The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  Still, Eugene Weller was interested in this guy who had seriously disrupted Senator Patriota's hearing. The lady lawyer who had been in the room when he jumped was no slouch as he had found out when he checked up on Josie Bates. It was all feeling a little too over his head and the last thing Morgan wanted to do was get on the bad side of Patriota or his geeky goon, Weller.

  Finally, he put the phone back in the evidence bag, took the bag, and left the office. The cameras caught a picture of his ample posterior walking down the hall, his equally impressive stomach when he turned to go back from where he came, and the moment after that when he turned around once more.

  It took Officer Morgan a while but he finally made it upstairs and over to the Russell Building where he checked in with Weller's secretary and asked to see the man himself. Genie left him cooling his heels for ten minutes. One minute longer and he would have left, but Eugene's timing was good. Morgan had no choice but to do what he came for.

  "Brought you something, Genie. I logged it, but I didn't call the contact." Morgan handed over the phone. "I'll be happy to if you want. This is probably the girl that was with him. Just thought you might need to do something first. I don't know what."

  Eugene looked at the picture of the blond girl. He smiled a true and genuine smile that gave Morgan the shivers.

  "Thank you, Officer Morgan. You did the right thing."

  Officer Morgan didn't smile. He was kind of surprised that doing the right thing felt so crappy.

  "Okay. So, just sign for it. Then we're good."

  Eugene Weller looked at the paper. There were ninety-five signatures on the darn thing. People took responsibility for evidence all the time. He picked up his pen. What could it hurt?

  CHAPTER 10

  "Do you know what time it is, Jo?" – Archer

  "You never complained when I woke you up before." – Josie

  "All right. I'm awake." – Archer

  "This guy says the place I'm looking for is on Molokai." – Josie

  "It takes a lot of money to get all the way to Hawaii, but you're there, check it out. If it's a dead end, stay a few days and relax. I'm going further north." – Archer

  "What's up there?" – Josie

  "Following a tip, same as you." – Archer

  "The trucker in Sanger?" – Josie

  "The mother in Chowchilla." – Archer

  "Hannah would never contact Linda." – Josie

  "She didn't. Linda thought you might like to handle her appeal in exchange for a lead on Hannah. I told her it wasn't going to happen." – Archer

  "So she sent you to San Francisco?" – Josie

  "Oregon. Just figured it couldn't hurt to stop and see if there was anything going on in San Francisco." – Archer

  "And?" – Josie

  "No one in the morgue matching their descriptions. No one arrested for prostitution. Negative at soup kitchens and shelters." – Archer

  "I think Linda's just getting her jollies. I wouldn't trust her." – Josie

  "We'll see." – Archer

  "I wish I could sleep." – Josie

  "You will. When you get home. When we're all home." – Archer

  "That will be nice." – Josie

  "You wouldn't have done it, would you, Jo?" –Archer

  "What?" – Josie

  "Handle Linda's appeal." – Archer

  "What do you think?" – Josie

  "I think maybe. To get Hannah home." – Archer

  "I think it's a tough call. Goodnight, Archer." – Josie

  "Night, babe. Love you." – Archer

  ***

  So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good. – Helen Keller

  It didn't take Josie long to realize that Stephen Kyle hadn't exaggerated. Everyone on Maui did know him. That was because he owned everything that wasn't bolted down. Keoloko Enterprises owned the biggest chain of souvenir stores on the islands. They were found in every shopping center, strip mall, and on every highway. His stores sold beach towels and shot glasses etched with volcanoes, dashboard dolls that would hula for eternity in pickup trucks from California to Kentucky, Tiki gods, hang loose key chains, plastic leis and ukuleles, taffy, Macadamia nuts in all their incarnations, shirts, and skirts, and salami. If you couldn't find what you wanted in a Keoloko store, it didn't exist in Hawaii.

