Eyewitness (Thriller/Legal Thriller - #5 The Witness Series) (The Witness Series #5) (26 page)

Rita Potter: What are parameters?

Doctor Hardy: He has severe separation anxiety. Rosa’s safety is equated with his safety. He would do anything to keep that status quo.

Rita Potter: Could something have disturbed this delicate balance enough for him to become violent? Say, the attention of men that Billy perceived might change the relationship between Rosa and himself?

Doctor Hardy: Speaking in the abstract, yes. Drug use could bring on the type of violence that was visited on Rosa Zuni. We might even consider something like parasomnias. That could explain-”

“Your Honor,” Josie interrupted without rising, throwing off the rhythm of Rita Potter and her witness.

“Ms. Bates?” Judge Healy recognized her.

“Doctor Hardy is talking about sleepwalking as a possible explanation for criminal behavior that hasn’t been established. I don’t understand why we are taking that tangent?”

“I only wanted to cover all bases, judge,” Rita said. “The choices before you range from incarceration to family placement. State of mind, and possibly disposition to violence, should be taken into consideration.”

“Agreed,” Josie countered. “However, I have reported to both the investigating officer and the court that we now have a witness who clearly documents the timeline on the night in question. Billy was at the beach during the time of the assault, he did not test positive for drugs, and he has no known problem with parasomnias”

“Can we move on from this testimony, Ms. Potter?”

“Your Honor, I do think Doctor Hardy’s testimony needs to be considered. No reasonable person walks into a raging ocean, nor does a reasonable person assault another so viciously.”

“Your Honor, please,” Josie objected. “Two grown men were killed and Rosa Zuni’s attack took time that Billy could not possibly have had.”

“But, judge,” Rita pleaded. “I am not including the two murder victims in the scope. We are only concerned with facts in evidence including Billy’s behavior. Even if we disregard the knife, he admits to leaving the scene where the woman was near death. If he does have these sleep problems, this is something the people who will eventually be charged with his care need to know. Further testing is imperative before he is released from the hospital.”

“Point taken, Ms. Potter.” Healy made some notes. “Doctor Hardy, how long would these tests take?”

“A day. Possibly two,” he answered. “I believe Billy’s history is well documented. I would like to explore not only the psychology but the physiological aspects of sleep deprivation, erratic eating, familial rejection, etc.”

“The court appreciates your thoroughness, Doctor Hardy.”

He was dismissed and Mike Montoya was called and dutifully sworn. “Detective Montoya,” Ms. Potter began. “Your investigation is ongoing, but in the matter at hand, the disposition of Billy Zuni, I would like to ask you directly if you are going to be charging him with the murder of Greg Oi or Jac Duka.”

“No, we are not at this time.”

“Will you be charging him with the assault on Rosa Zuni.”

“The District Attorney has not filed charges, but Billy Zuni has been read his rights as a precaution.”

“Detective,” Rita asked, “What do you know about the relationship between Billy and Rosa Zuni?”

“We believe that Rosa is Billy Zuni’s older sister. They are not U.S. citizens and may have been held here illegally by one of the murder victims, Greg Oi.”

“In what capacity would he have held them?”

“We are still trying to sort that out,” Mike began and then proceeded to fill the court in on, Kat Oi’s story, the passports, the DVD, and his discussions with the federal strike force and immigration.

Judge Healy stopped bouncing in his high backed chair. Placement of Billy Zuni was no longer standard operating procedure, yet he looked concerned as he asked:

“Detective, are your federal contacts sufficiently motivated to fast-track their investigation?”

“Yes, Your Honor, but Albania does not have the information infrastructure we enjoy over here. I’m sure Mr. Isai could speak to this matter.”

Judge Healy looked into the courtroom and then spoke to Josie.

“Ms. Bates, is that your witness?”

“It is, Your Honor.”

The judge crooked a finger. Gjergy stood up.

“I will consider you sworn to tell the truth to this court. Is that understood?”

Gjergy nodded.

“Do you have any proof of the relationship between you and either Rosafa or Besnik Zogaj, also known as Rosa and Billy Zuni?”

“I do not, Honorable Judge,” Gjergy answered. “I can say her mother is
Teuta and her father is Flori. Her grandfather, my wife’s cousin, was Yilli the goat herder. To this I swear.”

“But you have no papers?” Healy insisted.

“No, Honorable.”

“Thank you, sir. You may sit.”

Gjergy did as he was told, but something in the judge’s demeanor bothered Josie and she stood up.

“Your Honor, I would like to point out that the Albanian community in the South Bay is small and close knit. There is every possibility that they will open their arms to Billy.”

“Do you have specific housing possibilities for Billy?”

“No,” Josie admitted.

