The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "Well, half of us aren't," Michael muttered and made a mental note to change the announcement. The machine beeped. There was a hiccup and then he heard:

  "Michael. It's Sheila. Do you have The Post from a few days ago? Look at page–"

  Michael Horn forgot the burger, his fries, and his greasy fingers and picked up the phone.

  "Sheila. Don't hang up."

  "I'm glad you're there," she said. "Are you still getting The Post?"

  "I am. I just haven't looked at it lately. I've been busy. Hold on." He put her on speaker as he rummaged through the newspapers that were stacked on the chair at the far end of the table. "Can you hear me?"

  "Yes. Find the tenth."

  "Got it," he called.

  "Page thirty-six. It's buried; only a few lines. Headline is: Robert Lee Suicide." Sheila said.

  "I've got it." Michael switched on the overhead light and shook out the paper and read:

  "The Metropolitan Police Department responded to a nine-one-one call on Wednesday night when a resident of The Robert Lee Hotel jumped to his death. Officer Morgan of the Capitol Police was also on scene. He confirmed that earlier in the day the victim had been detained after disrupting a Senate hearing presided over by Senator Ambrose Patriota. The man, Ian Francis, was an expert in forensic neurology who, at one time, worked for the Department of Defense. One witness, Josie Bates of Hermosa Beach, California, was questioned at the scene and released. Anyone with information regarding relatives of Ian Francis is asked to call Officer Morgan."

  "That's it," Sheila said.

  "Thanks. Anything else?"

  "No, Ernie's home soon. You know how he feels about this," Sheila said. "He's so worried we're going to get in trouble especially with the NSA stuff going on."

  "He shouldn't worry. We're small fish," Michael assured her.

  "That's what I tell him, but you know how it is. Can you believe it? Ian Francis, the little twerp. I thought he was in hell a long time ago," Sheila said.

  "He is now."

  There wasn't much more to say after that. Michael heard the click on the other end of the line. He tossed aside the newspaper and sat down in front of the larger of the two computers he had at the end of the table. He typed out a note to the lawyers telling them about the death notice but held off asking them to research. It was costing a fortune to see this thing through and Michael could do the preliminaries as well as they could. He would hand it over when he had as much information as he could get.

  "We're closing in, grandpa. Yes, we are. This is just too good."

  Michael was grinning when he stood up and gave his grandfather's picture a wink. Then his smile faded. He was talking to a dead man while he stood in an empty house.

  ***

  "Anuhea! Cool and Fragrant. That's what her name means. No people on earth have names like the Hawaiians do. Pure poetry."

  Stephen Kyle pointed to a young girl lounging on a rattan sofa petting a Siamese cat. She looked at Josie with beautiful dark eyes that registered no surprise at either her presence or her appearance.

  "Aloha." The girl said. The cat purred.

  Like a dust devil, all whirling motion, kicking up dirt and sand along his narrow path, Stephen went on to the next woman.

  "And this is Aolani. Her name means heavenly cloud. Their mother named them well." An identical girl sat at a table reading. She looked up and graced Stephen with a lovely smile and raised her head so that he could plant a kiss in the middle of her brow.

  "Aolani is studying to be a nurse. And a fine one you'll be. Who wouldn't want a heavenly cloud by their bedside? Who, I ask you? We must find a Hawaiian name for you, Josie."

  "I think I'll stick with the name I've got–" Josie began, fully intending to cut this hospitality short but the man wasn't done.

  "Ah, and there's Malia. That means beloved. Not by me, of course," Stephen guffawed. "Far too young, even though she adores me. Don't you, dear thing?"

  "You betcha," Malia said just before she disappeared into the back of the house.

  "She's not Hawaiian, you know." Stephen offered this aside confidentially.

  "The Brooklyn accent was a dead giveaway," Josie assured him.

  "A good ear you have. Puerto Rican. Her real name is Maria, but you put a grass skirt on her and crown of flowers and she's Malia, beloved of the gods of Hawaii, arrived on this earth on the back of the great turtle or some such. Drink?"

