The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "Apples and oranges, Ms. Bates. These folks, the ones who burst in looking like they haven't slept or eaten for days because they are so consumed with the import of what they alone know, have only nonsense and noise to offer. That detracts from the real business of our government."

  "Which is what?"

  "To maintain and protect the state. It is not about the individual, Ms. Bates. If it were, we would spend our careers ineffectual, broken hearted, and despairing."

  Suddenly he smiled broadly and the effect was nothing short of glorious. Again, Josie was stung by the idea that she had known him. Before she could grasp the memory, he maneuvered the conversation toward a conclusion.

  "You've drawn me in, Ms. Bates. If we had all the time in the world we would debate the purpose of the constitution, the intent of the founding fathers, individual freedoms versus the good of the whole. But we don't have that time and we are really only talking about a slight ruckus." Patriota touched the arm of the couch as if assuring her that they were friends again. "You're far too young to have had enough experience to accept the fact that almost all things truly are what they seem."

  "That's cynical, Senator," Josie suggested.

  "No, no, no." He sat back again, waggling his finger. "That is an honest assessment and an efficient use of both my brain and my time. But that doesn't–" The office door opened, interrupting him. "Ah, our debate is about to be settled. Eugene. What news have you brought us?"

  Josie looked over her shoulder. Sounds of a busy office skittered through the open door only to be silenced when Eugene Weller closed it again.

  "Everything is taken care of, Senator." Eugene paused beside Josie and shook her hand. "Eugene Weller, Ms. Bates. Senator Patriota's chief of staff."

  Josie took his hand thinking he looked a bit like a Wyeth painting. Eugene Weller could have been the corner grocer, the town pharmacist, or an insurance salesman were it not for his well-cut suit and obvious influence.

  "Eugene is one of the most competent staffers you will find on the hill," the Senator announced proudly. "I hope he is also the most loyal."

  "Always, Senator."

  Eugene slid his hand from Josie's grasp. His palm was moist; his smile disappeared too quickly. The man was not as confident in his position as Ambrose Patriota gave him credit for.

  "Eugene is quite modest. I know ten senators who would steal him away from me given half a chance. Luckily, this is government and no one can entice him with more money. Though I fail to see why he hasn't fled to the private sector. With what he knows about the goings on here he could command quite a salary and probably add to it with a few bribes to keep him silent. Isn't that so, Eugene?"

  "I'll write a book someday, Senator," Eugene answered.

  "You'll wait until I'm dead and buried, I hope," Patriota countered. "So, tell us what you have found out."

  "The gentleman's name is Ian Francis, sir." Eugene paused as if waiting for a reaction. None was forthcoming. "He holds a Canadian and American passport. He worked as a consultant to the Defense Department at one time and he was a professor at Texas A & M many years ago. Mr. Francis is not drunk. He is confused. It appears he has fallen on hard times and, perhaps, suffers to some degree from mental illness."

  "Drugs?" Patriota asked.

  "No. Nothing was found on him."

  "Weapons?"

  "No, sir. He had a senate pass. It had not been renewed since the early nineties but security sent him through. A misunderstanding," Eugene assured him.

  "You see. It is as I said." Patriota was pleased.

  "But did you ask specifically about me or Hannah?" Josie pressed.

  "I'm sorry, I don't have anything more to tell you."

  Josie was fully aware that his was a non-answer but there was no time to pursue it further. The senator planted his palms on the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. He buttoned his jacket. They were done.

  "There. Taken care of. I believe there is a reception where we are expected. A small thank you to those who have put themselves out to enlighten us."

  "You'll only be able to stay ten minutes, sir." Eugene moved in on Patriota. "This has set you back twenty on the schedule and you're due at–"

  "We'll make it. We always do, Eugene." His attention turned to Josie. "It was delightful to spend time with you. Shall we?"

  But Josie still sat, looking intently at Patriota as he stood over her. She got to her feet slowly.

