Expert Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  “You’re doing an admirable job, Faith. I greatly appreciate it in this time of my need.”

  “I only wish there was more I could do,” she said quietly.

  “I promise to call on you if it become necessary.” Isaiah’s assurance was laced with undertones of admiration and gratitude, yet he never looked at her directly. Instead, he considered the messages she had given him and handed her back two. “Please tell Good Morning America I would be happy to speak with them if they can come in three days. I’ll clear my schedule.”

  “Three days?” Faith blinked. “But, Reverend. That will be six days.”

  “Is there some significance?” Isaiah asked.

  “Your daughter?” Faith was not quite sure how to phrase her concern so she just blurted it out. “Well, everyone says it was five days before she died. People believe that’s when Mr. Hernandez will kill these two women,” she said tentatively. “Perhaps a word of forgiveness from you would change things?”

  Isaiah leaned forward and Faith was drawn to him as she always was.

  “This is God’s move, Faith. Do you not believe those women’s fate is in God’s hands now?”

  “I do,” she breathed. “Yes. You’re right.”

  “And you do not believe I know anything more than God, do you?”

  “No, Reverend.”

  “And why is that?” Isaiah pushed.

  “Because you are only a man, and they are only women, and it is God’s plan.”

  “That is correct.”

  He held her gaze and Faith clutched her hands in front of her. Just before she was about to speak again, the phone rang. Isaiah tilted his head and she shook hers. It was always a hypnotic experience to be in Isaiah’s presence, but to speak with him so intimately was euphoric. Faith snapped out of it, she took up the receiver and turned away from Isaiah.

  “Reverend Wilson’s ministry. Faith speaking. How may I help you?”

  Faith listened and then she put her hand over the receiver.

  “It’s a hospital. They say Xavier Hernandez has asked for you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:

  The California Mountains

  He rode back as fast as he could. He rode for miles and miles thinking about what had happened. He killed her. KILLED. K-i-l-l-e-d. The word went through his mind in psychedelic permutations. There must be a name for this incredible feeling. It felt as if the word itself was going to engulf him.

  He sped through the city not bothering to stop at the lights, not noticing when he cut off a car. He panicked when she threatened his plan. Erika should not have done that. There was a timetable and, had she stuck it out, she and Bates would have been saved. That had been the point. Punish them, humiliate them and save them. Xavier would have been blamed, there would be another trial, Xavier would be back where he belonged and he would have his life back. Janey would be put to rest. It would have been perfect and now look. Erika was a nosey stupid bitch. Too smart for her own good.

  He rolled into his drive. The surrounding buildings were dark. He dug into his pants for the key and that’s when he felt it. There was a small hole in his pocket. It would have to be fixed. He let himself in, locked the door, and went straight to the bathroom. He showered for a very, very long time to calm his mind. He prayed for a plan. God must have heard because by the time he was drying himself he was able to consider his options. Once he was dressed, he realized there was only one: he had to leave Josie Bates where she was.

  Pity that, especially considering Hannah. Just as a child should not be taken from a parent, a parent should not be ripped from a child. Still, it couldn’t be helped. He would make it up to her. As God was his witness, he would make up for this mistake.

  The Beach, Hermosa Beach

  Hannah sat on the beach watching the water come in and go out. It was the first time she had sought out the sand and the water for herself, and it wasn’t just because Josie loved this place. Hannah wanted to be there because it would be a good long time before she saw the ocean again. Hannah calculated that she had about five hours before Mrs. Crane came to get her.

  Judge Leisinger wouldn’t want to rescind his order, and he would make Mrs. Rice cool her heels for an hour or two. Then he would call Mrs. Crane in and between the video presentation of Hannah attacking Reverend Wilson, the news reports of Archer’s hospitalization the night before, Hernandez’s injuries that kept him near death, and Josie’s continuing status as a missing person, they would convince him that foster care was the only option for Hannah Sheraton. After all, who else was there to watch her? A barkeep with bad legs? A dope smoking kid whose own mother barely let him in the house? Faye whose daughter needed her and, when push came to shove, would choose blood?

