Eyewitness (Thriller/Legal Thriller - #5 The Witness Series) (The Witness Series #5)

by Forster, Rebecca

  On the second floor, Teuta came upon a dark room filled with more beds. Instinct told her to take her children and run. She kept going because it was her father she had to find. A man missing an arm reached his stump toward her. A woman with a burned face watched with one eye, but Teuta didn’t think she could really see. There was a boy curled into himself, and he was nothing more than a little ball of bones. Teuta was now glad they had no hospital in her own village. This was a place to die if ever she saw one. She turned away from the little boy and that was when she saw her mother sitting beside a metal-framed bed. She rushed toward her.

  “Nënë.” Teuta kissed her mother, first one cheek and then the other. “How is he?”

  “He will die” The mother shrugged as Teuta took off her shawl. The baby woke and cried. The mother patted the older girl’s head and then reached for the baby. Teuta let her go. The mother said:

  “This is a good baby.” She put her old hand on the older girl’s back and then kissed her brow. “This is a good girl.”

  “Yes. I am fortunate,” Teuta answered.

  Gingerly, she sat next to her father and tried not to disturb the thin mattress laid over broken springs. He did not open his eyes. He did not know she was there. She took his hand. It was cold; his skin was thin. He was drying up. Soon he would blow away, dead and gone. It would be a blessing for he was a tortured soul. She kept her eyes on his gaunt face to keep from looking at the plastic sheet and the things that came out of a dying body.

  “I brought money for medicine.” Teuta whispered this as much in deference to her ill father as to secrecy. She did not want anyone in this place to know she had money. Teuta’s mother nodded, her head going up and down as was the custom to indicate she did not want the money. Teuta understood. Even she could see that it would be a waste to bribe anyone to give her father medicine. Still, she knew her mother was grateful for the offer.

  Then Teuta’s attention was caught by a sound. She turned her head to see that it came from her mother. She was crying. Teuta had never seen her mother cry nor had she realized that she loved her husband enough to cry for him. Teuta slid off the bed and knelt by the old woman. She touched the scarf covering her mother’s hair. The mother raised her faded eyes and looked at her daughter.

  “He came.”

  “Then all will be well. He sees father dying.”

  “He asked about you. About your children.”

  Teuta froze. She opened her mouth, but it was a moment before she was able to ask: “What did you tell him?”

  “That you had daughters and a strong husband. I told him you were a good girl.”

  The baby began to cry just then, and Teuta’s father opened his eyes. Mother and daughter watched, sure that this was an omen. But he only stared at the ceiling for what seemed many minutes. Teuta moved toward him while her mother held tight to the children.

  “Atë,” she whispered. “It is me, Teuta.”

  He turned his head. His breath was hot and hard to come by, and his eyes were the color of a snow-sky over the mountains, flat and seemingly endless. But he did see one thing: the baby in his wife’s arms.

  “Boy?” he rasped.

  Teuta shook her head. “Vajzë. A girl”

  He closed his eyes. A tear seeped out of the corner, but did not fall. It hesitated as if it were looking for a way through the maze of the deep lines and wrinkles on the old man’s face. Teuta wiped it away.

  She didn’t have the heart to tell him she was pregnant again.

  2013

  Josie tried to think ahead, but it wouldn’t be a worthwhile exercise until she had coffee and a few hours of sleep. Still, one thought kept creeping into her mind and it was the worst-case scenario: Billy Zuni could be accused of murder. Josie had already been through that nightmare with Hannah and she didn’t want to repeat it. Then again, it could be even worse than Billy being accused of murder; the boy might actually have committed murder. Either way, Billy would be in the mix of suspects until he was crossed off and that was just a fact.

  Driving home, Josie called Faye who promised to come over and offer what counsel she could. The next call went out to Mira Costa high school. Josie filled in the horrified principal, asked her to check records for Billy’s next of kin, and touch base with the school psychologist to see if there was any recent contact with the boy. Josie also advised that Hannah would be out for the day.