  But Stephen Kyle was an expansive kind of guy and the stores just weren't enough for him. He employed half the local teenagers and housewives to ply his wares from inside fake grass shacks set up outside parks and along roadsides. They sold slices of Keoloko pineapple, cones of shave ice, sunscreen, and more leis. Their husbands, boyfriends and brothers were employed by Keoloko car and tour services and fishing boats. He ran another boat out to Molokai regularly to bring provisions to the three bed and boards on the island and one place that few knew existed and fewer still knew had a name. This was the place Stephen believed Josie was looking for: Ha Kuna House on Molokai, not Ha Kuna Road on Maui.

  "Sure you don't want me to call over first? That might be a better idea then just popping in."

  That was the last thing he had asked her the night before and the first thing he said when she got in the car on the way to the harbor. Both times her answer was the same:

  "No. I don't want Hannah to run. I want one shot at convincing her that the two of them will be safe at home."

  "And how would you go about doing that?" he asked.

  "I'd tell her I would die before I let anyone hurt her or Billy," Josie answered.

  "If she thought there was one chance in a million it would come to that, she would never come home," Stephen countered. "I haven't met her, but even I know that."

  No response was called for. In a short amount of time she had learned that Stephen Kyle wisdom was a thing to be reckoned with. She and Hannah would never put the other one in jeopardy and that was why Josie needed to see her face to face. That's how she would know Josie was telling the truth.

  They drove twenty minutes from the house to the harbor where he commandeered one of his fleet, a sightseeing boat called No Problem, for their journey across the way to the island of Molokai.

  Stephen's chitchat was punctuated with expressions of gratitude that the day was calm. One thing he could not bear was a choppy sea. His brother, Stephen said, drowned in a choppy sea. Of course, the sweet bastard had been drunk which might have had something to do with the unfortunate accident. Still, the sea had been choppy that day. And chilly as the English seas were, there was hypothermia to consider. And, Stephen added, his stomach – not his brother's – was sensitive to motion. Always had been since he was a child. This caused him a great deal of derision at boarding school.

  Josie basked in the warmth of the sun, relished the taste of sea salt in the spray, and caught half his stories as they cut through the water heading toward Molokai. Her new best friend amused her in the best possible way. She seldom ran across people like him: curious, magnanimous, accommodating, brash, and smart. The phrase, 'he would give you the shirt off his back' seemed coined just for Stephen Kyle. She imagined a third of his stories were true, a third had basis in fact, and a third were the product of his raging imagination. Josie reciprocated with stories about Faye, Max, and Archer. Stephen countered with more stories of his mum, his ex-wife, and his favorite goat that, sadly, had been lost in a tragic accident atop the roof of his historic country home in England. He quieted as they closed in on Molokai, a magnificent, awe-inspiring bit of nature that was at once fearsome and beautiful.

  Sparsely populated, Molokai was home to the highest sea cliffs in the world and every inch of them was covered with the most brilliant green. Those cliffs rose from a sapphire sea and into a cobalt sky so bright it hurt the eyes to look at it. By the time they tied up the No Problem and got the car, Stephen was back in true form and giving her the two-dollar tour as they drove. That eastern part of the island where they were headed w
as cut off on three sides by the Pacific and bordered by the Kalaupapa National Historical Park. Deep in a canyon at the foot of the mountains was the leper colony founded by Father Damien. Leprosy was gone; the buildings where lepers were nursed and museum that documented their suffering were the island's only tourist draw.

  "Have you ever seen the place?" he asked. Josie shook her head. "Well, then we'll come back another day. You must take a mule down miles of switchbacks to get there. They took quarantine of those poor buggers quite seriously. I'd have to send you alone though. I don't care for those mules. Riding a mule is like being in a boat on a choppy sea. Upsets the tummy. Malia likes it. I'll send her with you."

  That, Stephen said, was for another day when they had no chore to do. The place he was taking her was reached by car on a narrow road through some of the most beautiful terrain she had ever seen. The Molokai uplands were cool and he took great care on the roads that sometimes skirted the edge of the cliffs. Finally, Stephen stopped at a turnout.

