Privileged Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  ''How so?'' Josie stood up. She pulled up an upholstered chair so she could see Tim full on while he talked. Archer, got up too and leaned against the bureau.

  ''Grace came here and she looked like such a rich bitch. I thought it was a huge mistake bringing her back. Turns out she was quiet and nervous about everything. Grace was just. . .'' Tim put up his hands as if he could pluck the right word out of the air. ''Grace was just so grateful to be with Matthew and I thought he was the greatest guy in the world right then.

  ''The first time he brought her into the office he introduced her to everyone and told stories about how great she was as a kid. He would put his arm around her and hug her and Grace just beamed.''

  ''They're as tight as I've ever seen two people,'' Josie murmured.

  ''That's what everyone thinks,'' Tim corrected. ''And maybe it was true at first, but Matthew must have changed his mind. I thought I was imagining it.'' Tim looked from Josie to Archer. ''Matthew would tell Grace she was indispensable and how Michelle loved having her around then he'd add a little dig. Like she was a great financial officer but she better not screw up or he'd have to let her go. Or he'd say that Grace might as well move in because he wasn't getting any anyway since Grace was around all the time. Then he'd laugh so you were never sure if he meant it in a mean way or not. But I could see it hurt Grace. I never asked her about the past but if it was anything like the way Matthew treated her after she came back, I don't think he was a very nice brother.''

  ''What about the Michelle connection?'' Archer pressed.

  ''I don't know.'' Tim put one hand to his eyes and rubbed them. ''Matthew knew Michelle was a political asset but he was disappointed in the marriage. He said if he didn't get elected it would be because she was selfish and spoiled. That was Grace's cue to go beg Michelle for whatever Matthew wanted. I don't know, I can't explain it. It was all so insidious the way he manipulated Grace.''

  ''So, the night she got arrested, he lied about being concerned about her?''

  Tim shifted on the bench. He set aside the bag.

  ''Matthew told you that he was worried he would cause problems for Grace if the press followed him to the police station that night, right?''

  Josie nodded.

  ''Well, that was partially true. He was concerned about the press but it was for him, not her. He sent me down there to check out the lay of the land. He told me about you and him. He wanted to know two things: how serious was the problem and, if it was serious, what kind of reception would he get when he saw you?''

  ''And you told him what?'' Josie asked.

  ''I told him you'd cut his balls off,'' Tim said.

  ''And his response?'' Archer asked.

  ''He laughed. Matthew seemed energized, like this was some kind of game.'' Tim's shoulders fell. ''You really didn't stand a chance. Grace would worry about Matthew; Matthew would pretend to worry about her. He thought you would fall in line and make this mess go away. Then you'd go away and Matthew would get on with his life. It didn't sound so cold at the time. It just sounded smart.''

  Absentmindedly Tim plucked up the clothes on the bed and stuffed them in the overnight bag.

  ''I guess everybody's got their problems. I've got a brother who borrows money every month, promises he'll pay it back and then gambles it away. I keep giving it to him. So does that make me a masochist or him a con artist or both of us just idiots?'' Tim stopped mid-fold on silk blouse as he mused. ''Think about it. Is Grace a glutton for punishment or a sister willing to do anything to make things right? Was Michelle self-centered or Matthew's doormat or was she really crazy? Is Matthew a user or a driven man? Is everybody just selfish? Are we all just expendable?'' The question was sincere. He wanted an answer to these questions about human frailty but his audience was mute. Finally, Archer gave as good as he could.

  ''Got me,'' he said and Tim turned away.

  ''Yeah, well, nobody deserves to be treated the way Grace was. Matthew made her his slave and his whipping boy. Once someone asked Grace out and Matthew told her that he needed to talk to her about something important after he got back from a trip. Grace didn't want to be in the office alone so I waited with her. When it got really late I went to another room and called Matthew. He was asleep. That bastard had come back and gone to bed. That was when I realized Matthew wasn't the man I thought he was. He wasn't bad, he just didn't think about other people, I guess.''

  ''What did you do?''

  ''I told Grace Matthew called when she was in the bathroom and he was stuck at the airport. I wasn't going to tell her the truth.''

