Eyewitness (Thriller/Legal Thriller - #5 The Witness Series) (The Witness Series #5) (18 page)

Billy Zuni could not have understood his rights, Your Honor.

His injuries precluded understanding.

Billy Zuni could not have understood his rights because he was medicated, Your Honor.

That was how she would raise her voice in his defense, but all she could do now was listen as Billy’s cries became whimpers.

Josie hung her head. Her jaw throbbed. She tasted blood at the corner of her lip. Raising her head, she shook back her long bangs. Montoya was finished; Billy was exhausted. The nurse stood back. If she was rattled she didn’t show it.

“Anything else?” she asked the cops.

Mike shook his head. Josie’s eyes followed the nurse and the orderly as they left. That was when she saw the last person who had rushed to Billy Zuni’s room. Hannah stood in the doorway, accusation in her eyes. This, she seemed to say, was all Josie’s fault.

A second later she bolted.

2006

Teuta
waited by the door where the men who ran the mine worked. These were the head offices and no one but bosses went in. Certainly, no woman went in. That was why Teuta waited to speak to the man she knew was inside: the man who lived in America, the man who came often now to see to business. This was the man who, when he accepted coffee at Teuta’s home, watched her daughter and was kind to her son.

Just when she thought her courage would not last, the door of the important offices opened. One man came out. He did not see her as he left to walk home. Another man came out. She thought, perhaps, she had missed the boss of all of them, but she had not. He walked out the door and paused to look over the village as if he owned it. As if he were king. Like a king, he held many lives in his hands.

“Sir,” Teuta called as she stepped from the shadow of the building.

Greg Oi turned.

“It is Teuta, is it not?” he said and then he smiled. He was not as much Shqiptare as he was American now. As she began to speak, she could only hope that was so.

“I have come to ask you a favor,” she began.

2013

“Hannah!”

Josie was after her, but the girl was fast and nowhere to be seen by the time Josie pushed past Montoya and got to the hall. A nurse gave Hannah away, looking toward the emergency exit as she picked up her receiver to call security. Josie threw herself at the door, hit the bar hard, and ran into the well. The door closed slowly behind her, allowing Montoya’s voice to leak through the opening. Josie couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she knew he was giving orders to secure Billy and his room. Then all she heard were her own feet pounding on the concrete stairs, heading to the place Hannah would be. She pushed through the exit door, dashed onto the third floor waiting room, and ran into the ICU. Montoya was already there, coming from the lobby area.

“Come on.”

He touched her arm without breaking stride, and they were off again. Josie itched to run. The ICU wasn’t big, but she couldn’t see Hannah. Unable to restrain herself, Josie sprinted ahead, drawing her fingertips across the window to Rosa’s room. The blinds were drawn and they shouldn’t have been. The doctors couldn’t monitor Rosa if they couldn’t see her. When she was close enough, Josie grabbed the jamb, swung herself into the doorway and stopped dead. Montoya came up behind her.

“Damn.” Montoya muttered.

The room was empty, the bed freshly made, and the monitors silent. Josie turned so suddenly she caught Mike’s shoulder as she pushed past him and confronted a nurse.

“Where’s the woman who was in there?”

“Hey.” The woman pulled back more angry than scared. Behind Josie, Mike pulled his badge and held it up.

“Where is the patient who was in there? Is she alive?” he asked.

“She’s been moved. Fourth floor. 460,” she answered.

Josie was already headed for the stairwell, but the nurse stopped Mike.

“She’s still serious. That woman won’t do the patient any good.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Hoping he hadn’t lied, he followed Josie. He was still thirty-seconds behind her, but this time he went up the stairs, too.

“Bates!” The sound of his voice startled her. She paused and looked down on him. “Take it down a notch.”

“When I know Hannah’s okay.”

She took the last steps two at a time and exited to the fourth floor. Montoya caught up with her easily. They threaded around visitors, patients and nurses. Montoya took her arm. His grip was tight enough that Josie only had two choices: slow down or deck him. He must have known that she was considering the second option because he gripped harder and pulled her back.

“Hannah might not even be here.”

“She’ll be there. She’ll want Rosa to tell you the truth to save Billy. She’ll try to make her do that, Montoya.”

No sooner had those words come out of her mouth than she caught site of Hannah ducking from the waiting room into the ward.

“There she is.” Josie started to walk faster. “I’m good, Montoya. Let me go.”

Before he could decide if he would do that, Hannah Sheraton screamed.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

***

"Samuel Lumina, Jr. give me that! Give me that right now!"

Mary Lumina had just about had it. The old man was still living in their house, still treating her as if she didn't exist, Sam was getting more unbearable every
day, strutting around like some foreign cock-of-the walk spouting off in Albanian. He didn't even speak the language that well. He sounded like an idiot. And now Sammy was turning into a five-year-old chauvinist, running wild, not listening to his mother. He had grabbed her good perfume and ran with it like a football. She thought she'd been chasing him, but when she got to the living room he was nowhere to be seen.

"If you break that bottle, so help me I'm going to take it out of your hide. I swear, Sammy! Where are you?"

She swung her head left then right and finally got on her knees to see if he might have gotten under the sofa. Just then she heard a whack and thunk. Mary shot up and ran to the laundry room. Sure enough, there he was, grinning from ear to ear, standing next to the closet where the water heater was housed. The only saving grace was that she was not overwhelmed by the scent of Jasmine Lace perfume, and that pretty much meant the bottle didn’t break when he threw it in.

Pushing up her sleeves, she stuck her hand into the closet where the water heater was. It smelled moldy. She would have to talk to Sam about that. Her fingers spread, she strained and finally she touched the bottom of the cabinet. She cursed as her kid careened around the house. God knew what he was going to get into. Soon as she retrieved the perfume, she was going to give him the biggest time out ever.