“Judge,” Rita spoke up, annoyed with the turn this was taking. “We are off message. Someone foreign to the American culture is not a viable alternative to state placement. There is enough confusion as is.”

“Agreed. Is Detective Montoya needed any longer?”

“Only one more question,” Rita said.

“You posted a guard at Billy’s hospital room. Are you concerned that Billy is a threat to himself or to Rosa Zuni?”

“No,” Mike answered, “but I remain cautious.”

“I’m done with this witness.”

“Ms. Bates? Your turn.”

Josie stood.

“This morning my investigator brought you a man who was with Billy Zuni on the night of the murders.”

“My criminal analyst is working with him, but there are serious questions about his reliability.”

“I am sure you’ll find everything in order,” Josie said. “His story can be corroborated by two other witnesses who saw Billy that night.”

“Ms. Potter?” Judge Healey called on the county counsel and motioned Josie down.

“One last witness, Your Honor. If Mrs. Anderson would take the stand.”

The woman who had been waiting took the stand and offered testimony on available placements for Billy: two private homes in the far reaches of the county, one group placement home for probationers from California Youth Authority and, naturally, space in juvenile lock-up in county jail.

“Ms. Bates? Do you have alternatives?”

“Outside of the possible association with Mr. Isai, I have a confirmed placement in Hermosa Beach with a local restaurant owner, Burt Hunter. He has firsthand knowledge of aftercare and is a friend of Billy’s. I’ve outlined this offer in the papers provided to you.”

“Anything else?”

Judge Healy looked from one counsel to the other. When they didn’t respond he said:

“Thank you, both. This is a complicated matter that this court will attempt to uncomplicate. Detective Montoya? Do you have the DVD you spoke of?”

“I do have a copy, Your Honor.”

He handed it to the clerk who had come to the bar, he in turn handed it to the judge, who then called a recess. Mike Montoya left the courtroom as did Mrs. Anderson. Doctor Hardy remained at Rita Potter’s request. While they talked quietly, Josie stared at the great seal above the bench and the relief of Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, hewn into it. Hopefully Minerva was sitting on Healy’s shoulder because she had sure deserted Josie. If Josie Bates was the judge, she had no idea what she would do with Billy Zuni.

Seven days a week, seemingly twenty-four hours a day, Ante Fistonich could be found in his restaurant aptly named Ante’s. The place had been in San Pedro almost fifty years serving up grilled meat and cabbage soup. Somehow the man had convinced the city of San Pedro to name the street outside the restaurant Ante Avenue. More than once Archer had sought him out during an investigation that called for someone who knew something about everyone within a twenty-mile radius of his place. Archer gave the man a 7.5 on the scale of ten for trustworthy information. In his book, that was pretty darn good for a guy who didn’t want to burn bridges and who didn’t owe Archer anything.

Archer opened the heavy wooden door and walked from the gloom outside into the cave that was Ante’s place. Though he couldn’t see the man’s eyes, he could feel them as he made his way past the ox-blood upholstered booths and cracked veneered tables. Photographs of Ante with various people who grinned like celebrities lined the walls, but all were unrecognizable as such. The ceiling was covered in popcorn plaster. Archer found the man himself in the back booth, the one that had a great view of the front door but was set an angle that kept him out of sight until you were almost in his lap.

“Ante. When are you going to remodel this place?” Archer hailed him and waited for a response.

Archer waited. Seconds of silence passed. Ante was convinced this affectation put the fear of God into people. Archer thought he had just seen too many Humphrey Bogart movies when he was learning how to speak English. Finally, the man’s hand rose and a finger pointed heavenward.

“See that? See that?” Archer raised his eyes even though he knew the conversation they were about to have by heart. “That ceiling. The city will tell me it is asbestos. They will make me pay their corrupt inspectors because they will say the ceiling is poison and that I must have more inspectors just to tell me what I already know. It is not asbestos. Do you see anyone sick? I sit here every day and all night, and I am not sick. You see any of my customers sick?”

Archer looked around. Two booths out of twenty had someone in them. Three waitresses who had been there since the day the place opened lounged by the front door. Somewhere in the back there was a cook who probably smoked while he stirred his pots and roasted his meat.

“How would you know if they were sick or not, Ante? If they don’t come back they might be sick? Maybe they died because of that ceiling.”

Ante dropped his hand and chuckled. The ceiling was of no consequence. He would never pay anybody money when he did not have to, and he liked the place the way it was.

“My customers always come back, and if they don’t it is because of the food. That stinking cook sometimes makes bad food. I miss the old cook. He was good, but he didn’t like America.” Ante picked up his demitasse cup and lowered his head to put his lips on the rim. Before he did, he said: “Sit. Sit. At least look like you are here to eat and not torture me.”