  Josie smiled because it was hard not to. She had slept in the back of the truck despite, or because of, Stephen Kyle's singing. It had taken her a few minutes to ground herself after she woke up. Now here she was, a guest of an English Mad Hatter in a tropical rabbit hole. Still, there were worse places to be than this house and were it not for Stephen Kyle she would be walking the road from Hana.

  "There's a bathroom over there for you to wash up. You'll feel so much better if you do. Glad you're dried out. Anuhea." Stephen called to the reclining girl who looked at him with a smile. "Could you get Josie here a shirt from the cabinet and see if you can find a pair of flip-flops from the shipment that was going over to the Royal Lahaina?" To Josie: "I'm thinking you wear a nine? Yes?"

  "Yes, I'd be grateful for the flip-flops, but I'm good with my shirt. I'll change when I get to the hotel."

  "Suit yourself, darling. Off you go."

  Ten minutes later she was back and renewed. The flip-flops outside the bathroom door were orange with pineapple shaped jewels on top. She put her muddied sandals and purse by the front door. When she got back, the girls were where she had left them and Stephen was behind a Tiki bar. The wood was dark and the front was covered in rattan. Josie had seen one like it at a vintage shop on Pacific Coast Highway and the store was asking a pretty penny for it. This one was longer and in better condition.

  "This is amazing." She slid onto a bar stool and ran her hand along the smooth, dark wood.

  "Koa wood; the most precious of all precious woods; the revered tree of the gods. It's ancient. The tree is protected now. This was a doorway in King Kamaiama's palace. I came to it by a trade from the man who was the son of the man who carved the piece out of an ancient tree. What will you have?"

  "Do you have a beer?" she asked, marveling at how long he could speak without a breath.

  "We have whatever your heart desires."

  Stephen grabbed two glasses, uniquely fashioned with thick rounded bottoms, an air bubble floating inside. Next came a glass decanter blown by the same artist. He popped the stopper and Josie smelled the distinctive scent of Scotch whiskey. He poured and pushed one glass toward Josie.

  "Fine stuff."

  She was about to decline when he reached below the bar and came up with an ice-cold bottle of beer, twisted the cap and set it in front of her. That was followed by a can of Macadamia nuts.

  "There you have it. What you want: a beer. What you don't think you want but you really should want: my very best scotch. And what you need: sustenance." He drew up a stool opposite her, picked up his glass and toasted: "To your health and the health of every beautiful woman who walks the earth."

  Josie picked up the scotch and touched his glass. They grinned at one another. It was a better start than their first one. He took a drink, smacked his lips, and looked directly at her.

  "Now, in all seriousness. Are you well, or do I need to call for a physician?" Stephen asked.

  "I'm good, really. I'll be a little sore tomorrow," Josie answered. "And I do appreciate the help."

  "Least I could do." He downed another generous portion of his drink. "I've got a tow going out to where you went over. We'll get it all sorted out, but I'm not sure you should get back on the road. Wouldn't want you to hit anyone else." Before Josie could point out that she believed he hit her, Stephen called: "Anuhea. Aolani. Get your lovely arses in gear, darlings. The show starts early tonight. You must dance as never before."

  "It's raining, Stephen," Anuhea complained sweetly.

 
; "It won't be when the curtain goes up. Go on, now, sweeties." He shooed them away, continuing his discourse seamlessly with Josie. "You get to know the weather patterns. I can tell to within ten minutes when it will clear. Not many can do that. And, you, where do you hail from?"

  "Hermosa Beach. It's a small town in Southern California."

  "Ah, I'm not a fan of Los Angeles, but I do like Big Sur. Lovely place."

  "You've never seen Hermosa. You wouldn't even know it was close to L.A.," Josie said and took a sip of her beer. "Look, I appreciate your hospitality and your help with the car, but I really need to get back to my hotel. It looks like you and your ladies have some plans tonight, so if you could call me a cab I'd appreciate it."

  "You're here alone? No husband waiting for you?" Stephen raised a brow.

  "Not with me. My fiancé is in California. "

  "Pity you're spoken for. He should have bought you a big diamond so the rest of us know you're taken."