  ''Then that explains why he's been in court. Why he wanted to be at the meeting with P.J.''

  ''He wants to see which way his cookie is going to crumble,'' Tim Douglas laughed like Josie was an idiot child. ''I know he went to court to find you today. Probably told you he was up all night worrying.''

  ''He did,'' Josie said.

  ''Did he tell you he wasn't worried about Grace? When I got home there were ten messages on my answering machine. He wanted me to help find her so he could walk Grace in like somehow he was protecting her. He would ask the D.A. for a plea bargain. He'd be a hero and everyone would say how well he was handling all this tragedy.'' Tim looked at Archer. ''You really screwed everything up when you found those divorce papers, you know. Helen Crane is starting to think twice about backing Matthew.'' Tim eyed Josie. ''You want an all out acquittal and that keeps this whole thing alive.'' Tim smirked. ''So you see? The women in Matthew's life just weren't playing by his rules anymore and he doesn't know what to do with all that.''

  ''I don't believe it,'' Josie whispered, sickened by what she was hearing.

  ''When he finds out you helped Grace, you're toast,'' Archer pointed out.

  Tim shrugged.

  ''If he can cut the coattail his sister is riding on why would he think twice about doing it to me? I just thought somebody should help her.''

  ''I was there to help her,'' Josie reminded him.

  ''You were there for Matthew and Grace knew it even if you didn't. If you'd just sat down with her woman to woman, if you realized she was hurting over Michelle's death instead of always being like a lawyer, maybe then Grace would have told you all the stuff she knows. I think that's all she wants – someone to really take the time and listen to her.''

  Tim stood up. Josie made a move but Archer stopped her with a gesture. They couldn't force him to tell where Grace was and neither of them wanted Babcock on her tail. Tim made a half turn grabbed whatever was close and stuffed it all in the overnight bag.

  ''Did you ever meet someone and know that they were doomed?'' he asked, pausing as he looked over his shoulder. ''No? Well, I think Grace is doomed?''

  He was done packing. The sound of the zipper was like nails on a chalk board. He righted himself. The bag was in his hand and he waited for someone to say something.

  ''I won't let it happen,'' Josie answered.

  ''Yeah. Right.'' Tim's head bobbed in disappointment. With a sigh he tightened his grip on the overnight bag and started to walk. Josie touched him as he passed.

  ''Did you smash that picture?'' Josie cut her eyes to the broken frame around Matthew's portrait.

  Tim shook his head. ''Nope. Grace did it. Funny, huh? People will take a lot from someone they love and when they can't take it anymore they do something like that instead of facing them straight on. Doesn't exactly solve anything, does it?''

  ''No,'' Josie muttered, looking over her shoulder at the ruined photo then at the wall where Michelle's portrait still hung. No doubt Grace McCreary had a lot of rage in her. Michelle was already dead; Matthew and Josie might be the next targets. You just never knew. . .

  ''Well?''

  Startled, Josie looked at an impatient Tim Douglas. She dropped her hand but still he didn't move.

  ''What?'' she asked.

  ''Are you coming or not?''

  Slowly a smile spread across Josie's face until she was grinning at Archer. They followed Tim Douglas i
nto the cool evening. They took his car, one that Grace would recognize. No one suggested they call Detective Babcock or Matthew McCreary.

  CHAPTER 36

  They took the 405 to the 110. San Diego Freeway North to the Harbor North. Josie preferred freeway numbers; Tim liked their names. The chit-chat was minimal in the forty-five minutes it took them to reach the right off-ramp. Josie draped an arm over the back of the seat. The lights from the oncoming traffic cast a glow that haloed Tim Douglas's head. It was the height of rush hour and the traffic didn't break until they hit the 110 then it was clear sailing. Nobody wanted to head downtown this time of night.

  ''Vernon?'' Josie asked when they exited. Her voice sounded sultry in the quiet of the car.

  ''I own a piece of property here,'' Tim explained.

  ''I sure wouldn't have thought to look in Vernon,'' Josie muttered looking into the back seat at Archer. He was staring out the window, hanging on to his own thoughts.

