The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "Such as?"

  "Such as who pays the bills? Who pays you?"

  "I get cash," Johnson said and Josie was amused. It would have been fun to have him on the stand.

  "That's unusual, don't you think?"

  "Money is money." He shrugged.

  "Did you know Ian Francis?" she asked.

  "Sure did. Nice guy when he wasn't drooling."

  "Did you know him before he got sick?"

  "I saw him," Johnson answered.

  "What would it take to get you to remember anything about the place you've been working at for six years?" Josie asked, ready to meet his demands.

  "Lady, you don't have anything I need," Johnson laughed.

  "When were you discharged?" Josie shot back, hoping a sharp turn would change things.

  "What makes you think I was?" Johnson went right along with her, the curve doing nothing to throw him off. In fact, he seemed to be having a good time and that made her even more curious.

  "Okay." She got to her feet. "I don't know what's up with the stonewall, but I'll get around it. If Reynolds were smart he wouldn't contest the guardianship. You think he'd be happy to have Emily off his hands."

  "Not for me to say," Johnson stood up, too. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his fatigues. He wore combat boots. You could put him on any U.S. base anywhere in the world and he'd fit in. But out here in paradise he was a duck out of water. Josie started for the door and he followed behind offering some advice.

  "If you take her walking again you may want to steer her clear of that road. It could get kind of dangerous out there. A misstep on those cliffs wouldn't be pretty."

  Josie looked over her shoulder. She paused and nodded toward the table. "Maybe it's not the cliffs she has to worry about. It looks like you're doing a little more than gardening out there."

  "You never know when you'll find a snake," Johnson drawled.

  "There are no snakes in Hawaii," Josie answered.

  "Do tell. I guess I don't have to go snake hunting anymore."

  "I guess not." Josie grinned but the smile never made it to her eyes. She put out her hand. "I didn't get your first name."

  He took it. Again, his was a vice-like grip. No shake, no sign that this was a friendly gesture and every indication that this was a power struggle.

  "Peter. Peter Johnson."

  "I'll be here every few days, Peter, until we get the guardianship question settled. If you think of anything that you'd be willing to share, I am happy to make it worth your while."

  "Sure thing."

  Josie saw herself out. She could feel him watching her until she got into her car but his interest felt mild, not malicious. Maybe the guy was what he said he was: a caretaker with a macho streak. Maybe he was an ex-con. Maybe a Vet. It wouldn't be too hard to find out. She fastened her seat belt, started the car and drove down the long road that led back to the main highway. Josie didn't turn on the radio. She wanted to live a little while with the hinky feeling she was getting from Ha Kuna House.

  Behind her, Johnson sat down at the dining room table and resumed his chore. He pushed the cotton mop onto the cleaning rod and the cleaning rod through the bore of both guns until the cotton came out white. He lubricated the action, reassembled his hardware, and used the luster cloth until his weapons shined. He put one gun in the top drawer of the desk then strapped a shoulder holster on for the other one. He was headed off to check his garden. If he came across anyone there, they were stepping where they didn't belong and deserved exactly what they got – and that included Josie Bates.

  CHAPTER 21

  "I'm at the hospital, Jo." – Archer

  "Are you all right?" – Josie

  "I thought it was Hannah. It was the girl she was hanging with and I spooked her. She got onto the bed of a truck." – Archer

  "And?" – Josie

  "The driver took off. She flew out. They've got her in an induced coma." – Archer

  "Go back to your hotel. Get some sleep." – Josie

  "She's critical, Jo." – Archer

  "It's not your fault." – Josie

  "It feels like it. I'll stay here until she wakes up. What about you?" – Archer

  "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." – Josie

  "Jo? About your dad's discharge. You had the wrong date." – Archer

  "Okay, so I was off a couple of days." – Josie

  "Years, Jo. He resigned int'82 not '86. Jo? You there?" – Archer

  Bernard Reynolds cast Johnson a look but didn't bother to say 'get your feet off my desk'. Nor did he say 'don't smoke in here'. He definitely didn't say 'go back to the cottage because you're giving me the creeps'. Instead, he sat down and started fiddling with papers hoping that Johnson would get the hint that he didn't want company. He didn't get it, not even when Bernard tapped his pen and cradled his head on his upturned palm as if he was concentrating. When Johnson didn't move, Bernard put down the pen, crossed his arms on the desk and asked:

  "Do you want something or are you just passing time?"