Archer slid into the booth across from Ante. It was the same conversation they had each time they saw one another. The old cook had been gone for twenty-five years. Archer couldn’t tell the difference between the old cook’s skill and the new. Cabbage was cabbage, the grilled meat exceptional, and the salad never tasted the same way twice even though it was nothing more than iceberg lettuce and bottled dressing.

“I don’t think your brother would like to hear you say that. He’s been cooking for you since the last one took off.”

“Bah,” Ante waved that away. “He does his best. He is my brother. He’s okay. So, why are you here? It has been too long, my friend. We used to see you more often.”

“I used to work for the police. I’m retired now. I’m getting married.”

The old man lifted his heavy head. His brow was as wide as his jaw, his jaw as wide as his neck. If you didn’t know Ante Fistonich, you would think he looked fearsome. Then again, most old men looked fearsome. It was because all the terror they had known in their life slowly bubbled up from inside and settled in the wrinkles and lines of their face like sediment. Archer understood. That was why he was not afraid of Ante Fistonich. Now the old man looked Archer up and down to see what could be told by the younger man’s expression.

“You are happy. It’s good to find a woman when you have years on you. Tell me, is she young?”

“She’s a woman,” Archer answered.

“Ah, she’s old,” Ante chuckled. “You should find a young girl. They will take care of you in your old age.”

“When I’m old I’ll get rid of this one and find a young one,” Archer assured him, and Ante laughed all the harder.

He lowered his head again, hanging it between fleshy shoulders, resting his chin on a barrel chest. His cotton shirt was so thin Archer could see the ribbed wife-beater beneath it and the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the short sleeves. Around his fleshy neck was a gold chain. On the man’s left wrist was a gold bracelet and on his finger a gold ring. Like an Indian bride, he wore his wealth, not trusting anyone with his money. Word on the street was that Ante had been some kind of hero when the Croats and Serbs went at it. It was a story Archer didn’t doubt. Ante never spoke of it, so Archer didn’t either.

“You look worried, my friend,” Ante said though Archer would be hard pressed to know how he came to that conclusion.

“I am curious, Ante. I have a friend with a problem.”

“I know your problem.” Ante raised his eyes again. “You have coffee while we sort it out.”

Before Archer could say no, Ante motioned to one of the waitresses. A moment later a demitasse cup was in front of him. Turkish coffee wasn’t his thing, it was like trying to drink mud out of a thimble, but he took a drink nonetheless.

“It’s the blood in Hermosa Beach. That’s bad business. Very bad.”

“You’re psychic, Ante.”

“I am smart, Archer.” Ante tapped the side of his nose. “I hear from the workers. Business is off because of the strike on Oi’s place. So many of our good boys work for him. He should have given them what they asked. It wasn’t much.”

“Is it one of the good boys who killed him?” Archer turned the tiny cup a quarter turn but kept his eyes on his host.

Ante shook his head. “I don’t think so. They come in. They drink. Some say it’s a good thing Oi is dead. That is all talk.”

“Who says that?”

“Sam says that. He’s got a big mouth. Most are worried one of them killed the man. They don’t like not knowing. They say every brother should know everything the other one does. I say that’s bull. The smart man keeps his mouth shut.” Ante raised his cup, sipped his coffee. “You want to eat?”

“No, not this time. Thanks.”

“Is that your woman? The one in the house with you when you found Oi? Is that who speaks for this boy?”

“Yes. She’ll be my wife,” Archer said.

Ante sat back, “I don’t know nothing about the boy. No one talks about him.”

“What about the name Duca? Jac Duka?”

“Him, I don’t know.” The big, heavy head shook again.

“Can you put me on to any of the guys who come in here? Vouch for me so they’ll talk?”

Ante barked a laugh and fingered the heavy gold at his neck.

“Do you think I’m God himself?” Ante smiled broadly as he spread his arms over the back of the booth. “They come here and drink and I hear talk, but they don’t make no mistake. Those boys are Albanian. I’m Croatian. We got no problem with the Albanians, but they think they gotta fight everybody. Maybe they do. They got nothing to sell except themselves. They do anything for money and pride.”

Archer nodded, understanding completely what Ante was alluding to. When his work brought him to Wilmington or San Pedro or anywhere the unions had hold, Archer ran into cultural clashes and always it was old country culture that won out. Even third generation men didn’t leave it behind. They may like America and the opportunities it provided, but it was the motherland or the fatherland that held their hearts. Croats were the good guys, Serbs the devil and now he heard the Albanians were the backward stepchildren. It all depended on whom you spoke to.