  Tim hung another right off the freeway, a left and another right. They drove for five more minutes through a ghost town of big, grimy buildings. By day more than a hundred thousand people came to work in the factories and warehouses; fewer than two hundred stayed the night. It was a bizarre statistic that Josie couldn't footnote so she stopped trying.

  Here and there she spied signs of life. The small security shacks were illuminated by the flickering glow of portable TVs as the men inside watched infomercials and televangelists and old movies until dawn. Sometimes the rent a cops dozed, sleeping away the night because there wasn't much to steal in places that tooled machine parts, packed meat, laminated paper. Josie ignored the scenery, such as it was, and called home again.

  ''Where could she be?'' Josie muttered.

  ''You have a kid?'' Tim asked and Josie didn't miss the tone of disbelief.

  ''I'm her guardian.'' Josie left it at that and so did Tim.

  ''Try Faye,'' Archer suggested.

  ''I talked to her earlier. She's in San Diego by now.'' Josie hit the buttons again.

  ''Hannah probably went to Burt's for dinner and forgot to bring her cell. It happens.''

  ''It shouldn't.'' Josie put her phone away, testy and peeved. ''How much longer, Tim?''

  ''Almost there.'' He took a left then another one not even a block down. They were in an alley. Pitch black. Unpaved. Deserted. Archer had a word for Tim.

  ''Grace better be here, my man. I don't want any surprises.''

  ''She's here, damn it.''

  Tim twirled the wheel, hit the brakes hard and pulled the emergency. Josie straight armed the dash. Archer grunted as the younger man slammed out of the car leaving the door open and the car running. He was swallowed by the dark only to reappear a second later, cutting through the parallel beams of the headlamps, walking in the gray area between them. The incandescent light sculpted him into a troll-like creature that scuttled toward a chain link fence laced with a curlicue of razor wire. Archer and Josie watched Tim unlocked the gate then push until it opened far enough to let the car through.

  Stepping on the running board, Tim Douglas pulled himself up and in, closed the door and the three of them sat in his car looking at the yaw of dark in front of them.

  ''I don't care what anyone wants anymore, so be grateful for what I'm doing.'' They heard the ratchet of the brake release, the gear being thrown. ''Turn off your phones just in case. I don't want to scare her.''

  ''I don't know, Hannah, this doesn't seem right.''

  Billy Zuni peered at the run down apartment buildings as Hannah's VW bug crept along the unfamiliar street.

  ''It's fine.'' She tightened her hold on the wheel, annoyed by Billy and the fake daisy in the little vase attached to the dash. The Bug, the vase, the flower all seemed like such a slap in the face to this neighborhood where people had so little. ''We're just going to sit with her for a little while, that's all.''

  Hannah pushed her long hair back in an impatient gesture then grabbed the wheel with both hands again. She didn't dare look at Billy for fear he would see that she knew he was right and that was the last thing Hannah wanted Billy to know.

  An hour ago when that lady, Susan O'Connel, called wondering where Josie was Hannah wrote down the message and thought nothing more of it. Josie was just a little late. She would be there. Josie always kept her word. Hannah went to Burt's and hung her paintings. Billy ambled in, admired Hannah's work, chattered about this and that and nearly drove her crazy until Burt offered them burgers. Billy still admired her paintings while he ate but it was easier to take when Burt joined the conversation. Faye passed through to pick up a bite before heading down San Diego way to see her grandson. Hannah lingered, not giving Josie or her client a second thought.

  It was dark when Billy Zuni walked Hannah as far as the front door. It was lonely when Hannah closed that door and her heart started to pound and her fingers drummed against the wood – five. . .seven. . .nine. . . Nine! Max was there with his snout against her leg and those eyebrows undulating as if to ask where his dinner was. Ten. . . twelve. . . Hannah laughed and forced her fingers to touch the top of the dog's head. Thirteen. . .eighteen. . . Max thought she was petting him. Twenty. . Hannah turned on the lights – all of them. She opened all the doors – every single one. She could be alone without being afraid. There was homework to do and a new canvas to prime. Hannah was fine. Then that woman called again.

  And again.

  Susan O'Connel, kept calling. Her voice trampolined an octave higher each time she was told Josie couldn't be found. Hannah did her best to soothe the woman.