  So here Hannah sat with Max by her side. She wasn’t supposed to have the dog on the beach, but no one would call her on it. She put her hand on his head and let it slide down to his jowl. He loved that she petted him there because he always leaned into her caress. When she was gone, Hannah would miss him a lot, but the worst part was that he would miss her. Since Josie’s disappearance Max was disoriented and moving more slowly. Now that Hannah would be going and Archer wouldn’t be able to take care of him, she hoped he would survive to see one of them come home. It was hard enough being abandoned when you were young; to be abandoned when you were old would be horrible.

  Leaning over Max, Hannah took out her phone and used him like a pillow while she dialed Josie’s number. It rang and when it picked up, Hannah held the phone to the dog’s ear so he could hear Josie’s voice. She hung up, and put the phone back in her pocket.

  Archer had submitted a tracking request to the phone company, but now the LAPD would have to follow-up. Since no one would think to tell her anything, Hannah would just keep dialing until the day Josie answered or the battery gave out. Eventually, there was nothing more to do.

  “Come on, Max.”

  Hannah stood up, and dusted off her rear. She took the dog by the leash and grabbed the bag she had brought with her, pausing only long enough to look at the ocean one more time. It really was beautiful. She wished she could tell Josie she had changed her mind about the beach.

  Max pulled on the leash. He wanted to go home, but Hannah tugged the other way. Together, they walked slowly to Burt’s By the Beach. It was only eight in the morning, but already the place was doing a brisk business. Burt’s famous pancakes brought them in, and his free coffee refills kept them there.

  Hannah smiled at a few people she knew, and paused to let anyone who wanted to pet Max do so. He was a good boy and patiently let them, but Hannah saw in his eyes that he wanted to go home. She did, too, but they would both have to suck it up. She slid onto a stool at the counter and Burt came right over.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “How about Max?”

  “I already fed him.”

  “So?” Burt leaned on the counter. He was a good listener. Nothing fazed him. Hannah didn’t know if this would.

  “Max needs somewhere to stay. I was thinking you could take care of him for a while. Until Archer is better and Josie comes home.”

  “I figured last night would cause some problems for you,” Burt sighed. “How’s Archer doing?”

  “Good. The doctors are really surprised. They think another couple days in the hospital.” Hannah said. She looked down at Max. “So, will you take him?”

  “Sure thing,” Burt reached for the leash. “But maybe we could come up with something. I know a lawyer who could stand in for Faye.”

  Hannah shook her head. “Thanks, Burt, but it’s not worth it. When Josie’s back, she’ll come find me.”

  “So will Archer, kiddo.”

  “I know. But Josie first.”

  Hannah slid off the stool, handed over the bag with Max’s dish and food, took the dog’s face in her hands and leaned in for a kiss.

  “It won’t be long,” Burt said. “You’ll be back, and so will Josie. It will be like it al
ways was.”

  “Sure, Burt,” Hannah couldn’t help but smile at his lie. It would never be like it always was. Her fingers itched to tap, and her mind was dying to count, but she didn’t want her distraction to be the thing Burt remembered about her. “See you soon. And tell Billy bye for me. Have him tell Mrs. Manning at school what happened.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo,” Burt assured her sadly.

  She walked out the door and counted her steps all the way back to Josie’s empty house. There she finished packing the things she would need when Mrs. Crane came for her. The last thing in the bag was the picture of Josie and Max. When that was done, the house seemed truly empty.

  Torrance Memorial Hospital, Torrance

  He heard the whispers in his wake and, though he didn’t smile outwardly, inside Isaiah Wilson rejoiced. He had thought his notoriety was limited only to the faithful, but now he was once again in the broader public eye. Even though it was preordained that he should be a man of consequence, there had been moments in the last years when he wondered if God had turned his grace away.

  He had asked after Archer and been directed to his room. There Isaiah Wilson stood at the foot of the bed, hands crossed at his crotch, eyes on the big man who looked much less intimidating than the last time they met. Isaiah was a patient man and had waited until Archer opened his eyes to speak.

