Authors: Rebecca Forster
Josie Bates’ House, Hermosa Beach
Hannah opened the door and there stood Billy Zuni.
“Tacos.” He held up a white paper sack, the bottom of which was soaked with reddish tinged grease.
“You went to Miguel’s?”
“Naw. Sean was going home with his doggie bag and told me I could have them.”
Hannah nodded. Been there, done that when her mother forgot to come home or even to leave food in the fridge. Hannah had been grateful to anyone willing to give her anything. She opened the door wider. Billy walked in. No matter what time of day she saw him, no matter where, he smelled like the beach. The scent was a funny mix of sunscreen (which he didn’t use) and dope (which he did) and water and sand and beach sweat which was totally different than exercise sweat or nervous sweat.
Max didn’t get up but blinked his big dark eyes in gratitude when Billy reached down to gives his ears a little pet. The dog stretched and showed his belly.
“This dog sure likes me,” Billy laughed.
“He likes anyone who pets him.” Hannah took his greasy bag and headed into the kitchen, counting her steps silently along the way.
“He likes me especially. I can tell,” Billy called after her as he scratched Max, and put his face close so the dog didn’t have to reach too far to give him a kiss. He gave Max one more pat and stood up. “Heard from Josie?”
“No.”
“Archer?”
“He called while I was on the phone with you. He left a message and said he found Josie’s car. There’s nothing weird about it. He’s running down a few things. He didn’t tell me what.” Hannah took out the tacos. They were cold, and the grease that had looked reddish on the bag had taken on an orange glow as it congealed on the meat. “Are you really going to eat these?”
“Sure, but I’ll share if you want.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Hannah reached for a plate, put the two tacos on it and gave it to Billy as he sat down. She opened the fridge and filled her own plate with cold chicken before making a spinach salad and taking a seat on a chair opposite Billy. He shook the bangs out of his eyes and looked at her. Annoyed she looked back.
“What?”
“Well, maybe you say grace or something. I’ve never had dinner at Josie’s house before.”
“No, we don’t say grace,” Hannah answered, but she said it nicely because there was some comfort in Billy thinking about praying. “You can go ahead and eat.”
“Did you say grace with your mom?” he asked.
Hannah snorted. The only thing Linda Rayburn ever prayed for was more money and less responsibility.
“My mom doesn’t either,” Billy said matter-of-factly. “I don’t even know if we’re a religion. Sometimes, I go down to the services at the beach on Sunday.”
“Do you know anything about your mom?” Hannah drawled.
Billy picked up his taco and bit into it. The taco didn’t crunch, so it must have been in the bag a long time.
“Not much. I know she was way too young when she had me ‘cause that’s what she always says.
I
was way too young
,” Billy mimicked and Hannah couldn’t help but laugh.
“My mom used to say that, too.”
They ate in silence for a while: Billy thoughtfully chewing his limp, cold tacos, Hannah picking at her salad.
“Did you talk to anyone on the beach?” Hannah asked.
“Sure did, but nobody’s seen her. And Burt doesn’t have everybody coming into his place, like Archer thinks. It feels like we’re pissing in the ocean, know what I mean?” Billy shook his bangs back again. “Like, who’s ever going to know you did it when there’s so much water around you anyway?”
Hannah poked at her chicken like she wanted to kill it all over again. She put a piece in her mouth and rested her head on one upturned hand. She was looking at her food while Billy was looking at her. The end-of-day light was coming through the kitchen window and Hannah’s hair was sparkling like it had been polished. Billy thought he’d never seen more beautiful hair. Hannah, on the other hand, thought Billy was right. Pissing in the ocean was kind of useless. It was the same as being a grain of sand on the beach. It just didn’t get noticed and neither would a question here or there. She raised her eyes, the light pierced her irises, turning the green a cat-like golden. She looked freaky-beautiful. She looked even more freaky-beautiful when an idea started to take form.
“You want to help me with something?”
Billy’s grin was dazzling. Hannah grinned back, and for the next few hours they were pretty close to being friends.
CHAPTER TWELVE:
An Outbuilding in the California Mountains
Josie put the balls of her feet on the cement wall and pushed back. Her legs weren’t as strong as they usually were, but they were serviceable. She pumped and pushed herself up, lifted her rear, wiggled her shoulders. Like a pill bug, she managed to move a few inches until she was cupped around the stake, easing the rope’s tension. Josie laughed. It was a small sound meant just for her, but the other woman responded.
“Can you help me?” she asked in a gravelly whisper.
Josie closed her eyes against the tears that welled when she heard those words. Regrouping, she opened them again and the tears were gone.
“Not yet, but I will.”
The Law Offices of Faye Baxter & Josie Bates, Hermosa Beach
It was almost seven and Archer sat on the floor of Josie’s office in a pool of light cast from the desk lamp, surrounded by boxes. He hadn’t been surprised to find that the second set of boxes he had seen earlier when he was there with Hannah were from the Hernandez trial. Someone had intended the list found in Josie’s car to point in Hernandez’s direction; Young confirmed the connection. But for Josie to have pulled these boxes out of storage meant someone had to have given her a heads up that the Hernandez matter was hot again.
Now Archer was an audience of one, and the curtain had risen on a show he didn’t buy a ticket for. It was up to him to figure out what it was all about and the program was extensive.
Luckily, Josie made it a little easier by being a meticulous record keeper.