  "Here we are," he announced.

  "I don't see anything."

  "It's not far. Deliveries are made from a different entrance. There's a wider road and all. We'd have to drive too far around. Besides, this affords us a lovely walk."

  They both swung out.

  "Might be best to take it slow," he suggested.

  "Is there a problem?" Josie asked.

  "If Hannah is being held prisoner here as you suspect, I'd be disappointed to walk into some den of crime and find a knife to my throat. You're a pretty thing, but no one is worth that and, while I am dashing, I cannot be mistaken for James Bond."

  "I didn't say she was kidnapped," Josie pointed out. "Besides, I thought you worked with these people. How long have you been delivering supplies here?"

  "Six years, but it's not like we're gossiping around the water cooler with the folks. They fax their orders and my boys over here meet the boat and deliver the supplies. I don't have what you'd call a relationship really," Stephen muttered.

  "Has anybody ever pulled a knife on one of your guys?"

  "There's always a first time for such a thing," he complained.

  "I promise, it won't be today." Josie patted his hand, slid it off her arm, and headed down the path that cut through the tropical forest.

  "Could be that you're crazy," Stephen grumbled as he followed. "Maybe you have a knife." He raised his voice. "It dawns on me that could be the case." He lowered his voice to grumble some more. "They won't be happy if I bring a crazy woman here. I'm just saying that it would have been polite to call."

  They walked that way for a bit and then he took a hop and a skip and came along side her.

  "In for a penny," he sighed, but Josie wasn't paying attention any longer.

  She was tuned to the turn of the earth, seduced by the place in which she found herself. Whatever was going to come, she was glad it would come here where the plants had leaves made of satin and flowers of velvet, where the perfume in the air was blown on trade winds, the ground was dappled by sunlight sifting through a canopy of exotic trees, and the silence was the stuff of cathedrals not tombs.

  "I'm glad she's been here," Josie said.

  There was no need for Stephen to answer. Such, his silence seemed to say, was the power of island magic. Here Josie could be convinced that wishes came true and that all intentions were benign. He did not point this out anymore than he would mention that Josie was talking as if she had already found the girl. If her bubble were to burst, it would do so in its own good time with no help from him. Besides, Stephen Kyle was in no hurry for this walk to come to an end. He fancied himself a bit of Adam in the garden with Eve by his side. Pity this Eve kept her clothes on, but one couldn't have it all.

  The road rambled through the forest revealing signs of human intrusion as it pleased: a small greenhouse just off the path to the left, a bench on the other side, a hoe that had been left leaning against the tree and, ahead, the first glimpse of a two story, white clapboarded house.

  Ha Kuna House.

  The architecture was Victorian, a reminder of the days when well-meaning missionaries nearly destroyed the Hawaiian culture. The juxtaposition of formal architecture and the riot of unbridled landscape were astoundingly beautiful.

  The windows on the ground floor were tall and overlooked a wrap-around porch. Six rocking chairs were lined up on one side of the front door. On the other side there was a single wheelchair. Just beyond the house Josie could make out the edge of another building. She leaned a bit and saw that there were two.

  "It's a compound," Josie commented. "How many people live here do you think?"

  "Figuring what we bring over in provisions, six or seven. Mr. Reynolds is the man who does the ordering. They keep to themselves." Stephen's gait changed to an amble, his voice dropped a decibel. "I'd forgotten how lovely this place was. I was only here once to secure the account."

  "Some hands on businessman you are," Josie drawled.

  "No need to be when things run smoothly. They order, we deliver, and they pay like clockwork. Would that all the world worked that way," Stephen answered.

  "Do you ever bring anything unusual?"

  "Such as manacles for young girls held captive?" Stephen caught himself before he laughed aloud because Josie's expression indicated she was not amused. "Sorry about that. No, is the answer. Food, toilette and cleaning supplies are always on the list. Once my boys brought a doctor from Maui."

  "Would your men let a couple of kids hitchhike on one of your boats?" Josie asked.