  She parked the Jeep just as the news of the murders came on the radio. When she heard the names were being withheld until next of kin were notified, Josie got out of the car. She was dialing Archer as she went up the walk but disconnected when she opened the front door. Max was sitting in the entry beside a puddle of pee.

  “Sorry, buddy,” she said and ushered him outside. He slunk past her, tail hanging low. Josie let her hand trail over his back as he passed to let him know it was okay. Nobody could hold it forever.

  By the time she mopped up the mess and got back to the patio, Max had his front paws on the low brick wall Josie had built. She planted her feet on either side of him, ruffled his ears, and wished she could have slept through that storm like he had.

  “What do you say, Max? What in the heck happened last night?” She gave him a hug and took a minute to regroup.

  Last night’s storm had wreaked havoc on their corner of paradise. Tree branches and palm fronds littered the wide concrete walkway that led to the beach. Patio furniture had been overturned and the wind had blown screens off windows. The damage was a small price to pay for the good stuff the storm left behind.

  The wind had pushed the smog out to sea, the rain had washed the street clean, and the day had broken sapphire bright. Everything sparkled under a brilliant but weak sun. That brilliance made Josie feel as if she could spread her arms and dip the fingers of one hand in the ocean while touching the snowcapped tops of the San Bernardino Mountains with the other. Life, in that moment, was incredibly simple – except that it wasn’t.

  Josie gave the dog a quick pat. He lowered himself to the ground and limped back toward the house. In the bright light, the grey hair around his snout glinted silver. The thought that there would be a day when she didn’t have Max brought a lump to her throat. Josie couldn’t imagine that future. Yet, when someone left your life - mother, friend, beloved pet – someone else moved in to fill the void. Josie's dad filled hers after her mother left and she filled Hannah's and Archer's. Josie wondered who would fill Billy’s if Rosa Zuni died? She hoped it wasn't the government. If that was his only option, it might have been better if they left him in the sea.

  Shaking off the sense of doom that had dogged her for the last hours, Josie went inside to fill Max’s water bowl and food dish. When that was done, she rested her hands on the kitchen sink and hung her head to think what to do next.

  “Hey there, Max. Jo?”

  Archer’s voice lifted her spirits. She walked into the dining room, put her hands against his chest and kissed him.

  “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “Never.”

  Her arms went around his solid body as she rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. The chink in her armor – the one her kidnapping had exposed – was still there. Those awful days as a prisoner proved that as much as she wanted to believe that she was mistress of her own fate, she was not. It had been months since that horrible time, and yet her voice still wasn’t as strong as it had been, her gaze still not quite as sharp, her decision making not as sure. But good things had come out of that time, too. Josie knew exactly what Archer meant to her now. She wanted to stand beside him, not behind or in front of him and she wanted Hannah there with both of them. The other good thing was that Archer wanted the same thing.

  “You okay?” He pulled her closer. Josie’s head dropped back and she grinned at him.

  “How come you’re so chirpy? I feel like a truck ran over me,” she murmured.

  “Wait until five. Y
ou’ll have to scrape me off the pier and pour me into bed.” He kissed her forehead, let her loose, and held up a bag. “Breakfast.”

  “A little late.”

  “Never too late for this.”

  “Burt’s egg sandwich?” Josie laughed as she went to the kitchen. “I’ll put the coffee on.”

  “Brought it with me. Full service.” Archer called, and Josie did an about-face. “I brought some for Hannah, too.”

  “She’s not here. She wanted to walk home."

  "You told her what we found in Billy's house?"

  "I couldn’t avoid it. Montoya showed up and kind of forced the issue. Billy wasn’t conscious. I appreciate that he let me tell Hannah in my own time once he saw he wouldn’t be questioning Billy.”

  That was all the explanation Archer needed. Mike Montoya, the sheriff’s investigator who had questioned them at the scene was nobody’s fool. Billy would be the first one he would want to talk to.