  Josie had been delayed. Josie had not forgotten. Something important was keeping her. Josie would never leave you afraid.

  Hannah fingers tapped as fast as she talked. She herself paced with the phone to her ear, rationalizing, trying to find words that would calm Susan O'Connel. Then she did the only thing she could think to do: Hannah promised to help. How lame was that? She was an idiot dragging Billy into a strange neighborhood to meet a woman she didn't know after Josie told her to stay close to home. Much as she hated to, Hannah was about ready to turn around, tell Billy she had made a mistake when he cried out.

  ''There. Hey, Hannah, that's it. See?'' He checked the building number against the one he had inked on the palm of his hand. Hannah hugged the little steering wheel and checked it out. A car honked behind her. She pulled against the red curb and let the person behind her go. Billy knit his brow. ''I don't think you can park here, Hannah. It's red.''

  ''Duh.'' She rolled her eyes then yanked on the wheel, pulled out around an old truck and parked in front of it. She turned off the ignition and sat in the silence, sure that Billy could hear her heart pounding.

  ''You want to go up now?'' Billy whispered, sensing something was amiss but not wanting to incur Hannah's wrath by voicing his dread.

  ''I guess. I mean, since we're here,'' she answered, wishing he would be the one to stop her.

  ''Yeah, since we came all this way,'' Billy nodded and both of them looked at the building.

  ''Billy, do you think this is a stupid idea?'' Hannah asked.

  ''Naw. I think it's nice. Kind of like you being part of Josie's team. You know, like her assistant.''

  Hannah's smile was shaky. Her hands were clasped in her lap. Little suction sounds could be heard as she pumped her palms together. That was nice for him to say when they both knew it wasn't right to go off half cocked and angry at Josie. Knowing she couldn't back down now, Hannah took her keys and said:

  ''Okay, so let's go then.''

  They got out of the car and stood together in front of the old brick building. Billy opened the glass door. Hannah went in first. Instantly she put her hand to her nose. The place smelled of bad cooking and smoke. The carpet was dirty with the kind of grime that never came out no matter how hard you tried to clean it. There were three landings with apartments on either side. Hannah stopped short to get her bearings and Billy bumped into her.

  ''Christ, Billy,'' Hannah hissed. He mumbl
ed his apologies in the dead quiet of that narrow hallway with the weak light hanging above them. Hannah looked up. ''Come on. It's the top floor.''

  Billy stuck close as they climbed. First landing. Second. Hannah could hear her heart. Billy grunted and wheezed. They sounded like two scared little kids. What good would they do that lady if they sounded like that? Hannah took one deep breath and bounded up the next ten steps, pounding away her anxiety. Billy did the same.

  ''Made it.'' Hannah actually smiled when he joined her.

  ''Yeah. So, that's okay, then.'' Billy smiled back. ''Want me to knock?''

  ''No, we're just going to barge right in like Spy Kids,'' Hannah drawled, her swell of friendship curling into the disdain of normalcy. Billy could be so clueless. ''I'll knock.''

  She raised her fist but the door wasn't latched so her knuckles scraped the wood and pushed it open. Hannah and Billy looked at each other but before they could bolt, the door jolted again and something came at them so fast they jumped into one another's arms, laid themselves back against the wall and knew that if they weren't about to die, Josie was going to kill them when they got home.

  Matthew McCreary watched the television alone. He did not pick up the phone when it rang because his hands were busy. One held a bottle of scotch the other the television remote. He had monitored every news program he could find and all of them were dissecting the rise and fall of Matthew McCreary, talking about the dark cloud that shadowed his campaign during this primary. The personal tragedy that brought him sympathy votes was now turning into three ring circus of speculation, sensationalism and sadism. Everyone wanted a piece of Matthew McCreary and his family: talk shows and news programs, pop psychologists and pundits. He'd like to kill the fool that coined the phrase ‘family values' because – according to everyone – he probably didn't have any. He, the public now hypothesized, was the smoldering core of a volcano that would blow, spewing ever more toxic scandal. The dead wife had tried to leave him, making out a will assuring he would never get her money. Why? The prodigal sister was on the lam with the law on her heels. Why? Matthew McCreary was silent. Why? Why? Why?