Hostile Witness (27 page)

“You’re not sure about Hannah, are you?” Linda chuckled, but it was an ugly sound. “Oh, God, all this time I’m thinking I’m a little off here, but it’s you. You started something you’re going to finish, no matter who you hurt, and still you’re not sure that Hannah didn’t do it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, no,” Linda insisted, pushing across the table, her cigarette held high. “You’ve been thinking what I’ve been thinking. What if you’re wrong about Hannah and she’s like that woman you got off. The one who killed her kids after your defended her.”

“This is nothing like that. Nothing,” Josie insisted.

Linda ground out her cigarette.

“Maybe it is. Maybe Hannah’s got you fooled the same way that lady did. Maybe you’re going to screw up Kip’s life and mine and send Hannah home and. . .”

Josie got up. Her chair toppled. She reached back to get it.  Linda’s eyes narrowed. Her jaw tightened. She grabbed for Josie. Her face tipped up, her long neck looked like alabaster in the dim light, her eyes like jewels. “For once in your life, think about other people instead of what you want.”

“No one else matters but Hannah,” Josie said in a whisper. “Why isn’t that crystal clear to you?”

“Because life is more complicated than that, and you know it better than anyone.”  Linda pushed her case, her fingers digging into Josie’s arm. Linda was a strong woman. “You had tunnel vision with that Davis woman, too. That woman wasn’t what she said she was.  You got her off, and then she turned around and killed her children. I saw some pictures. Those children looked like sleeping angels, didn’t they? All covered up with white sheets, their arms crossed over their chests. Their hair so light against the pillows”

Josie yanked away but Linda spoke in a frantic whisper. Her voice mesmerized Josie.

“And when they pulled those sheets back those little children had no bodies, did they Josie? Their mother had slit them open and taken everything out just to see if she could. No other reason.”

“I don’t need to hear this. It has nothing to do with Hannah. . . .”  Josie shot back.

“It has everything to do with Hannah, and me, and Kip,” Linda growled, half rising. “Only this time it could be the daughter doing it to the mother.  That woman used a knife to do her dirty work. Hannah lit a fire. In the end it’s all the same, though, isn’t it?  People die horrible, gruesome deaths because there are horribly, sick people out there who aren’t held accountable.” 

Josie was listening but all she could see was Linda’s lips curling around words she couldn’t understand.

“I guess what I want to know is why haven’t you learned anything, Josie? Why don’t you err on the side of caution? Do you want to see me like Fritz? Do you want to see my legs burned black and know my lungs were seared. . .”

“It would never happen.”

Josie straightened. She could feel Archer watching her, ready to come to her rescue. But who could rescue her from memories, possibilities, and visions?

“Don’t ruin me, Josie. Don’t ruin my family. Don’t make a mistake that might harm all of us. Send Hannah where she belongs. Get her help, Josie. Help me.”

Josie closed her eyes, trying to banish the thought that Linda could be right. Her knees were weak, her breathing shallow. Maybe it wasn’t Hannah who needed defending, but those around her.  Josie opened her eyes, suddenly exhausted. Her lips parted but no sound came out. Linda, was looking at her, purse in hand, ready to leave, but needing to share one last thought.

“None of us really knows what the right thing to do is, Josie. I just came here tonight because I needed a friend. I guess I didn’t find one.  If you get Hannah off you’re playing with my life.  If you keep pointing at Kip, you’re playing with his, and still you don’t know if Hannah is really innocent.  Could you live with yourself if you bet wrong twice, and you were responsible for letting another killer go?”

“This isn’t the same, Linda. This isn’t the same at all.”

Josie put her fingertips to her temple. Her head hurt.  It was the tequila. Or maybe it was the worry over Hannah. No, it was Linda. Linda was conjuring up ghosts that did more than haunt Josie. They feasted on her heart and soul; they made her question her motives and her judgment.

“Sure it’s the same,” Linda whispered urgently. “Maybe you can’t see it, but I can because I’m the one that has to sleep in that house and now I’m alone there with Hannah.  I have to wonder every night when I go to bed if I’m going to wake up. I’m scared, Josie. I’m not asking you to throw the trial. I’m not asking you to forgive my mistakes as a mother, but I shouldn’t have to wonder if I’m going to die because of them.”

“Stop it, Linda.”  Josie dropped her hand. She wasn’t going to be seduced by this woman’s speculations or threats. “You’re not afraid of anything.  You never have been.”