  “He seemed like a good guy,” Archer noted. “How did Hannah take it?”

  “Hard.” Josie leaned against the archway as they chatted.

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” Archer tossed a sandwich her way. She caught it.

  “Déjà vu all over again,” Josie agreed. “She’s convinced that the cops won’t look at anyone but Billy. I dropped her near the bike path. The fresh air will be good for her.”

  “I’ll feel better when she’s home.”

  Archer dug into the bag again and took out the coffee cups. Josie smiled. How times changed. Nothing like a little near-death experience to pull folks together, even folks as disparate as Archer and Hannah. It was a pity that common ground had come so dearly; it was a blessing it had come at all.

  “Can I move this?” Archer asked and pointed to the mess of paper that was on the dining room table.

  “I’ll get it.”

  Josie swept swatches and checklists into the huge sample book that had taken up space on the table for the last few months. She was about to close it when Archer took her hand and pulled her into his body, cupping her from behind. He used his free hand to turn the pages of the giant book, flipping one then another and another. Her short dark hair rubbed against his unshaven cheek. Archer turned back to the page that had originally been opened, and put his finger on the white card with the black type.

  “That one,” he said.

  “Funny thing. That’s the one I ordered.”

  “Great minds think alike.” He kissed her behind the ear.

  “We’ll have them in a week.”

  “Cutting it close if the big event is at the end of the month,” Archer noted.

  “It’s Hermosa Beach. You invite people to a party the night before and they show up,” Josie reminded him.

  "I wouldn’t care if no one came. Just as long as you’re there.”

  “And Hannah.”

  “And Hannah,” he agreed as he turned Josie into him and kissed her again.

  Josie put her arms behind his neck and kissed him back. When they parted she closed the book, marking the page with the invitation that simply read:

  You are invited to a wedding.

  ***

  It was four in the afternoon when Mike Montoya and Wendy Sterling looked up.

  Theirs had been an impressive effort of police work. Not only had their station pulled together, the sheriff himself had been in contact, pledging resources as needed. They didn't need them. In the last twelve hours physical evidence was logged in, packed up, and on its way to the lab for analysis. The coroner had taken possession of two bodies, the surviving victim had not died as had been expected, and the kid – the pivotal kid – was in bad shape but would get better. Once that happened, the dominoes would fall.

  Mike had started a white board, dissecting it into thirds, one section dedicated to each of the victims. Their names were printed in Mike’s neat hand and encased in near perfect circles. Greg Oi was assigned the red marker, Jak Duka blue, and, lastly, green for Rosa Zuni, aka Billy Zuni’s – what? - aka patient in ICU at Torrance Memorial Hospital. Straight lines radiated from each circle and at the end of those radiating lines were short perpendicular ones. What they knew to date had been filled in.

  Age:

  Greg Oi - 59

  Jak Duka – 33

  Rosa Zuni – 18-25 (?)

  Occupation:

  Greg Oi – businessman/philanthropist

  Jak Duka – Fed Ex delivery/union daily

  Rosa Zuni – Dancer/stripper/prostitute/mistress ???

  Residence:

  Greg Oi – Rolling Hills

  Jak Duka – San Pedro

  Rosa Zuni – Hermosa Beach

  Addresses, contact numbers, and next of kin were noted where applicable.

  Everything about Rosa, save for her name and occupation, was a question mark. No identification had been found in the house or in her purse. There was no car in the garage or on the street registered to her address. There was no computer, but they had found a cell phone. Wendy was on top of getting a subpoena for Rosa Zuni’s call records. The tech guys would drill down for any other data. Right now, though, the lack of identification was, in and of itself, a clue that Mike believed to be critical.

  Then there was the fourth name in a black circle:

  Billy Zuni. Age: 17.

  Occupation: Student, kid, screw up, surfer, murderer (?).

  Missing: Gun. Knife. Identification for Rosa Zuni. Time charts for each victim: last seen, last heard from. Motive. Connections.