There were twelve boxes in all. Each was neatly labeled: motions, filing, transcripts, media, appeal, etc. Archer started at the end. He opened the box labeled ‘appeal’. Josie had not been the attorney of record, but she had been involved. Again, no surprise; appellate lawyers were a breed unto themselves. He flipped through the paperwork to the ruling. The appeal was denied. The conviction stood at second-degree murder.
Sentence:
fifteen years to life with another twenty tacked on for various and sundry additional charges. Hernandez was remanded to state prison.
Archer re-filed the information and went to the first box.
Arrest Report:
Name
: Xavier Hernandez.
Age
: Twenty-six
Height
: 5 feet 9 inches.
Hair
: Black
Eyes
: Brown
Weight
: 191 lbs.
Glasses
: No
Contacts
: No
Scars
: None
Injuries:
Scratches to the right side of neck, bruise on the inside of the right thigh, puncture wounds on the palms of both hands.
Fingerprint card
: That was funny to look at. These days LAPD took prints and filed this stuff digitally.
There was an inventory of the personal items confiscated during booking: keys, driver’s license, three dollars and fifty-three cents in cash, a piece of gum, a heart-shaped necklace and a scrunchy.
The necklace, Archer knew, belonged to Janey Wilson. He had seen it on an Internet photo.
Booking photos:
Xavier Hernandez’s mug shot showed a nice looking guy with long, thick, straight hair. His lips were narrow and expressive in repose. Not quite a smirk or a smile, they tipped up naturally as if he was thinking about something pleasant. His cheekbones were high and his gaze straightforward. There was something exotic and a little delicate about him. He looked like one of those Italian models that were so popular these days, but he was Hispanic and it showed in the tone of his skin and the color of his eyes. Archer looked further. Xavier’s neck was big and short and held his head atop powerful shoulders and a broad chest. It was as if Xavier’s face had been sculpted by the aristocracy of Spain, and his body by the Indians of Mexico.
There was a photo of the puncture wounds on his hands. They looked as if he had hit gravel hard. They were more pockmarked than wounded. There was dark stuff under the nails on his right hand.
The picture of his neck showed deep, obvious scratch marks. The picture of his thigh showed a large bruise at the groin. Another picture showed worn jeans, shoes worn down at heel, a suit jacket, a t-shirt, mismatched socks, stretched out tighty-whitey underwear. The shoes were especially dusty. There were dark stains on the right side of his jacket and on the pants.
The Police Report:
Suspect was observed speeding and weaving down the desert highway in a red Toyota, Camry at 3:24 p.m. Suspect crossed the centerline of the two-lane highway twice. Officer in pursuit at speeds in excess of eighty miles an hour. Officer immediately activated lights and siren and believed the suspect was both aware of pursuit and was fleeing from such. Suspect also was observed leaning toward the passenger side of the vehicle while simultaneously attempting to steer the vehicle. Officer called in license plate and was advised that there were outstanding warrants for traffic violations on registered owner Agatha M. Hernandez.
Suspect lost control of his car, veered onto the shoulder and came to a stop approximately a hundred yards off the highway. Officer followed suit, stopping behind suspect’s car at twenty feet, and observed that the suspect was sitting with his back to the officer. His hands were not visible. Officer called in his position, and exited the patrol car leaving the door open per standard procedure. Officer approached the Camry observing that the car was extremely dirty.
Officer observed the driver’s window was partially open, and advised the suspect to put his hands on the wheel. The suspect did not comply nor did he acknowledge the officer’s presence. Officer called out again for the suspect to put his hands on the wheel. The suspect did not comply; the officer drew his weapon and approached with caution. After a third attempt at engagement, officer approached the vehicle and opened the door. Only then did the suspect look at the officer. At that time the suspect responded to directions to exit the vehicle, stood with his hands by his side, turned at direction, put his hands on the hood of the car, and assumed the position as ordered. Officer noted the suspect’s unkempt appearance and the blood….
Archer set aside the report and picked up the photo of Xavier Hernandez’s hands. The officer’s report described blood on the thumb pad and the back of Hernandez’s right hand. By the time the suspect was transported he managed to wipe away most of it. The rest had dried, leaving half-moons of what appeared to be dirt under the nails. Some had sunk into the wrinkle between his finger and thumb. Archer put that picture down and picked up the one of Hernandez as he had been dressed. It looked like he’d slept in his clothes. It was possible to see the dust on his shoes and on the hem of his pants.
Archer put all the photos and the extended arrest report aside and dug into the box marked ‘evidence’. The sheer volume of paperwork was overwhelming as it always was in a trial of this magnitude. Reports, analysis, lists and comparisons. For every bit of discovery the prosecution sent to Josie, she created twenty pages of notes to discount it, motions to have it thrown out, requests for clarification, and samples for independent testing. Finally, Archer found what he wanted: analytics for evidence taken from the body of Xavier Hernandez.
He went over it fast. Blood was confirmed under the fingernails and embedded in his hands. Blood was also dried on Hernandez’s pants and jacket. Archer dove back into the box and pulled out a few more pages. Initial analysis indicated blood on his pants was both his and the victims’. The scrapings taken from under his nails matched the same types that had co-mingled with his own.
Hernandez was not drunk.
He was not belligerent, nor arrogant nor in shock. He accepted the arrest.
He had offered no explanation for his state of disarray or the blood.
He had allowed the officer to search his car.
The officer found more blood evidence inside the car, cuffed the suspect, and called to have the car towed.
Archer would have convicted the guy on this alone. He couldn’t wait to see what magic Josie had worked to save Hernandez’s sorry butt.
Back in the box.