  "I'll wait for the gold band."

  "Are you a darling angel from heaven? No diamonds and you're still faithful to the bloke? I hope he knows how lucky he is."

  One of the girls stuck her head out from the hall and asked Stephen if they were working with the fire sticks that night. He answered in the negative and she disappeared once more.

  "Do you let all your employees live with you?" Josie asked.

  "I'd never let an employee live here! Those are my protégées who also happen to work for me. They are amazing girls and each of them needed just a little leg up." He spoke fondly of the twins. "Their father worked for me. Fine man. When he passed away, he asked me to watch over them. No hardship since they are good girls and lovely as you can see. And Malia, my tough little bird? She had a sad life, but a great heart. I can afford to help out, so why not? Sadly, each will be off in their own good time." He grinned at Josie. "Ah, I'm going on. What was it I had my mind set to do?"

  "A cab?" Josie reminded him.

  "Nonsense," he answered. "We'll drop you on the way. Where are you staying?"

  "The Grand Wailea."

  "Perfect. We're showing at the Four Seasons and that's right next door. Meanwhile, Shall I entertain you with a little Keoloko hospitality?"

  "I doubt I have a choice," she laughed.

  "Right you are," Stephen answered.

  Josie didn't mind. There were worse places to be. When she had first stepped out of the truck and seen the overgrowth and the rickety fence, she had assumed she would find a modestly livable place but Stephen Kyle's house was an island palace. Behind the bamboo stands and bushes, behind that rickety fence, was an exquisite home made of glass and wood, furnished comfortably and elegantly. There was art on the walls, statues in niches, books on the low table. It was clear that Stephen loved his house and that made Josie homesick for hers.

  "So you probably want to know about me," Stephen bellowed, making this a statement rather than a question.

  When Josie looked up all she saw was his grin. All she heard was his bark for attention. She missed the kindness and curiosity behind his eyes.

  "Or, perhaps you'd like to say a little something about yourself. What brings you to Hawaii looking like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders? It's not divorce since you haven't even tied the knot yet. One last fling, perhaps? If so, then I am your man, indeed."

  Josie shook her head. "I was looking for someone. I thought she'd be here in Maui. She isn't."

  "It's a small place," Stephen said. "What's her name?"

  "Hannah Sheraton."

  "Anything more?"

  "She just turned seventeen," Josie answered, reluctant to give this man too much information. Nice as he appeared to be, she had no desire to be steamrolled by his good intentions. Stephen raised his chin. He pursed his lips. Josie took a drink of her beer and listened to him wax poetic.

  "Ah, a runaway. A boy is involved, more than likely. Romeo and Juliette?" He raised his glass, emptying it in between inventing his fiction. When he was done, he revised his story. "No, an older man. That's it! You're the mum on the hunt. I see it, of course. Terrible stuff. Terrible."

  Josie took a handful of nuts and resisted the urge to point out that he was of a certain age and sharing his house with three young girls.

  "I'm not her mother. I'm her guardian. It's a long, complicated story that is almost unbelievable. This girl is incredibly resourceful and she's scared, but she would never admit it. She is probably with a boy. His name is Billy Zuni. If they're together it's better than if they're apart," she said. "It would all be absurdly ridiculous except that it's very serious."

  "Truth is often hidden under a mountain of ridiculousness. You just have to know where to put your hand in the pile of manure to find it."

  Stephen raised his glass again only to stare sadly into the abyss when he saw there was nothing left but ice. Josie noted the pinky ring. There was no stone and no engraved initial, just an exquisitely fashioned oval of gold. At his throat was a necklace of Puka shells, on his right wrist a stack of braided leather. His nails were manicured. He was master of all he surveyed. He put the glass on the bar and splayed his free hand on the wood.

  "I haven't heard of anyone by that name on the island."

  "Do you know everyone on Maui?" Josie asked.

  "I do," he answered. "If by some chance I have forgotten who someone is, they know me." Then he changed again, the happy host was back as Aolani emerged from the back room. "Isn't that so my darling? Is there a soul I don't know on Maui?"