Just as she was planning how to take the kid down a notch, her fingers brushed against something. It didn’t feel like her perfume bottle. What else had that boy put down there? She wiggled her fingers and finally caught hold of the fabric and pulled out the small bag. Sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and the bag in her lap, Mary hollered.

“Sam Lumina, junior. I’m coming to get you. I swear! I’m coming!”

But she wasn’t going to get him. She was opening the bag.

***

People’s reactions to a threat are as individual as a fingerprint and it was no different with the three people who ran to Rosa Zuni’s room.

Hannah threw herself into the fray without thinking of the consequences.

Josie analyzed the situation quickly, determined where the danger might be coming from, and moved to block it.

Mike Montoya locked everyone down and would investigate when the situation was secure.

When Mike and Josie arrived, Hannah had already reacted in character. She was sprawled on the floor as if she had been pushed aside. That meant she had attacked before assessing the danger. While Josie put herself in front of the girl she stayed true to character and catalogued what she saw in case she was called to witness. Mike Montoya pulled his weapon. He ordered the two men leaning over Rosa Zuni’s bed to:

“Step back. Step back. Put your hands up.”

“They were trying to kill her,” Hannah cried as she scrambled up off the floor. She made another run at them but Josie blocked her.

“Are you hurt?” Josie muttered.

“No, but he had his hands on her.” Hannah pushed against Josie who pushed right back.

“Stay quiet,” Josie ordered.

Hannah stopped struggling. She took one step and then another until she had her back against the wall. In the hall there were the sounds of people panicking, running, and calling to one another. Mike Montoya didn’t bother to look behind him. He knew they were there. He knew they were alarmed. He knew they had to go.

“Ms. Bates, if you would please see that the doorway is kept clear.”

Josie turned. She took Hannah’s hand and handed her off to a woman outside the door.

“Could you make sure she gets to room 217?”

To Hannah she said:

“This time, I mean it.” Josie put her hand on her cheek. “I’ll find you as soon as I can. You stay with Billy. He needs you now.”

When they were gone, Josie closed the door part way. She could see Rosa Zuni. The woman didn’t seem to be in distress and nothing seemed to be disturbed. More interesting were the two men standing on either side of her bed.

The younger one on the far side of the room had complied with Montoya’s order. His hands were up, his eyes darting between Montoya and Josie. The big man, the one with his back to them, the one who hovered over Rosa Zuni, did not move. He had not thrown up his hands, and hidden hands were not a good thing.

Seconds ticked by. The big man sucked them all into his orbit. He was a powerful presence. Josie amended her thought. Something powerful radiated from him as if whatever had brought him here was so insistent, so urgent, neither Mike Montoya nor his gun would stop him from what he intended to do.

Montoya, though, wasn’t feeling it. He was all business.

“You.”

Mike moved as he looked for an angle to get a bead on the man’s face. There was a lot to be learned from the set of a person’s jaw, the pull of his lips, and the look in his eyes. Given the way the man was poised, though, it was impossible to see. The disadvantage did not concern Mike. His hand and his resolve were both steady. He moved another inch, paused where he felt solid footing, breathed steadily, and spoke authoritatively even as his finger tightened on the trigger.

“I will only ask you once more. Stand straight. Show your hands. Move away from the bed. If you make any threatening move, sir, I will shoot you.”

The man against the wall opened his mouth. The big man must have made some movement because the younger one never spoke.

Seconds ticked by. The silence was only broken by the sound of air inflating the wrappings around Rosa Zuni’s legs: first one, then the other; whooshing and shooshing, moving the blood through her system so she didn’t throw a clot. It was as if that machine breathed for them all as they waited for the big man to make his decision: turn and face Mike Montoya, or go for the unconscious woman in the bed.

Finally the big man unfurled, revealing himself as he wished to be revealed. His neck was thick, and his white hair was dense and shaved like a soldier’s with a fringe at the top and short on the sides. The skin on his neck was leathered as if he had spent his whole life bent over a failing field trying to coax something - anything – to grow. His arms were long, and his clothing nondescript but neat. He could have been anyone, but he wasn’t. He was the man who found Rosa Zuni irresistible. It seemed almost painful for him to drop his hands and hold them away from her. He splayed his fingers as if he knew the drill and was unimpressed by it, perhaps even contemptuous of it.

“There is no need for a gun.” His voice was low, quiet, unconcerned and foreign.

“Turn around, please. Keep your hands where we can see them.”

The air stirred as if the man had shrugged it away. In the shadowed room, nerves were rubbed raw by the odd whooshing of the machines and the deathly silence of Rosa Zuni. Whoever this man was, nothing frightened him. Not even Mike Montoya’s gun.

Deliberately, he did as he was told until he stood in front of them: shadowed, ancient looking, and yet so of this time. Wrinkles were chiseled deeply at the corner of his sharp, narrow eyes but they radiated into a smooth brow. The furrows from nose to mouth were cut deep yet only served to add parenthetical emphasis to his strength rather than draw his expression down to defeat. A face that had once been handsome was now proudly set in age. His presence was made more dramatic by the sunlight slashing through the half-opened blinds. It banded his hair in shades of silver and pewter, his jacket in dark and light. Against the wall, the young man moved. The old man lifted a finger his way.

“Do not do that.”

The old man’s voice was smooth as sea glass, warm as August sand, and heavy with an accent that was thick as a marine fog. The right side of his lips tipped up as he addressed Mike Montoya.

“He is a boy. Only a boy.”

“And who are you?”

The man’s lips tipped disdainfully as if the question was beneath him. The sun shifted and the bands of light gave way to a sash of grey that covered his eyes like a blindfold. He said:

“I am Gjergy. This w
oman and the boy belong to me.”