  "I have some news."

  A Cheshire Cat grin split a face that didn't deserve it and Bernard was annoyed.

  Between Emily, Josie Bates, visits by some wet-behind-the-ears social worker, guardianship hearings, and the silence from his superiors, Bernard was getting incredibly nervous and Johnson was no help.

  Johnson took another drag of his cigarette, threw his head back and forged his lips into a perfect O as he blew a smoke ring. He flicked his ash into a coffee cup he had swiped from Bernard's desk.

  "What?" Bernard snapped.

  "First, I got a question," Johnson said. "Did you file the status report this quarter?"

  "Of course I did," Bernard answered.

  "Bummer." Johnson mused and then asked: "Did you sign Ian's name to it?"

  "Yes," Bernard said.

  "Double bummer."

  Johnson took another drag and this time he blew a smoke ring in a smoke ring. Bernard didn't notice. He was staring at the tire-like treads on the soles of Johnson's heavy boots. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

  "Do you mind?" Bernard pushed at Johnson's feet.

  The other man dropped them to the ground, leaned close to the desk and said: "Ian Francis is dead."

  The color drained from Bernard's face, his shoulders slumped, and the muscles in his stomach pulled so tight he almost cried out.

  "I don't believe you. Who told you that?" he whispered.

  "I got a memo asking for clarification on the House," Johnson said.

  "Why didn't they send it to me?"

  "Because you are the House, buddy. They want me to check up on you," Johnson reminded him.

  "Oh, no. Oh, no," Bernard moaned.

  "Yep. He was in D.C. of all places. The cops checked up on Ian when they confiscated his pass after he raised the roof at a hearing. The Department of Defense still showed Ian actively assigned to Ha Kuna House. Then he commits suicide and the cops pass that along. Some computer puts two and two together because your last report went in after the guy jumped. Now they're asking the million-dollar question: how could Ian Francis file resident status reports, if Ian Francis killed himself? Bad timing, Bernard. Really bad."

  "Ian killed himself?"

  Bernard turned a shade paler than a ghost. He had no real affection for Ian Francis so news of his death didn't upset him but Amelia's lie and his own stupidity did.

  He reached for his in-box and found a stack of communiqués. They came in like clockwork but he answered when he felt like it because no one on the east coast paid attention. He flipped through them, looking for something with Ian's name on it. There it was. Sent weeks ago. A memorandum asking him to advise. Bernard fell back in his chair.

  "Oh God. Oh, God," he moaned again as he tossed the request toward Johnson.

  "Guess that's why they came to me. You don't answer your mail," Johnson drawled.

  "How did it happen? I
an I mean," Bernard asked.

  "He jumped out of a hotel window. But that's not the best part. He met up with your favorite lady there. Josie Bates. He scared the shit out of her from what I hear, but he must have told her something because she's here."

  "No. Nobody is that good an actress. She didn't know about Emily. She was looking for someone else – a girl. Ian didn't tell her anything about this house. Ian couldn't have told her anything."

  Bernard's brain was going a mile a minute, pinging from anger at Josie Bates for darkening his doorstep to Amelia for being a lying little bitch, and Ian for being a nut case with enough brains left to get himself all the way to Washington in the first place. Johnson had a simpler outlook.

  "It doesn't matter how Bates got here; it matters that she did. Ian's dead, so we can chalk him off the list of worries. It's Amelia I'm not too sure about."

  "I know. I know. I can't believe she made up that story about relatives taking him in," Bernard said.