  Josie looked as Aolani came back in the room. A crown of flowers circled her head and sat low over her brow. She wore a long skirt but carried a grass one. Her midriff was bare and buff and under her open work shirt she wore a bra made of fake coconut shells. She looked into a mirror framed by pink shells as she adjusted the straps on her costume but she spoke to Josie's reflection.

  "Yes, it is true. Everyone knows Stephen."

  "There you have it," Stephen cried. "If I haven't heard of Hannah coming to the island, then she hasn't. The question is why do you think she has?"

  Josie pushed aside her drink, got off the stool and went to the front door. When she came back, she had the luggage tags that she had carried from Washington.

  "I took these off the suitcase of a man who said he knew where she was. I was able to track the flight number on this one from Maui to Los Angeles and on to Washington, D.C., so I reversed the process and here I am."

  "That is a trek for sure," Stephen muttered as he took the tag.

  "This man went all that way to find me to tell me about her." Josie got back on the barstool.

  "Then why didn't he tell you exactly where she was?"

  "Because he killed himself first."

  Stephen's eyes flicked up. She offered a little shrug that seemed to say 'how about that'. He responded with: "I hope you don't have that affect on all the men you meet."

  "He's the first one. I don't think you have to worry." She handed him the second tag. "This was on the case, too. I went to that street but there's no such address. I was headed back to Lahaina when you ran into me."

  Before Stephen could respond, Anuhea wandered out dressed in a short, sky blue sarong. Anklets of flowers were fastened above her bare feet. Stephen looked up.

  "Lovely, Anuhea. That's a good girl. Where's Malia?"

  "She's coming, Stephen."

  "Excellent," he answered offhandedly, distracted by what Josie had given him. "You are right about one thing. The address doesn't exist because this isn't a house on a road and that is not a house number. This place isn't even on Maui. I know what it is. I know where it is. I do, indeed."

  But Josie wasn't listening. She was looking at Malia who was ready for work. She carried a grass skirt and a crown of flowers but she wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt the color of sherbet, emblazoned with cheap silkscreen in a riot of island flora. Josie had seen the same shirt in a freezing hotel room in Washington D.C. Bu
t this one was newer and there was a part of the design Josie had not seen before. Woven into the design was one word: Keoloko.

  She was in the right place.

  ***

  To the casual observer, Officer Morgan was a pretty simple man. He got a haircut every six weeks, he shined his shoes every night, he and the missus messed around on Saturdays and sometimes they didn't even wait for the sun to go down. He had planned for his retirement and had a nice nest egg, not to mention the pension that twenty years as a government cop earned him. He had a son in Alaska and they were on good but not close terms. He played cards with a group of guys who he called his brothers. It would seem Morgan was living the dream.

  To anyone who knew him well, and pretty much that was limited to his wife who was a saint, Officer Morgan was not a simple man. He often thought deep thoughts. He wondered about life, death, right, and wrong. What he was wondering about as he sat behind his desk was the envelope that held the possessions of one Ian Francis. Deceased. Dead as a doornail. Pitiful in his last moments of life and probably a long time before that. There had been something about the guy that just sort of made Morgan's heart grow big and sad. Ian Francis had not been your everyday, run-of-the-mill nutcase.

  "No, Siree", Morgan thought as he poked at the stuff with his finger.

  Actually, it wasn't all the stuff in the envelope he had collected the night Ian Francis died that intrigued Morgan, it was the guy's cell phone. He had found it in the bushes a couple feet from the body, collected it, and forgotten about it for a while. When he found that phone, his first reaction was to do what he always did: mark it and send it on over to the morgue to be handed over to whoever came to claim the body.

  He didn't do that. He kept it and now he fiddled with it. He turned it on. He checked the contacts list. There was just one number. No name came up, only a picture of a serious looking young woman. He had put his thumb on the call button twenty times and twenty times he had taken it off. Any other time he would make the call, find out who was on the other end, offer his condolences, and ask if they had any interest in claiming a body. But this wasn't any other time. His supervisor was clear: no time on the clock for this one. Period. It came, he said, right from the top. God knew what top he was talking about, but Morgan backed off.