Privileged Witness (30 page)

CHAPTER 38

Gingerly Tim raised Josie's feet while Archer took her shoulders. Together they laid her down on the watchman's cot. Archer touched her head and brushed the gravel out of her hair. He lifted her shirt. The bruise at her waist and hip would be big and painful. He moved her arms and touched her legs. Nothing was broken.

''We should have you checked out anyway?'' Tim fretted as Josie struggled to sit up.

''Don't worry, I'm not going to sue you,'' she assured him, wincing as she tried to stand. ''Damn that hurts.''

''I didn't mean it that way,'' Tim objected. Josie held up her hand before he could explain further.

''He's right, Jo,'' Archer agreed. ''We should get you to a doctor.''

''Maybe later. First, give me a minute.'' She touched her face. It was scraped, the knees of her pants were ripped and bloody. Her arm hurt like hell and there was no adjective to describe the pain in her side. ''Is there a cup around here for some water? There's a towel in the bathroom. Could someone wet it?''

Tim got the water. Archer went to the bathroom for the towel then sat beside Josie and started to wipe the dirt off her face. Josie took the towel away. She would do it herself. Archer sat tight lipped and grim beside her, blaming himself for leaving her alone. Josie knew it had been her own stupidity that brought them here.

''I'm calling Babcock,'' Archer said.

''Not yet. Just let me think.''

She wanted to give Babcock more than just an apology so Josie looked around the room for something that would help. The clothes Grace had worn to Helen Crane's home were folded neatly on the cot; the shoes were side-by-side under the cot. Her purse was still there. Tim came back and gave Josie the water.

''Tim, what was Grace wearing the last time you saw her?'' Josie asked.

''I'm not going to tell you. What she did was wrong but she should have a chance,'' Tim insisted.

''A chance to do what?'' Josie asked wearily. ''The cops will eventually find her and then I won't be able to help at all. At least after this I can argue mental impairment. You said you wanted to help her so tell me what she was wearing. Let's give Babcock something to work with. I'll tell him the state she's in. This time we have to do it right.''

''It looked like jeans and a sweater.'' Archer put in his two cents forcing Tim's hand.

''It was a sweatshirt. UCLA. I had it in the back of my car. I got her some tennis shoes at Payless near the freeway. I was bringing her own clothes tonight. I promised to bring food.''

''And the car?''

''One my dad kept here. We tried it earlier to see if it worked so she could go out if she needed something before I could get back to help her.''

Josie nodded. She started to stand. Archer was there, arm around her waist as she tested her legs, her ankle, twisted her neck to work out the pain. None of it helped. She was going to be sore.

''We'll need the make and model,'' Archer said as he helped Josie toward the bathroom.

''Chevy,'' Tim called after them. ''I'll see if I can find the records in the office.''

''Give me a minute,'' Josie asked.

Archer backed off and she closed the bathroom door, leaning on it for a minute before she washed her hands and face and berated herself for this mess. Judge Belote would have her brought up before the BAR, Matthew would never forgive her and Babcock would have every right to be royally ticked off. Josie had asked him for a courtesy and she wasn't willing to reciprocate. How could she have imagined herself above the law?

Josie opened the door. Archer was waiting.

''Let's get out of here,'' she said tersely. ''But first I want her stuff.''

Josie gathered up Grace's clothes, snatching at the navy blue pants and knocking the white shirt to the ground. Angrily she swept it up but as she did something fluttered to the ground.

''I'll get it,'' Archer said.

''No, I will. Why don't you go get my phone and check for messages?''

Knowing it was useless to argue, Archer disappeared without a word. When he was gone Josie sucked up the pain as she groped under the cot. Her reward was the pictures she had first seen in Grace McCreary's dresser. Slowly lowering herself to the floor, Josie sat with her back against the bed. She smiled ruefully. There was one thing that bound Josie to Grace McCreary and that was the way they clung to the idea of a loving family. It was thin thread but it was one of undeniable strength. Thoughtfully, Josie looked at the old photos and turned them over only to pause and find herself stunned by what she saw on the back of one. A name. A phone number. A connection to Grace that had nothing to do with Matthew. Yet, before Josie could get herself off the floor or call out that she had found something important, Archer was back, offering one hand to help her up while he held her cell phone in the other.

''We gotta go, babe,'' he said. ''It's the cops. It's Hannah.''