  "No. My boys are good workers. They know the rules." He paused to consider the building. "I've often expected to have one of my men come back one day and tell me the place is empty. It has that feeling, doesn't it? Like your granny's house, you know. You go every Sunday when you're a child and then one day you're older and forget to go and the next time you see her she's in a coffin. That's what this place feels like to me. Pretty but lonely and all worn down. It's as if it has lingered past its time."

  Josie thought he was wrong. This looked like a place where two scared kids could feel safe. She gave his arm a tap.

  "Today isn't the day granny's going to kick the bucket." Josie took the porch steps with Stephen Kyle right behind her. Gentleman that he was, he hurried around to open the screen door.

  Josie walked through it and into a time warp.

  ***

  Eugene Weller had his finger on the pulse and it was a healthy beat he was hearing.

  He was well ahead of schedule planning for the convention. He had a short list of vice-presidential candidates who had been put forth by the senator's personal caucus even though they all knew there was little reason to vet them. Woodrow would be the nominee. Ambrose hadn't said as much, but Eugene could read the signs. They all could. Still, their 'just-in-case' list was interesting.

  They unanimously liked Sam Hemsly out of New Hampshire: a fine, upright man who was a little left of Patriota but loyal. He could be counted on to adhere to the platform, but Eugene could make a case that he was not the prime pick.

  Sam Hemsley had not been blessed with Patriota's good looks, nor had he aged well. That alone would not have been of concern to Eugene, but he was now in possession of medical files that, in the hands of an astute strategist on the other side of the aisle, could compromise a Hemsley/Patriota ticket. Any hint of difficulty dealing with stress, any spin that Hemsley might be on death's door even if it wasn't true, might give the voters pause. Patriota was the oldest candidate ever to seek the office and statistics being what they were, he might die there. If Hemsley were seen as vulnerable, Patriota's popularity would take a hit, too. An electorate perceiving the demise of two older men in the highest offices which would open the door to a possible accession of the Speaker of the House who no one, save her own constituency, could stomach was something to consider.

  The governor of California was a possibility and one Eugene would accept. As was the ex-governor turned
senator for the great state of New York. He was young, energetic and good-looking. Eugene was quite taken with a picture of him and Patriota at the Kennedy Center during the awards ceremony. They were perfect foils. Patriota, aging and still virile looking, the young senator, blonde blue eyed giving off the boy next door vibe with a CV that included Harvard and Yale.

  There were also the recommendations from the head of the party, various donors who thought they had bought Patriota and, of course, Lydia. She shouldn't even have had a voice but even Eugene had to admit that her suggestion of the governor of Alabama was not a terrible one.

  Of course, they hadn't quite finished screening any of them and, as Eugene knew, that always turned up a few clods of earth that a politician wished had stayed tamped down. Although with these three, he doubted anything major would come up. Thankfully, Ambrose had been around long enough to know how to gracefully handle anything out of the ordinary, but it would be better if he didn't have to.

  "Mr. Weller?"

  Eugene looked up as Ann came into his office. The woman had the most annoying habit of knocking and opening the door simultaneously. How she managed with a stack of reports in her arms he would never know. He did appreciate her talents though. She was an insanely organized person.

  "I have almost everything you requested yesterday." She started to flip folders with the most impeccable rhythm, giving him just enough time to look at the routing slips, open the top folder to glance at the overview and judge the extent of the reading that would be required. "This is the EPA report on the fracking issue and I've included the rebuttal from The University of Oklahoma and J.P. Goodings. I took the liberty to cull it down to three talking points that meet the Senator's agenda."

  Thump.

  "Blow back from the State Department regarding the Eastern European crime hearings the Senator conducted. Albania was not thrilled and has made their displeasure known. State suggests no action on the part of the senator but our ambassador has contacted their ambassador and is smoothing things over. You'll see that I added a few notes on projections regarding trade with that country in the next few years, extrapolating to cover the senator's transition to the White House."