  Finished with the board by two, Wendy and Mike spent the next couple of hours making phone calls, and setting up appointments, asking questions when they reached a person who might have immediate information. Mostly they got responses of shock and dismay, exhortations to find the bastard who did this, and prayers that the woman would survive. They were putting the finishing touches on their schedules for the next day when Mike’s phone rang. He identified himself, listened and spoke to Wendy who was looking at him expectantly as he hung up.

  “Torrance PD was called on a vandalism complaint. They thought we might be interested.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Someone took a can of spray paint to Greg Oi’s private office.” Mike sat down again. “And they left an effigy of Oi with a knife through its heart.”

  “Now that is a bit of acting out by the union boys.” Wendy pointed her pencil at Mike. “You’ve got an appointment over there tomorrow. Bring back pictures.”

  Wendy gathered her papers, tapped the edge of the pile on the desk to arrange them neatly and stood up.

  “Let’s go see Carl Newton. Lucky guy. He’s going to be prosecuting the biggest murder case the South Bay has ever seen.”

  Mike stood and put on his jacket.

  “Right now, it’s an investigation. It’s going to be a while before we have anyone he can prosecute.”

  “Michael, Michael,” Wendy said as she breezed past him. “We’ve got bodies. We’ve got a whacked out kid. When are you ever going to realize that the glass is half full, not half empty and the one filling this glass up is Billy Zuni?”

  CHAPTER 8

  1996

  Teuta labored, but only briefly. Her labor was so brief in fact that Teuta’s husband did not arrive in time to see the baby born. Everyone in attendance at the birth praised God for this good sign. The baby would grow to be a gentle soul who would want no one to suffer.

  He would be, they said, a good boy.

  2013

  “Well, this is interesting,” Carl Newton deadpanned.

  Mike was thinking that if the man’s energy were a color it would be grey. Not dark and ominous, not dove soft, but ill-defined like a gathering gloom that could turn into a storm as easily as it could pass by without being noticed. Mike had worked with Carl Newton before and found him extremely competent but unsettling and uninspired. He had once run for District Attorney, but he did not stir the voters’ imaginations. If he had ever stirred a woman’s, there was no e
vidence of it. No wedding ring, no personal pictures, not anything that hinted at a relationship.

  Mike couldn’t tell if the man still harbored political ambitions, nor could he tell if Carl Newton was satisfied with his lot in life. The detective could only hope Newton had the grit to see this one through. A crime of such passion demanded an equally passionate response. Bottom line, it was a surprise the D.A. had assigned Carl Newton.

  “Yes. Interesting and complex, Michael. A double homicide.” The deputy D.A. said this as if he was having a hard time choosing between the plain or sesame seed bagel.

  “Potentially a triple. The female victim is touch and go,” Wendy added.

  “That will be a first here.” Carl voiced the obvious. “I assume you’re not ruling out a sex crime or a pact of some sort.”

  “All scenarios are on the table,” Mike said.

  “What have the neighbors to say? Were they aware of unusual activity at that house?”

  “We haven’t had much luck on the canvass yet,” Wendy answered. “There’s construction on one side of the house. We’ll track down the owners and get put onto the contractor to see if he knows anything. An old lady, Mrs. Yount, lives on the other side. She wears a hearing aid, goes to bed by eight, and uses special earphones to hear the television. She has no idea if she was asleep or awake when all this happened.”

  Mike took up the thread.

  “Given the storm, and the closed bathroom window, the female victim’s voice wouldn’t have carried. Mrs. Yount did indicate she heard booms, but believed it was the thunder.”

  “And the neighbors across the way?”

  Carl Newton did not take notes, but he had a pen cradled in his curled fingers as if it were too heavy to lift. The thought that he was channeling Eeyore crossed Mike Montoya’s mind, but only briefly. He tried never to be unprofessional, even within the privacy of his own thoughts so he answered the question.