CHAPTER 39

Susan O'Connel was dead.

Kevin O'Connel, it was alleged, had killed her.

Hannah and Billy Zuni had found her.

Josie Bates blamed herself for everything: for Susan's death, for Kevin O'Connel's freedom to do the deed, for Hannah and Billy being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Josie knew she deserved every pound of that guilt and shame. She had assumed Susan was safe, been impatient with Susan's fears and all because Grace was Josie's new priority.

Now, standing in the middle of Susan's dingy apartment, a place so far away from Wisconsin that it might as well have been the center of the earth, Josie Bates wished she could turn back the clock. She wished she could have remembered her appointment with Susan and leave Grace to the police. She was responsible for Susan O'Connel's death and Josie would never forget that Susan had died terrified.

The furniture was tossed. Kevin O'Connel's fist or foot had made holes in the wall. The window overlooking the street was streaked with Susan's blood where she had tried to open it to call for help before being pulled away. The wall next to that window was marked with an arc of blood where Susan had probably hit it and slid down to the ground. The spatter followed her as she ran – or crawled – making it only as far as the kitchen. There drawers had been pulled out, the few things Susan owned were smashed before Kevin found what he wanted: a knife. He had pulled the blade across Susan's throat once again and this time he did the job right. He left Susan in the corner on the old linoleum, one arm thrown above her head, the other resting across her waist and, on her face, a look of utter disbelief. She was porcelain pale and cold, lying dead for hours before Hannah and Billy arrived. In fact, according to the cops, Susan had died soon after her last phone call to Josie. Now it was Hannah, taking the same blame when all of it belonged to Josie.

''I'm sorry.'' She sobbed into Josie's shoulder. ''I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left without telling you . I tried to call. . .''

Josie held Hannah tighter. She felt her shirt crumpling in the girl's fist and that fist knocking rhythmically at her shoulder.

''It's okay. It's okay. You did a good thing. It was my fault, Hannah. My fault completely. I'm so sorry for everything.''

Josie spoke quietly and quickly, as naturally as if she had spoken to this child her whole life. Her arm wrapped around Hannah's shoulders and that hand stroked the girl's long, long hair. It wasn't until she laid her cheek against Hannah's hair and found herself looking into Archer's eyes that she became aware of what she was doing. The closeness felt awkward because he was watching, but Josie didn't let go. They both had children to attend to.

Archer sat beside Billy Zuni. The boy was pale and drawn, terrified, sick at heart that Hannah had seen what he had seen. Archer did not touch Billy but there had been words and Billy was better for Archer being there.

Gently, she pushed Hannah away and sat her up. She put her hands on Hannah's shoulders.

''Think you can get home now?'' she asked and Hannah nodded with a stuttered little gesture.

''My man,'' Josie heard Archer mutter and Billy stood up with him. . Archer touched Josie, his big hand lingering on her cheek.

''Will you drive Hannah's car?'' she asked quietly.

''I want to go with you,'' Hannah gasped and clutched at Josie once again. Grasping and releasing, releasing and clutching, twenty times without counting.

''I'm going, too,'' Josie soothed. ''It's alright. Tim drove us here but he's gone. We'll get our cars from Grace's place tomorrow. I just don't want you driving, Hannah. I'm not leaving. I'm not.''

That was all the reassurance Hannah needed. Josie wanted a word with the detective before she left so left Hannah to Billy and Archer.

''You should be proud of those kids,'' he said.

''I am,'' Josie answered, ''and I'm concerned. Do you have any idea if O'Connel was still around when Hannah and Billy showed up?''

''He was long gone. A store keep down the way saw a guy running like a bat out of hell. The people below heard someone running down the stairs.''

''But it's a guess, right?'' Josie persisted.

''Yeah. It is. I don't know if he saw your kids.''

''Okay.'' Josie's jaw tightened as she looked around at the wrap up. Susan's body was gone, taken to the morgue. The neighbors had gone back to their apartments and locked their doors. The landlord would be unhappy with the mess but it too would be cleaned up and forgotten.

''Look,'' she said. ''I think he's been staking out my place. I'll let the Hermosa PD know what's going on but I'd appreciate it if you'd touch base with Detective Babcock in Long Beach, too. He's seen O'Connel. He knows about this so maybe you could work with Hermosa and coordinate. I'm not worried about myself; I just don't want him messing with Hannah.''