  "Senator, I have to ask. Have we met before?"

  "I'm sure I would have remembered."

  He stepped back and swept his hand toward the door. When she hesitated, when it seemed she would press the matter, Eugene Weller held her coat out.

  "Perhaps I could talk to Mr. Francis," she suggested as she took it. "If you could get me to your security offices, I'll take it from there."

  "I'm afraid that's not possible," Eugene answered. "Protocol is being followed. And, of course, we must be concerned with Mr. Francis' rights. You are a guest of Senator Patriota and have no official capacity here."

  They moved in unison, Eugene holding open the door of the senator's inner sanctum. Patriota went first. Josie followed only to take one step back for the two she had taken forward.

  "What will your people do with him?" she asked Eugene.

  "If everything checks out, he'll be escorted out of the building. His pass will be revoked."

  "Will they take him out the front of the building?" Josie prodded.

  "We leave those decisions to security."

  Eugene muttered an apology and went around her, quickening his step so that he could beat Patriota to the doors that lead out into the main hall. Josie admired the choreography and the dodge. She had no choice but to follow them. In the hall, the senator shook her hand once more and took his leave easily. He wouldn't remember her name in another ten minutes but in that moment she was the focus of his attention.

  "It has been a pleasure, Ms. Bates. I do hope that Hannah will find her way safely home."

  "I intend to see that she does," Josie answered.

  "I doubt there isn't much you want that you don't manage to get," Ambrose said.

  "That is a true statement, Senator."

  "You see, even politicians tell the truth once in a while. I will keep you in my prayers. We will do what we can."

  Josie took his prayers and his promise with a grain of salt. She didn't need either. Government's wheels turned too slowly to help and if God were smart he would watch over Hannah like a hawk. If he didn't, Josie would make sure there was hell to pay even in heaven.

  The senator withdrew his hand but Josie clasped his in both of hers, feeling the need to keep him close. For the first time, Patriota seemed to see her in all her complexity. There was something in his expression – something so fleeting Josie would be hard pressed to describe it – that told her she was not imagining this nagging deja vu. But he was impatient so she said the first thing that came to mind in order to keep the dialogue going.

  "I could help that man."

  Ambrose Patriota's countenance turned brittle. Like a children's game, his left hand came atop hers. The senator, she was sure, always made sure his hand was on top. It was that person who made the rules and dominated the play. With a slow smile, he let her go.

  "Security will do anything that is necessary. Isn't that correct, Eugene?"

  "Of course, Senator." Eugene didn't so much as blink but Josie could feel his distaste for her.

  "And we would provide him with counsel licensed to practice in the District, should he need it," Ambrose went on.

  "Advocacy is advocacy," Josie countered. "And it doesn't have to be in a professional capacity."

  "So it is. In Washington, though, that word takes on a new meaning. We must protect the government and those who make it work."

  "My mistake, I thought government existed to protect the people by whose grace it stands," Josie responded lightly, but there was no m
istaking her meaning.

  "I love a woman with a quick mouth," Patriota said.

  "I believe that's quick wit, Senator," Eugene Weller suggested.

  The senator looked Eugene up and down, seeming to lament the man's lack of it.

  "English is my second language. I sometimes confuse words. Thank goodness Eugene is here to watch over me. And now, the time. I'm afraid Eugene was right. We will have to miss the reception."

  He put one a hand on Eugene's shoulder and pointed to a young woman coming down the hall with the other.

  "There is Sarah going back to the office. Sarah," he called out. "Will you be kind enough to escort Ms. Bates to the reception? You know where it is?"

  "Yes, sir. This way."

  Sarah waited, hand outstretched but Josie didn't take her up on the invitation. She was looking after the senator and his chief of staff as they walked away. Finally Sarah grew impatient, so Josie relented and went with her to the reception room even though all she really wanted to do was go home. She was tired of the cold and of people who thought outside was the distasteful corridor that connected one government building with the next.