“Albanians are the worst, you know what I mean? Croats, we move on. We take care of business. We don’t hold nothing against nobody. Serbs, Albanians. All hard headed.”

“That’s why I came to you. You’re a fair man, Ante. You’re a respected businessman. You know everyone, Ante. I’ve got two big problems.”

“Only two? You are blessed, Archer.”

One of the waitresses came and brought fresh cups of coffee. Archer held up his hand. She shrugged and left only one cup for Ante.

“I am, Ante, but still these problems need to be solved. I’ve called a friend at the state department, but I believe that your influence will help me find the answers more quickly.”

Ante pulled up his shoulders. His eyes closed. The palms of his hands rose slightly as if to say what Archer said was true thanks to God.

“First, what do you know about trafficking girls? Have you heard anything about that?”

“It happens,” Ante shrugged. “Albanians have nothing to sell so they sell their people: men to Greece and Italy to do work no one else will do. Women and girls for sex and who knows what else.”

“Does it happen here? Did you hear about Greg Oi trafficking?”

“I don’t know about Oi, but I know I don’t want to hear about the ones who do these things. That is bad business, and I don’t want it down on my head. I can’t help you, Archer.”

“Can’t or you won’t?”

“Same difference.” Ante blew him off. “Even if you were my no-good brother and it was his daughter I wouldn’t stick my neck out.”

“Can you at least give me a name, someone I can talk to in the Albanian community?”

“Why would I want you to do that? I like you. You gotta watch your back every second with them.” Ante pulled his bottom lip up and shook his head so that his jowls quivered. “They don’t care if your woman is Mother Theresa. They can make a buck with her, they will. These girls are nothing. What else got you worried?”

“I’ve got a guy who showed up claiming he’s related to the victim and the boy. His name is Gjergy Isai. I also have something that looks like a marriage certificate between Oi and the girl that got stabbed.”

“Why doesn’t she tell you all this?” Ante raised a bushy brow. His reluctance to get involved was starting to make Archer nervous. He had thought they were chasing ghosts, but now he wondered if they had a tiger by the tail.

“Nobody knows if she’ll live, Ante. Her name’s Rosafa Zogaj, but she goes by Rosa Zuni. She works at a strip joint called Undies.” Ante raised a brow. “We’re thinking that maybe Oi put her there, sold her. What we can’t figure out is why he would let her bring a kid along and why the marriage certificate?”

Archer took a deep breath. Saying this all out loud made him realize just how crazy it all sounded, yet one look at Ante and he realized it wasn’t crazy at all. The man listened, his brow beetled, taking in every word as if it were a story that didn’t surprise him.

“I’m sorry,” Archer went on. “It’s all complicated. All I really want to do is keep the boy close to home. My woman thinks the judge is going to put him in a group home, and we all know it’s better to be with family. If I had some proof that this guy, Gjergy, is related to Rosa then we might have options with the court.”

“Is this a good boy?”

“Billy is a very good boy,” Archer assured him.

“The cops want this information, too, heh?” Ante asked.

“They do. I won’t lie.”

“If I get it to you that’s it. I don’t want the cops coming at me.” Ante wagged a thick finger at Archer.

“You got my word,” Archer promised.

“Where are you looking to find out about Gjergy Isai? What town? North or South Albania?” Ante pressed.

“North. A place called Bajram Curri. Do you know it?”

Ante nodded. “Yes, my friend, but do not ever try to say it that way if you are in Albania. I know someone who drives a furgon from Kosovo. Bajram Curri is hardly of any consequence except that the President of all Albania is from Tropojë District. That is where Bajram Curri is.”

Ante faded into the corner of the booth, picked up his phone, and punched in a lot of numbers. The man spoke low despite the fact he wasn’t speaking English and Archer wouldn’t understand a word. There was a glint of gold when he leaned forward to ask Archer for the phone number he was given at Undies as well as Archer’s own cell number. Archer gave them; Ante repeated them. Archer heard the name Gjergy Isai, Greg Oi, and Rosafa Zogaj passed off before Ante offered profuse thanks and prayers to God. He reiterated the name Zogaj. The phone was back on the table, and Ante was talking to Archer again.

“My friend will call you. He will ask in Barjam Curri to see if that’s where Oi was from, and if that’s where this girl comes from. He will find what you need if he can.”

“Thanks, Ante. I need the information sooner than later. ”Archer put the contact’s name into his phone and reached across the table to shake Ante’s hand.

“Sometimes God wills what is best for us and we do not appreciate that.”

“I’ll just have to hope that God’s on top of this one, then.”

Ante was laughing as Archer left the restaurant and stepped out onto the street. Though the day was gloomy, he was nearly blinded by the light. That’s how dark Ante’s place had been.