''Now that his wife is dead he's probably run out of steam. I wouldn't worry if I were you.''

''You want to take a chance that you're wrong?'' Josie challenged.

''I wouldn't if Hermosa was my jurisdiction but it isn't. You ought to think about some private security.'' The detective gave her a pat on the arm and walked away. It was late, he was on the clock and he was right. Hannah was her responsibility.

With one last look, Josie walked heavily down the narrow staircase and onto the street where Archer, Billy and Hannah waited. Josie got in the back of VW Bug where Hannah was crumpled against the far door. Without a word, they came together. Hannah's head came to rest on Josie's shoulder as Archer pulled out and headed for home. No one said a word. The radio was silent, the windows rolled up and their thoughts were dark as the night.

In Hermosa, Archer dropped Billy first. Josie strained to catch sight of his mother but the door opened just wide enough for Billy to go through. Solemnly they went on. Archer left Hannah and Josie at the door, took Max out for his evening walk, offered to stay the night, to keep watch, to protect the two women but Josie sent him on his way. Kevin O'Connel, if he came, would not come that night. He would need time to feed his anger and find his courage again.

Josie sat by Hannah's bed until she settled into a deep but restless sleep. When she was sure the girl wouldn't wake, Josie showered with the bathroom door open and Max just outside it. She thought about poor Susan O'Connel. Dead, Grace McCreary. Dangerous. Matthew. What would she tell Matthew? Josie touched her bruised ribs, she put fingers to the scrape on her face. She wouldn't tell anyone anything until she had some sleep.

Wrapped in her robe, edgy, unable to separate the physical pain from the psychic, Josie went to the kitchen and heated milk. She prowled the house, scarcely aware that Max-the-Dog watched her, his head on his paws. Sitting, she cradled the cup in her hands and surveyed her home. Finding no pleasure in her handiwork, no peace in the silence, Josie was up again. She left the mug on the table, went to her bathroom and rummaged through her hamper, rifling through her dirty clothes until she found the things she had forgotten: Grace's emerald ring and the pictures. In her bedroom Josie sat on the side of her bed and considered the ring. She turned it so the stone caught the light. She contemplated it as if it would give up Grace's secrets, but it was nothing more than a gaudy symbol of all that was wrong with the McCrearys.

Opening her beside drawer, Josie put the ring next to her father's gun. The pictures were another matter. She reached for the phone and dialed the number she found on the back. She could only hope the person on the other end cared enough about Grace to want to help. An answering machine picked up. Josie left a message. This was an emergency.

Climbing under the comforter, her head sank into one pillow and she pulled another close, holding it as if it was Archer. When she started to cry, mourning for Susan O'Connel and her own mistakes and Hannah's trauma and Billy Zuni's sad life and Archer who she knew sat on his balcony sleepless with worry, Josie Bates knew that no matter what happened now she could not let Grace McCreary down. Six hours later, just before dawn, her phone rang. Stiff, sore and barely able to move, Josie groaned as she reached for the receiver and put it to her ear.

''Is she all right? Grace McCreary? Is she all right?'' came a frantic male voice.

''I was hoping you'd tell me,'' Josie said, gritting her teeth against the pain as she tried to get up.

Three hours later Faye Baxter had answered Josie's call for help. Hannah would stay with Faye until everything was sorted out. The second call was to Archer. He drove Josie to the airport where she caught a plane to Vermont. Doctor Emile Wharton, Grace McCreary's psychiatrist, waited for her arrival.

CHAPTER 40

''Grace McCreary.''

Doctor Emile Wharton said the name slowly, stretching it out to see what was hidden in the folds of the syllables. Josie took the time to analyze how the man fared against the picture she had carried to this little state wrapped in an unfamiliar blanket of cold.

He was beyond middle age with a fringe of grey hair that, in the picture of long ago, was dark and covered his well shaped head. His glasses were round and rimless; his lips were not full but gave the impression of being his outstanding feature. Perhaps it was the border of fine lines that called attention to them, as if those lips were stitched onto his face, as if he had spent his entire life with them pursed, puzzling over problems of the mind. His face had fallen gently with the years so that his eyes looked sad behind his glasses. He was once a handsome man who had probably been unaware of his attractiveness. If it ever occurred to him to mourn the passing of his youth, Josie was sure he gave it no more than a fleeting thought.