“Okay, Josie.” Linda was resigned.  “Think what you want.  If anything happens, you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself. And when it does, you won’t have anyone to live with but yourself.  Maybe that’s the saddest thing of all.”

Linda left Josie standing alone at the table. Archer pulled out her chair. She sat down.

“Take a minute, Jo.”  He slid into the chair Linda had just left. “She doesn’t leave it very warm.”

Josie’s eyes flickered up and then away. Finally she leveled her gaze and looked right into Archer’s eyes.

“Could I be wrong about Hannah?” she asked.

“Yeah. You could be.”

“Do you think I am?”

He shook his head. “Rayburn hurt her bad. Maybe she snapped. I don’t know. I guess it’s a matter of faith.”

“I don’t have any of that, Archer.”

“It’s okay. I do,” he answered.

He reached in his own pocket, pulled out a couple of bills and put them in the little black folder the bartender had left. Taking a deep breath, Josie reached for her phone. She dialed Hannah once more. Once again the phone rang and rang.

“I’ve got to go home, Archer.”

“She’s still not answering?” Josie shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. Her mom will be home soon enough. If there’s something wrong, she’ll call. She’s not that stupid.”

Josie got up. Archer did the same.  Josie was half way to the door when Archer called to her.  She looked back. He reached to the floor and ambled over to her.

“I’ve got a present. Linda Rayburn left it.”

Archer lifted her hand, put something inside and closed her fingers over it. When Josie opened it she found a box of matches that had come from Linda Rayburn’s purse; matches that stood in when her fancy silver lighter couldn’t manage a flame.

“Coffee Haus,” Archer said.

“She stops there sometimes,” Josie said wearily, twisting the box between her fingers with little interest.

“It’s not exactly around the corner from Malibu so either she’s been up that way to see her husband or. . .”  Archer hesitated.

“Or?”

“Or, Linda Rayburn had them in that purse all this time.  The cops searched the house, but I’ll bet they didn’t search the people who lived in the house.”

Josie’s hands closed over the matches.

“You’ll check it out?”

“First thing in the morning, babe.” Archer put his arm over her shoulder and steered her out the door. “I’ll swing down Malibu way while I’m at it. Just a little drive by to make sure Hannah is doing okay?”

“Thanks, Archer. Want to come home with me?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight. You’re tired. Get some rest.”
Josie kissed him. Her arms went around his waist. He felt good but he was right. She needed to be alone. There was a lot to think about. Flipping up the collar of her jacket she walked home.

Josie lay down on the couch with the phone in one hand, her other buried in Max’s fur. Her eyes were on the picture window even though she couldn’t see the ocean. Never meaning to sleep without talking to Hannah, sure that Linda’s accusations and protestations would keep her awake all night long, Josie somehow drifted off and dreamed of dead children and childless women.

29

Hannah sat on her little stool in the sand.  She had a joint but it was untouched. She had spent the night pacing the beach, the house, her room, measuring off space to pass the time until her mother came home.  Josie was gone. Hannah had left a message and Josie would call. She was sure of that.  Once Hannah thought she heard the phone ringing and she ran fast into the house, but it must have been her imagination. No one was on the line. She went back to the beach, and her stool, and the cold, wet night until it got too cold, and too wet.  Finally she went inside, wishing she wasn’t alone - until her wish came true.

Kip had come in so quietly, so unexpectedly that Hannah almost died of fright. It had been days since she’d seen him and nothing had changed: not his long face, his thinning brown hair, his white shirt and beige coat, his khaki slacks. He looked the same yet there was something different.  Kip was looking right at her. He actually saw her. He had never done that before.

“Where’s your mother?”

Hannah shook her head. She tried to answer and couldn’t. The second time she managed a whisper.

“I don’t know.”

Kip didn’t move. He didn’t seem to be breathing but his eyes trailed over Hannah. He took in the twists and turns of her hair, the slope of her cheekbones, her lips, the cut of her t-shirt, the cleft of her breasts. Hannah’s skin jumped with the prickle of nerves.  Her heart beat faster even though she breathed more slowly. Maybe everything hadn’t ended with Fritz’s death. Maybe. . .

Kip took a step. He was leaving. No.  He changed his mind. Hannah could see the vent on his coat, the flash of a heel on his shoe.  She could feel him thinking. His hatred seeped through the wall. His heel was raised as if he might go forward, but then again he might fall back. She prayed for him to disappear. Instead Kip Rayburn walked right into her room.  She cringed on her stool. One more step. He was standing over her, so close she could smell him. The smell of fear was on him.  Hannah knew it well.

