oi for what he really was," Josie mused. "Add to that having to be on your guard every second of every day. It's incredible she could put one foot in front of the other."

  Mike nodded. "Can you imagine people in this country taking on a life and death commitment for a relative?"

  "I'm not sure I could do it," Josie admitted, and then she asked the question no one had thought of. "Montoya, does Isai have family? I mean, we're thinking this is the end because Isai is dead, but what if one of that old man's relatives believes Billy killed him? Will someone else come to finish the job? Does this thing go on forever?"

  "I don't know. If it happened once, maybe it could happen again."

  "Then Billy's living under a death sentence," she said.

  "What about family court? Do they still want him?" Archer asked.

  "It's not for me to say, but there's a good chance they will if he turns up tomorrow. After he's eighteen the court won't pursue placement." Mike answered. "It's funny when you think about it. Our system is relentless when it comes making rules for minors. Then some artificial deadline is met and we wash our hands of them. It's as if they never existed."

  "And halfway around the world there might be people who won't ever let Billy off the hook. He has no choice but to live under the radar. What kind of life is that?" Josie muttered.

  A silence fell over the room as the three adults considered the unthinkable: Billy Zuni's young life balanced between an ancient, emotional death code and a cold, controlling, modern justice system. At least he had Hannah with him. Archer put his arm around Josie and said the words that needed to be said; the ones everyone wanted to believe.

  "Hannah and Billy will be fine. Right, Montoya?"

  "I have no doubt. Those two have proven to be impressively capable." Mike buttoned his jacket. "I guess that's about it."

  "What did you do with Sam Lumina?" Archer asked as they all got up.

  "He's charged with two counts of second-degree murder. Carl Newton would have preferred to prosecute someone for Rosa, but he can't stretch it to her."

  Archer and Josie walked him to the door, but before they got there Montoya's eyes were drawn to the painting over the fireplace.

  "That's beautiful."

  "It was a gift from Hannah. She painted it," Josie said.

  "She's very talented."

  Josie couldn't argue that. The picture had taken her breath away. She knew who the woman in the painting was the minute she lifted the sheet covering the canvas; she was a composite of Josie and Hannah. The note found on the easel was as beautiful as the painting. Never worry. I love you. I know you love me.

  "She's an amazing person, and so is Billy," Josie murmured.

  Mike cleared his throat. "I'll assume that you'll be available if my office has any more questions."

  "Always," Josie assured him as she opened the door.

  Mike stooped, picked up a box that had been left on the porch, and handed it to her. Josie's wedding invitations had arrived, and she held them close while the detective walked toward the gate. Josie called to him:

  "Montoya? Thanks for keeping an ear out for news about Hannah."

  "My pleasure. And I assume you'll let me know if you hear anything." Mike smiled. He saluted her and then added: "Oh, and congratulations on the wedding. Getting married was the best thing I ever did."

  With that he was gone. The day was ending and the house was too quiet. Archer took the box and put it on the hall table. He was about to close the door when he changed his mind, grabbed Max's leash, and said to Josie:

  "Come on. Let's take a walk."

  She didn't need to be asked twice. Josie put her arm around Archer's waist. He wrapped his around her shoulders, careful of the bruising at her neck. Max ambled along beside them as they walked to the beach.

  The rain was gone, and the sea was calm. The sun hung low on the horizon in a sling of purple, pink, and gold. Archer helped Josie over the low wall and then climbed over himself. They sat on the edge as Max rested his paws on the wall between them. Archer petted his head; Josie buried her hand in his fur. The minutes moved on. Josie cut her eyes toward Archer. He was staring straight on, thinking hard. She could feel those thoughts, and they were troubled. She had no idea how uneasy he was until he spoke.

  "I don't want to get married, Jo."

  Josie went cold. She was as blindsided by that statement as she had been by Gjergy Isai's attack. The only difference was that this hurt more. She didn't look at Archer; she couldn't look at him. He was not obligated to her and never had been. That didn
't mean Josie wanted this to be happening.