  Behind them Ambrose and Eugene walked and talked. Just before they turned a corner, Patriota looked back at Josie's retreating figure. Eugene followed his gaze to see what had caught his boss's interest.

  "Don't worry, Senator. She's scheduled for the red eye."

  "Eugene, if I were to worry about everyone like her I would have been in my grave long ago."

  CHAPTER 4

  "No. No, they aren't taking it seriously." – Josie

  "Do you want me to see what I can find on this guy?" – Archer

  "I've got a few hours before I have to be at the airport. I'll check him out." – Josie

  "I got a call from the trucker who saw the flyer on the kids. He says he picked Hannah and Billy up and dropped them up north near Sanger. I figure they're headed to San Francisco. After you get home, I'll head out that way." – Archer

  "You should go now."- Josie

  "Not a chance. Max and I have a homecoming planned." – Archer

  "It will be late."- Josie

  "But you'll be home." – Archer

  "Unless I find Hannah here." – Josie

  "Up north is a better bet. I picked up your mail." – Archer

  "Anything urgent?" – Josie

  "You got a letter from Chowchilla." – Archer

  "Great." – Josie

  "You want me to open it?" – Archer

  "Or burn it." – Josie

  "How about I open it and then burn it? Just in case." – Archer

  "Whatever. Linda and I have nothing to talk about." – Josie

  "I'll take care of it, babe." – Archer

  "Thanks. See you soon." – Josie

  "Not soon enough." – Archer

  Josie lingered exactly two minutes after she hung up with Archer and then she opened the door of the reception room, walked into the hall, and out of the building. She left behind the other two witnesses, their families, Patriota's staffers, and various hangers-on who drank cheap wine while nibbling cheese cubes and celery sticks. If any of the people in that room could have brought Hannah back home Josie would have nibbled cheese cubes until she turned orange. Since they couldn't, she took off to find a private place to check out the one lead she had; the one she hadn't mentioned to anyone.

  By the time she got outside the day chill had turned to night cold. She walked a few blocks with her coat collar turned up and gloved hands pushed into her deep pockets. A breeze ruffled her hair, the cold stung her nose and made her eyes tear. Despite the weather and her worry and her homesickness, Josie was not immune to the majesty of Washington D.C. One could not help but be inspired in this city of symbols and monuments to war and sacrifice, freedom, justice, and determination against all odds. From where she stood the White House looked otherworldly, lit up as it was against a blue/black sky. The Washington Monument watched over the National Mall. A wise and weary stone Lincoln sat in perpetual contemplation. The black wall of the Viet Nam Memorial glistened, the names of the fallen etched in ghostly white on Death's marble ledger.

  It was October. Thanksgiving would come too soon and Christmas on the heels of that. Time was running away with her and even the inspiration to courage and wisdom that this city offered could not erase the emptiness she felt. Josie would never despair of finding Hannah, but she was sad that the future wasn't clearer. Archer admitted that the trail he followed was sometimes more intuition than anything else and that Hannah was proving more resourceful than he expected. He conceded that they might have to wait for the girl to come home in her own good time. Josie had been ready to accept that until now.

  She wiped at her eyes, shook off her self-pity, and let her melancholy go on the fog of her breath. Longing for something was never productive. If it were, her mother would have come back long ago.

  Josie walked until government buildings gave way to restaurants and stores. Those melted into brownstone neighborhoods and then apartments. Soon she would be out of the mainstream altogether. She paused to look at a menu posted in a restaurant window but the place was too lively for her to concentrate properly. She had already checked out of her hotel, but her bag was still there. She could work in the lobby while she waited for the shuttle, yet for some reason she didn't want to be predictable. Josie settled on the familiar and walked into the first Starbucks she came upon. Grateful for the blast of warmth, she peeled off her gloves, unbuttoned her coat, and waited in line.

  "Coffee," she ordered when she reached the counter.

  "Just coffee?" The barista seemed disappointed.