“You are a stupid little bitch. Everything would have been fine without you. Everything.”  Kip lowered himself, hunkering down so he could look straight at her.  “The mere fact that you exist is abhorrent to me. What you did to my father turns my stomach.”

“I didn’t. . .” Hannah said.

“You didn’t what? Hit him? Push him? Seduce him?  Make him so much less than he was? Well,” he sighed, “I think you did. But what’s really sad is that, in the end, it’s all my fault. I brought you into this house. I knew he was weak, and I brought you here to tempt him. You and me, we’re guilty as sin. But he was my father, Hannah.  Mine.  And you took him away from me when he didn’t really want you.”  Kip pointed a finger at her.  His entire body vibrated with his desire to hurt her.  “In fact, no one has ever wanted you, have they?”

“My mother did.  My mother does,” Hannah whispered.

“Really?”  Kip stood up and looked around at the room. “Then where is your mother? She’s not here. If she wanted you so much then why isn’t she here?”

Hannah shook her head. Her lips moved with the counting. But Kip had had enough. He reached out and clamped his hands on the side of her head to stop her. He pulled her close, half off her little stool.

“Stop it. Stop it or I’ll. . . .”

Just when Hannah thought he would squeeze hard enough to crush her skull they heard sounds. A door closing. Footsteps.  They were paralyzed, linked together in their private little power struggle only to be suddenly reminded there was another world.  Slowly Kip released her.  He was pale, shaking as if surprised to find he could be so vicious, yet not really surprised at all. It ran in the family.

“Kip?”

Linda Rayburn stood framed in the doorway looking at everything. Hannah. Her legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, trembling as if she was chilled to the bone. Against the wall was Kip, his arms hanging slack by his side, his expression melting with his anger and grief and, above all, hatred.

No one spoke. Finally, Kip threw himself toward the door and pushed past his wife. Panicked, Linda screamed at Hannah.

“What have you done? What?”

“Mom, I. . .” Hannah said, but Linda didn’t wait for an answer. She darted after her husband.

“Kip, wait. Wait.” She caught up with him in the dining room, unable to make him stop until she sprinted ahead.

“Get out of my way, Linda. It’s all over. My life is over. Everything is over. And it’s her fault.  I don’t want to look at her. I don’t want her in my house.”

“What about me? Do you want me? Isn’t that why you came? To get me? I can make it better. I always have. I always will.” Linda hustled in front of him, her hands out, touching his chest, his shoulders.

“Just get out of my way,” he slapped at her hands but she persisted.

“No, answer me. Kip for once in your life say what you want. What do you want?”

Kip grabbed her hands and shook them.

“I want people to stop talking about us. I’m sick of it. I can’t go anywhere.  People ask me if my father really did those things to me. At the club they make jokes about the women. . . girls. . .  my father. They look at me and wonder if I ever did what he did. The governor called. He is withdrawing the nomination. Can you change that?”

“Yes. Yes.  I promise. I’ll talk to him. We’ll figure something out.  It will be all right,” Linda insisted, frantic to calm him. It was an impossible task.

“Don’t be stupid. Nothing will be all right.  Not until she is gone.” He whipped his head around to glare at Hannah.  She had followed cautiously, hugging the walls, the furniture, watching to see where the danger was coming from. But Kip’s eyes were blurred. He saw nothing, he could do nothing. He dropped his head and shook it. “Everything was fine when it was just him and me. No one knew. I could take anything if nobody knew.”

Linda pulled him to her.  When he resisted, she moved into him, forcing herself on him, angry and determined to stop the hemorrhaging emotions that would kill reason.

“I know. I do know. I swear. I’ve been there. But I can make it right.”

 She soothed him with the truth. It was an awful, ugly truth that weakness was better stomached in private, behind the doors, in the dark. Fritz knew that. Kip knew that and, most of all, Linda knew.  The weak were bound together. Maybe that was why Fritz and Kip and Linda had coexisted as easily as they had. Maybe that was why Hannah never found her place in the Rayburn mix. Her weakness was open. It didn’t shape her heart and soul; it only touched the delicate tissues of the mind.

“Mom?”

Instinctively Linda pulled Kip closer as if to protect him from her daughter. Kip twisted out of her grasp and stepped behind his wife. He ran a hand through his hair. His plain face was mottled with the color of emotions long held private.