  "Okay," was the only word she could manage.

  "Don't you want to know why?" he asked.

  Tears came to her eyes. It was not like her to cry and it was not like her to beg. It was also not like Archer to be cruel, so she asked why knowing his answer would be reasonable. More the pity. She could debate a flawed premise.

  "Look at me, Jo. Please."

  Archer pushed Max down and put one big hand around the back of Josie's neck. The other one he rested on her cheek. She resisted, but finally she turned toward him. Archer's eyes roamed over her amazing face. There were tears beneath her lowered lashes; there were unspoken words on her trembling lips.

  "I have to find Hannah first," he said softly. "We can't get married without a witness."

  Archer kissed her brow and each of her eyes. When Josie's arms came around him, when she whispered 'thank you', and when her tears began to fall in earnest, Archer pulled her close and smiled even though no one could see.

  <<<<>>>>

  Find out more about Albanian blood feud:

  Telegraph.co.uk/Albanias-modern-day-blood-fueds

  Child victims of Albania's blood feuds | News.com.au

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  Turn the page to read FORGOTTEN WITNESS

  FORGOTTEN WITNESS

  Forgotten Witness

  E-book Edition

  Copyright © Rebecca Forster, 2013

  All rights reserved

  The ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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

  Annemaire Boehm-Forster

  my mom who inspires me in more ways than she'll ever know

  &

  Meriam Helen Czuleger

  my mother-in-law who is greatly missed

  Special Thanks to:

  Stephen Kyle (English Steve) and Ian Francis (and daughter Amelia's sleepless nights) for providing fertile ground for my imagination. I'm honored that you allowed me to channel the core of your marvelous persons into the two heroes of this novel, with liberal creative license.

  Jenny Jensen, my muse and incredible story editor who understands my vision before I do.

  Bruce Raterink for your unfailing confidence, superb eye, amazing brain, and way too cheery attitude.

  Marianne Donley and Sandra Paul, novelists whose opinions I respect and friendship I cherish.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Some writers find inspiration in their hearts, some in their souls, and some because they are inquisitive. I am the latter. I truly believe that nothing I can imagine is stranger than what happens in real life. Whether it was a child being tried as an adult for murder (Hostile Witness) or a blood feud impacting the lives of Josie, Hannah, and Archer (Eyewitness), I build my stories on real legal, social, or emotional foundations. Forgotten Witness is no different. I was challenged and inspired by recent science, politics, and modern history. This was a fascinating book to write; I hope it is an entertaining one to read.

  CHAPTER 1

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  In his State of the Union address, President Obama cited brain research as an example of how the government should "invest in the best ideas," one of which was brain mapping. The details are not final, and it is not clear how much federal money would be proposed or approved for the project in a time of fiscal constraint or how far the research would be able to get without significant federal financing. – Los Angeles Times

  ***

  Can't get you off my mind. Wish I was there. Give 'em hell today. Stay warm. – Voice message from Archer to Josie

  "I see that we are coming upon the three o'clock hour. I would like to thank the new members of the Foreign Relations Committee – Senators Johnson, Klupec, Garner and Abel – for sitting in before their confirmation to this esteemed body.

  "I would also like to thank those who have come so far to testify here today. A rise in factional tensions in Eastern Europe has been the focus of this committee for some time now. While our State Department has kept us apprised of their diplomatic efforts, we are cognizant of the fact that our citizens can also be affected adversely in their everyday lives by world events. To that end, it is the charge of this committee to be aware and proactive. . ."

  With that, Josie Bates zoned out.

  Senator Ambrose 'Pat' Patriota, lion of the senate, White House bound unless the electorate suddenly turned fickle, and chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee of the United States Senate was doing exactly what everyone in a position of power did when they wanted to reaffirm their importance: they pandered for the cameras, the record, and the public. For the most part, Ambrose Patriota had a rapt audience. Anyone who bothered to glance Josie's way would assume she was also spellbound by his rhetoric.

  Those people would be wrong.