  "I can't believe you didn't run it down," Johnson pointed out.

  "I meant to. I won't stand for it. I'm going to find out what she's up to right now." Bernard grabbed the telephone but Johnson was quick to get out of his chair and slap his hand back down.

  "You're not going to do anything," he growled. "We've got to figure this out from our end. The dude is dead and you're putting through updates on the residents under his signature. They could haul you in for fraud and a zillion other things. You're going to be looking at a lot of time, and it's not going to be in a place as pretty as Molokai."

  "Who would prosecute? They wouldn't dare," Bernard objected. "Nobody would risk the public exposure."

  "Hell, there's some crusader out there who would love to tie you to a stake. Me, I'm just a hired hand," Johnson reminded him. "It's on your shoulders, but I want to help you. So let's just think."

  Johnson took his seat slowly, ready to spring in case Bernard Reynolds needed some extra convincing. He didn't. He was envisioning his federal trial, his conviction, his incarceration. Johnson, was envisioning how they were going to get out of this mess. He didn't necessarily need Bernard Reynolds to keep his little enterprise going but it made things a whole lot easier. The last thing either of them needed was an investigation. Thankfully, Bernard was coming around.

  "You're right. Okay. You're right." Bernard took a deep breath. "Who contacted you?"

  "It was a computer generated checklist asking me to confirm sender's viability," Johnson said.

  "That's good. It was just kicked off and some clerk forwarded it," Bernard said.

  "But it's not going to stay that way if they go back through the records. You've been faking Ian's reports for years. How many quarterlies does that add up to? A whole, helluva lot, Bernard. Taking it all off the table is the easiest solution."

  "What do you mean take it off the table? What does that mean?" Bernard demanded.

  "Shut the place down, Bernard. Just shut it down. Those goons in Washington don't care what happens to you and some of them would probably be happier not to have to deal with this anymore. You'll be doing everyone a favor."

  "You're right. You're right." Bernard sat back in his chair, miserable, not quite comprehending what Johnson was suggesting, but agreeing anyway.

  "Give it some thought. Come on over tonight and we'll talk about it."

  Johnson rapped Bernard's desk and took his leave. Bernard watched him walk across the open area and took note of the beautiful grounds, the well kept paths, the jungle beyond. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose all this. Still, he knew it had to come to an end someday. He just didn't expect it to end this way.

  ***

  Lydia Patriota looked out one window of the limousine while Ambrose looked out the other. He was silent; she was worried. Something was on his mind, which was all well and good, but the fact that he hadn't shared his concern with her was something new.

  She smoothed the skirt of her dress. She crossed her legs. She looked at her husband just as the car turned and the oncoming headlights illuminated his face. He was such a handsome man.

  "Lydia, is there anything you did when you were young that you are ashamed of," he asked.

  "I am young, Ambrose," she laughed.

  "True. Then let me ask you this, is there a transgression that you would not want known to the public."

  Lydia swiveled in order to look directly at her husband. "If there's something you want to ask me, honey, then ask me because there is nothing I am ashamed to tell you."

  Ambrose laughed, "No, nothing like that. Infidelity is not the question."

  "Then what is it?"

  "If you were young and did something and it came back to haunt you years later, if it really was nothing in the grand scheme of things but someone wanted to make it important, how would you handle it?"

  "Could I just kill whoever was so damn interested in what I did when I was a kid?" she asked.

  "Not an option, Lydia."

  "All right then. I suppose I'd say 'sorry, I was young'. If that didn't work then I'd spin the hell out of it until everyone was so dizzy they didn't know what they were looking at."

  Ambrose smiled. She was so wise. He said: "You look particularly lovely tonight, my dear."

  He kissed his wife and counted himself a lucky man. Lydia kissed him back and then looked out the window again. Now, she was really worried.

  ***

  Josie swayed with the pitch and roll as the Molokai ferry made its way across the blustery ocean. Her head rested against the wall, her arms were crossed, and her feet planted on the worn floor inside the cabin she shared with a few other travelers. This time Stephen made no attempt to accompany her and she was glad. He could spend his time hunting down a chemist to look at the medicine packets and she would have some time to think.