  Moments later, Josie's coat was draped over a chair at a table in the back corner of the L-shaped room. The coffee was good, her phone was charged. She took a drink and then Googled Ian Frances.

  The first page listings brought up a racehorse's website, a few guys who had written novels, an artist in Australia, and a reference asking her if she meant Francis of Assisi. She cleared the phone and typed again: Ian Francis.

  More authors.

  She typed Ian Francis, Canada. She got a haberdasher and a mathematician.

  The next time she tried Ian Francis, A&M University and found what she was looking for. Ian Francis was a professor of forensic neurology and imbedded in the article Josie found was a formal headshot showing a much younger and very much healthier man. He was intelligently posed, his gaze honest, and his demeanor temperate. The accompanying article was dated 1981 and entitled Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Neural Functioning. She found references to his published writings in 1978, 1983, 1989, and 1994. That didn't mean other information didn't exist, it only meant she was eager to get on with the real task at hand. Josie took the thing Ian Francis had thrust into her hands out of her pocket before it burned a hole through it.

  It was a piece of white plastic, cylindrically rolled and secured with a thick blue rubber band. It was no bigger than a stogie and wrapped with origami precision. She ran her fingers up and down the length. She couldn't feel anything inside; there were no wires along the skin and there was no discernible smell. She peeled off the rubber band. The plastic was so tightly wrapped that it didn't immediately come apart. She picked at the triangular end with her nail, unrolled it, paused to pull out the folded ends, and rolled again.

  When she was done, Josie was staring at a cheap plastic bag measuring five-by-eight and heat-stamped with the crude image of a tall building of no particular architecture. There were no words, numbers, or symbols on the outside but she could clearly see that there were things inside so she opened the bag. It yielded a very small clear plastic bag of white powder with a numeric code written on it, a lock of hair wrapped round with yellowing scotch tape, and a little torpedo of rolled paper.

  As much as Josie would have liked to think the lock of hair was at least proof of Hannah, she knew it was not. Hannah had shaved her head before she spirited Billy out
of the hospital. This hair was smooth and chestnut colored, not black and curled and kinked like Hannah's. This was something a mother kept of a child or a man kept of his lover. These things made no sense and yet the man's voice rang clearly in her head. He was so sure; so specific.

  I know where she is.

  He had forced this package into her hands with purpose.

  I know where she is.

  For one brief moment there had been a spark of relief in his eyes. That was why she believed in him. She believed because he had worked so hard to get to her. She believed in Ian Francis because he was all she had.

  Josie picked up the cigarette roll of paper.

  There was a fringe of chads on one side as if it had been torn from the spirals of small notebook. A rubber band was wrapped around this, too, but it was delicate, fraying in places, and wound like a Cat's Cradle. The minute she touched it the thing disintegrated. It was a little bit like her hopes that Hannah would be found.

  ***

  Ian Francis walked down the street, his arms ridged by his side, palms flat against his thighs, his steps minced, and his gaze fixed. His thoughts were surprisingly clear: he was angry with himself for being clumsy. He had frightened that woman. That was the last thing he wanted and the last thing he remembered.

  Ian stopped, his interest suddenly caught by the reflection of a man in a window. Two times he did this and the second time he touched the glass. When he understood that this was his own reflection, his chest grabbed and his heart hurt. How had he come to this? He was pathetic. He paused a third time at a boarded up store and this time he peered through wooden slats covering dirty glass to see if he was any better. He wasn't. Ian clenched his jaw tight to keep from crying out in shame.

  He moved on again and then Ian stopped for a final time. In this window he looked past his reflection at the mannequins dressed in cheap and unattractive clothes. A tear came to his eye. He shuffled forward by an inch and another and put his nose against the cold glass. He forgot everything as he looked at the dark haired woman made of plaster. Her face was turned upward. He could see the joint where her head was attached to her neck. One arm dangled longer than the other. She had no shoes. Her feet had no toes.