  Josie was doing what every good lawyer did when cross-examinations, opening statements, and testimony dragged on: filtering and compartmentalizing information and tagging buzzwords. It was a skill that allowed her to react appropriately on a moment's notice and appear as if she had hung on every word opposing counsel uttered. At this point she doubted she would be called upon to respond to anything, but old habits die hard.

  She had spent two days in this marble-floored room staring at the carved, curved, gleaming walnut bench that could accommodate fifteen senators. That bench sat on a dais wide enough and long enough for three times as many aides. Before she was invited to Washington, Josie assumed a chamber like this would be cavernous. In reality it was cramped and utilitarian, the human equivalent of an ant farm. The only difference was that not all these humans were engaged in work of any discernable value whereas ants labored selflessly for the good of the colony.

  She, however, had done what she had come to do: testify about her experience with Eastern European cultural justice and the terror it had wreaked upon Hannah Sheraton and Billy Zuni, Archer and her. Sitting on a hard chair at a long table, Josie spoke into the microphone in front of her and tried to ignore the phalanx of photographers crouched on the floor between her and the committee. She had been the last of three witnesses and the least interesting. The Albanian girl who had been trafficked at the age of fourteen and rescued by the pastor of a local church was the star of the day. She spoke about her ordeal in halting English that made her tale even more poignant. Now twenty, she was a poised, brave, and exotically beautiful young woman who was in college and studying to become a psychologist. Taking second place was a Serbian immigrant who had built a solid business in the U.S. only to suffer economically and personally at the hands of Eastern European organized crime. The photographers had salivated when he held up a fingerless hand and told of the nightmarish extortion and torture committed against him. His adult son sat behind his father, wiping away tears as the older man spoke.

  Josie pulled up the rear, telling the senators about Gjergy Isai and the ancient code of justice that cost three people their lives in Hermosa Beach and put her ward, Hannah, and Hannah's friend, Billy, on the run. Josie had told the senators of the one phone call she received, a message from Hannah reassuring her that they were alive. She was a smart girl
and had called in the dead of night, leaving a message on the office machine, unwilling to hear Josie's voice for fear it would draw her home before it was truly safe to come back. Josie told the committee of the very real threat that others from the Isai clan would come for Billy and that the cycle of retribution would be never ending unless they intervened. Sadly, without Hannah and Billy, without pictures, without wounds, Josie's urging of reconciliation of ancient laws with modern justice made little impact.

  "And lastly, we want to thank Ms. Bates for coming all the way from California to enlighten us about the very real threat stemming from Albanian cultural justice known as blood feud, a practice that both the Catholic Church and Albanian government have denounced. . ."

  Josie acknowledged the recognition with a slight inclination of her head. In turn, Senator Patriota graced her with the kind of smile one might give an old friend. That was a good trick since they had never met. Minions had orchestrated this event and lavished attention on the witnesses in an effort to make them forget that the man in charge hadn't even so much as shaken their hands. Now he owned a piece of them. Their stories, their pictures, and their sworn statements were in the public record. Josie had no doubt that all of it would be used in Patriota's upcoming campaign. Washington was a well-ordered machine when it wanted to be.

  Then Josie's attention was caught by something other than Senator Patriota's acknowledgement, and it wasn't the first time it had happened during the proceedings. For the last hour she had been the object of someone's scrutiny. Now, as the hearing came to a close, her sense of unease intensified.

  She cut her eyes left and scanned the people standing against the wall. She looked right and did the same. No one showed any particular interest in her. She resisted the urge to look behind her, to look people in the eye and see if they suddenly averted theirs. Instead, she rubbed the nape of her neck, working out a kink as she tried to convince herself that she was simply tired. Away from the beach, the sun, and the surf she was the proverbial fish out of water. As beautiful as fall was in the nation's capitol the chill in the air, the weight of her coat, the gloves in her pocket made her itch for Hermosa Beach. She was also aware that the memories of her kidnapping and imprisonment in a cement hut could blindside her and paralyze her when she least expected it.