  “I am here to pray for you. You do not deserve to be in the path of His retribution against Josie Bates.”

  “Screw you,” Archer whispered and then he managed to push the call button. By the time the nurse arrived Isaiah Wilson was gone, and Archer wished he could take a bath and wash off the blessing he had dared to utter.

  Isaiah took the elevator up to ICU. There, his presence was not noted with the same enthusiasm as it had been at his first stop. That was understandable. ICU nurses and doctors were intent on their patients, those poor souls lying precariously close to death. Most were only a breath away from seeing their savior or the devil.

  Isaiah stopped to ask the way to Xavier Hernandez’s room. He was directed to it, but was told Xavier had fallen back into his coma. Still, Isaiah went on his way and was surprised to find that there was no one to guard the man in the bed. Given the urgency people felt about finding Josie Bates and Erika Gardener, one would think they would have an officer posted to listen to any utterance Xavier made.

  In the room, Isaiah found himself thinking that it was a pity there wasn’t more privacy. He would have liked to be alone with this man. He would have liked to squeeze one of the tubes that ran into this person who killed his child; or ease a pillow from under his head, put it over his face and rest his weight upon it until Xavier’s soul fled his body.

  Instead, he stood close and looked down upon Xavier’s handsome face. In repose, he looked quite beautiful. Mounting his daughter, his knife at the ready, Isaiah was sure he had looked like the devil. But now the topic was not Janey or that long ago atrocity Hernandez had visited upon them; now the topic was Josie Bates.

  Isaiah leaned down and put his lips near Xavier’s ear.

  “You have served your purpose, Xavier. You’ve done well.”

  With that, Isaiah Wilson straightened up and left the hospital. He had seen with his own eyes that Xavier Hernandez would never speak to anyone ever again, not about Janey nor Susie and definitely not about Josie Bates.

  The Office of Daniel Young, Manhattan Beach

  Liz sat on the floor for an hour and a half before anyone came. Finally, a woman stormed down the hall looking beautiful, chic and pissed. Her jeans were tight, her filmy blouse rolled off one shoulder, her heels were high and that hair of hers was cut with surgical precision so that the bangs fell exactly to the bottom of her brows. Upon closer inspection, though, Liz decided she wasn’t all that pretty. Her anger hardened her lips; the high color of her emotion stained the right side of her face like a birthmark rather than coloring it prettily.

  “Hi.” Liz pushed herself off the floor and adjusted her jacket, trying to look presentable.

  The other woman’s shadowed eyes swept over Liz as she said: “Doctor Young won’t be in today. Come back some other time.”

  “I’m Liz Driscoll, Hermosa PD.” Liz said this so convincingly the woman did not ask for identification. Instead, she unlocked the door, pushed it open, and rested her weight on one foot.

  “Well, he’s not coming in for anybody. I don’t think I can be plainer than that.”

  The woman twirled and stormed into the office, tossed her stuff on the reception desk and started to open drawers.

  “No problem,” Liz said as she followed, closing the door behind her.

  “Look, I don’t know what I can tell you. There haven’t been any phone calls. There haven’t been weird people hanging around. I’m sick of hearing the name Josie Bates. So, I don’t know what else you want from me.”

  “I’d like to see some pictures Daniel has here.”

  “There aren’t any pictures,” Gay put her hands flat on the desk and glared at Liz. “And I’ve got a ton of appointments to cancel. I don’t know why he even bothered to make them until all this stupid mess is over with.”

  “Well, can I look around?” Liz asked.

  “Sure. Just don’t touch his desk. He’s really funny about people touching his desk.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Liz walked toward the inner sanctum, pausing before she went in. “I left a message for him last night and haven’t heard from him.”

  “Don’t worry about it. He’s a prick. He only calls when he feels like it. If there’s something better to do than call you, he does it. I don’t mind telling you, I’m just a little tired of this whole thing.”

  “What whole thing?”