“Leave him alone.”  Linda closed in on Hannah and lowered her voice. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Hannah’s eyes flicked to Kip and back to her mother. Her hand reached out. She touched Linda’s arm. Once, twice, three times and Linda slapped her away.

“Mom, please. I didn’t do anything. He came here. He scared me. I thought it was going to be like Fritz. . .”

“Stop it.”  Linda grabbed Hannah’s arm and railroaded her back into her room. She whipped Hannah against the wall, out of Kip’s sight.  “It’s not going to be like that. Don’t even think it.  Kip’s not like that, but don’t push him, that’s all I’m saying.”

“But. . .” Hannah grappled to get a hold on her mother.  Linda gathered Hannah’s hands together and held them tight.

“I’m telling you to trust me. I’ve got to take care of Kip so I can take care of us - of you. . .”

“No, I’m not going to do it anymore. I’m not going to take care of her. . .” Kip screamed.

Linda let go of Hannah’s hands. Kip wasn’t finished with them.

“Kip, calm down. We’ll work this out. . .”

“You work it out. You take care of it. . .”  Kip turned to leave. “But not with my money. Not in my house. Not for that little bitch.”

“Christ,” Linda muttered, watching his back as he stormed away.  “Kip, wait. I’m coming with you.”

 “Mom!” Hannah screamed, choking back her sobs. “Don’t leave me.  Please, Mom. Don’t leave. Don’t. . .”

Linda bared her teeth and her eyes flashed as she turned on her daughter.  Everything was walking out that door, and she’d be damned if she’d let it go without a fight.

“We need him you little bitch,” Linda hissed, turning again to rush after her husband.

It was then Hannah changed the trajectory of the night. With a scream she flew past her mother and lunged at Kip Rayburn. She was crazed with the fear of being left alone, out of her mind with the thought that her mother – her mother who she loved beyond reason, who she would do anything for and had done anything for – would leave her for this person.

“You can’t take her away. She’s supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be alone,” Hannah screamed.

Tripping on the slick floor, Hannah’s knees hit hard but she was close enough to take hold of Kip’s legs. She grappled. She pulled hard. Kip fell forward, smashing his shoulder against the wall. Fritz’s black and red canvas shivered above as he steadied himself.   Hannah grunted, crawling up his leg, snatching at his clothes and screaming, but he was quick. One leg was free. Kip kicked hard catching the side of Hannah’s head. She reeled back and rolled into the opposite wall. Linda screamed. Hannah’s arm flew across her brow, her other hand went to her lips to stifle the cry. She would not cry. Never again. Never in front of him.

“Kip stop!” Linda joined the fray, yelling again and again.

Hannah heard him coming. She heard Linda’s high heels click on the floor and Kip’s grunts as he struggled with his wife. Then it was over. Only the sound of breathing could be heard in the big, high-ceilinged house.  Hannah felt Kip standing over her.  Her eyes flew open.  She would not close them. She would watch whatever was coming.  This time Hannah Sheraton was determined to watch it happen.

But Kip Rayburn did nothing. He just stood there, his fists balled as he looked at her.

Slowly Hannah struggled to stand up. Kip stepped back. She leaned against the table, pained to see that Linda was waiting to see what would happen, who would win. Kip stepped back again and again until he was at the door. Hannah matched him. Her head hurt. She put out a hand to steady herself. She took one step forward, and then another. Her lips moved with counting.

“Two,” she whispered. “Three. Four. . .”

“You’re a lunatic,” Kip said coldly.

Hannah stopped moving, counting, thinking. Linda was immobile even when Kip walked past her, heading out the door to his car. Mother and daughter looked at one another: One pleading for help, the other steeling herself with determination. Linda rushed to Hannah and took her by the shoulders. She shook her hard.

“Don’t you call anyone; don’t you answer the phone.  They’ll take you away if you do. I swear they will. They’ll take you away Hannah. Do you understand? Don’t do anything until I get back. I’ll fix it, if you don’t screw it up now.”

Those were the last words Linda Rayburn spoke before she ran after her husband.  Hannah stumbled after her mother, stopping before she reached the thorn gate; stopping when she heard two car doors slam and the squeal of tires on the drive.

In the silence, for just a moment, Hannah Sheraton crumpled onto the tiled patio, her only company a tortured woman of bronze forever standing alone in the still pond waters of Fritz Rayburn’s home.

Hannah dressed fast. A coat. A hat. A scarf. She looked at the phone once more, wanting to call Josie.

Don’t talk to anyone.

Don’t mess up.