  Josie thought about Judge Mohr's understanding of Hannah's predicament, his concern for Emily's state of mind since her episode in the jungle, and his admiration for the plan Josie had given him for Emily's care when she got to Hermosa Beach. She couldn't have asked for a better judge. She only wished her petition had remained her biggest problem. It wasn't.

  The boat pitched. The woman next to Josie gasped and put her hand to her heart. Josie gave her a quick smile that she hoped was reassuring, rolled her head against the wall, and looked at the other unhappy passengers. Deciding the quarters were too close, Josie minced her way out to the deck and fell onto one of the benches just in time for a rollercoaster drop. She breathed deeply and turned her face into the needles of spray instead of away from it. Molokai rose from the sea, its lush mountains veiled in the mist. Alone on the deck, she couldn't keep her thoughts from going back to the fly in the ointment: her father.

  Upstanding, trustworthy, the brave warrior and selfless father was also a liar if Archer was right about his discharge. And if he lied about his service, logic dictated that he lied about Emily. Even if it was by omission, that was a vile thing to do. She understood why he wouldn't want to visit some horror on a child but Josie was a grown woman and a lawyer when he passed. She would not have been devastated by a deathbed revelation.

  It was the knowledge of her father's deception that made Josie reconsider the situation she found herself in. She no longer wanted to give up and go home because now there were amends to be made. Maybe not on behalf of her father, but because she had spent so many years placing blame at her mother's feet. For that, Josie was truly sorry and she would make it up to Emily. Toward that end, she braved the unfriendly sea to keep her visitation appointment. She was determined not to give Judge Mohr or Bernard Reynolds any reason to question her commitment to her mother.

  Suddenly, the boat lurched. A wave slammed against the side and every plank shuddered. Josie grabbed onto the cabinet next to her. When the boat started rolling again, she put the hood of her windbreaker up and pulled the drawstrings to close the neck. A few minutes later, the boat entered the harbor. Josie was first off the f
erry and inside the Keoloko car when she finally figured out what to do. The idea hit her like a brick. It was so simple Josie couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before.

  She had questions and they all had to do with the government: Who worked for what agency? What about the discrepancies of her father's service records? Who really owned the real estate in the middle of a national park? Why did a Department of Defense employee have anything to do with Ha Kuna house? Why was a Canadian scientist employed by the United States government for decades? The list went on and on. The government was an unwieldy beast with a thick bureaucratic skin that seemed impenetrable, but there were people who could cut through it for her.

  Josie whipped out her phone, ran through her list of contacts, and pressed the one she wanted. She was so excited by her epiphany she could hardly contain herself. When her call was answered, she said: "Josie Bates calling for Eugene Weller."

  ***

  Eugene Weller's conversation with Josie Bates had been surreal. Her call came out of the blue and the sound of her voice unnerved him. She had, of course, been top of mind but only as a concept, just one tab in an ever-expanding file, a name associated with phone numbers in daily reports. She was the grit in his oyster. He had never expected to speak with her again, certainly never expected that she would feel comfortable calling him directly, and definitely certain she wouldn't feel entitled to a favor.

  It had been five minutes since he bade the woman goodbye and he was still paralyzed. His right hand lay atop the telephone, his left was still flat on his desk, his spine was rigid, and his neck muscles so tight he was starting to get a headache.

  He sniffed, raising one nostril and then the other. He opened his mouth and stretched it wide and long until his jaw muscles popped. Then he shook himself like a wet dog. He felt the blood starting to flow. Finally, Eugene took his hand off the phone, put his long fingers to his temples and pressed the soft little indentation in his skull. He raised both arms, landed his elbows on the desk and was just about to grasp his pounding head in his upturned palms when he heard the knock, saw the door fly open, and Ann's compact and competent self walk in.