  “You know. Booty call? For a while I thought we had something really good going. Wrong! How stupid can I be? After everything I’ve done for him. I’ve bent over backwards.”

  “He’s got a lot on his mind,” Liz commiserated.

  “Then I wish he’d tell me about it. You know what I mean?” She took a minute to catch her breath and look at Liz. She wasn’t going to cry, but there was hurt behind her eyes. “He was so cool for a while. You’d think I’d know by now.”

  “Know what?” Liz asked.

  “That all men are psycho. All they do is think about themselves.”

  Liz had never been good at girl talk, and couldn’t exactly discuss the psycho assertion with any real authority so she didn’t try. Psycho was relative, but Liz could sort of see why Gay – she finally had a name – put the label on Daniel Young. It was never a good idea to sleep with your boss, but to sleep with a guy as anal as Daniel was really stupid. Liz had a hard time having him around in the last couple of days; to have him follow her home at night would be too much.

  Liz left Gay to her phone calls and checked out Daniel’s office. The man might as well have installed a spotlight over his desk. She took a look at the desk, but didn’t touch anything. There really wasn’t anything to touch, anyway. No pictures. Then she turned around and saw the vanity wall.

  The framed magazine covers were all old, but Daniel had been quite the darling of the media for a while. There were pictures at formal events. Liz admired the way he wore a tux. There were luncheon photos: Daniel with Mayor Riordon, Daniel on a movie set, a headshot of a well-known actress on which she had scrawled ‘thanks for saving me from myself’. Then she saw the picture of Daniel surrounded by women in evening gowns. This was what Archer wanted her to see: Daniel and Erika Gardener. His arm was around her instead of reaching out to encompass all the women. Erika did not look happy. Liz knew a relationship when she saw it and this was a relationship. Daniel should have told them.

  She took the picture from the wall and walked back to the reception room. Gay was on the phone, her voice sweet and concerned as she cancelled an appointment and thanked Mr. Bond for understanding that even doctors have sick days. She looked at Liz, fingers poised to dial again.

  “Do you know her?” Liz held out t
he picture. She didn’t even have to point at Erika Gardener because Gay’s eyes went right to her. She grimaced. She looked at Liz.

  “Yeah, I know who that is. Daniel’s fiancé.”

  Chambers of Judge Leisinger, Edleman Courthouse,

  Monterey Park

  “And you’ve spoken to Mrs. Crane? She agrees with this?”

  “Given all that has happened, given that the man who you thought should take custody of Hannah Sheraton is no longer able to, given that her birth mother is in jail and her guardian, Josie Bates, is still missing, yes, Mrs. Crane agrees a placement is the only course of action.”

  Leisinger didn’t bother to look at Mrs. Rice when he said: “A simple yes would have sufficed.”

  He picked up a pen and hesitated. Leisinger was a man who expedited that which had to be expedited, but this time it felt like a criminal action. Pity that in this case chronology put Hannah in harm’s way via an intractable system. He would rather have ten Hannah’s running around than Mrs. Rice and Mrs. Crane partnering up. Still, there was no choice now. He put his signature on the order remanding Hannah Sheraton to the care of the state.

  “When will Mrs. Crane be picking her up?” Leisinger asked.

  “She’s already called Hannah to let her know she’ll be coming as soon as she has the paperwork.”

  “That’s kind of her,” Leisinger said.

  “She wanted to make sure Hannah would be ready. You can’t waste time in these matters,” Mrs. Rice answered.

  “Pity that,” Leisinger noted. “Good day, Mrs. Rice.”

  The Home of Cory Cartwright, Westminster

  Detective Arnson sat in Cory Cartwright’s home on a small chair covered in a fabric stamped with big, pink roses. The place screamed old maid, and yet Cory Cartwright was far from it. Old, sure. She was probably in her sixties, but the woman knew how to take care of herself. She had a bod that just wouldn’t quit and, for a married man like Arnson, just thinking about it made him feel like he owed his wife an apology. It didn’t help that she was wearing some kind of yoga stuff that made her look like she was forty.