Hostile Witness (31 page)

“I never asked you to care about my daughter. She was your client. That’s all, Josie. Hannah was just your client.  Now go on.  Get out.”

Josie opened her mouth and then thought better of speaking.  Without another word Josie walked out of the hospital past the uniformed officer and knew Linda was wrong.  Hannah didn’t belong to either of them now. Rudy Klein had claimed her as a ward of the court.

33

“Stop,” Josie whispered, pushing Archer’s hands away.

Archer rolled onto his back amid the tangle of blankets and sheets. Minutes ago they had been a tangle of arms and legs, lips and hands. They tried too hard to find love and found only sex and not very good sex at that.

Now they looked at the ceiling, seeing nothing through the darkness, overly aware of each other’s disappointment, disenchantment, and disillusionment. Archer because he could do nothing to help Josie; Josie because she could do nothing to help Hannah.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he finally said.

“Exactly what isn’t my fault, Archer?” Josie asked. “That Hannah ran away, or that she got hurt? Or that there’s a guard on her, or that she’s going back to jail? Or that Linda and I are in this bizarre tug of war over what’s best for her?”

Archer stayed silent, unmoving, knowing the only way to heal her soul was to let her talk.

“Maybe the police are at fault? Her mother? Her father – whoever he is.  Her stepfather? Rudy? Maybe it’s Hannah’s own fault, Archer. I really haven’t ruled out that possibility. You know, maybe she’s just a murdering, sociopathic kid who thought she knew how to work the system, got caught in the wheels and panicked.” Josie turned onto her side, her back to Archer. “Maybe she was running out on me. It has happened before; people leaving me without a word.”

Archer’s jaw tightened. That was it.  He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He loved Josie but he’d heard this song before, this self-pity, this little girl lament. People got over shit. It was her time.

“She wasn’t running out on you – she was just running. The weird thing was she was going North on Pacific Coast Highway. I took pictures when I checked it out.”

“Well, aren’t you just so damn efficient, Archer. Besides, which side of the road she was on doesn’t mean anything. Rudy will argue she was fleeing. You should know that.”

“Hey, Jo, I’m not the enemy and this isn’t like you.”

Archer walked toward the bathroom. In the dark Josie could just see his silhouette: big, filling her bedroom, taking up her space when she wanted to be left alone.

“Oh, Christ,” Josie muttered before hollering at him as he started to close the bathroom door. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Archer threw open the door. His arms held either side of it as if he was trying to restrain himself.

“I know what it’s like to have a tough case. I know what it’s like when you feel like your client royally screwed you. . .”

“Hannah didn’t screw me up. I screwed myself when I started caring about her instead of just working like a lawyer should.”  Josie sat up fast and reached for her t-shirt. She didn’t want to be naked around Archer. She didn’t want a shred of intimacy in a life that was feeling so cold and out of control.  “You’ve only known me for a year, Archer. It’s all been so good for us. You’ve never seen me when things aren’t good. Now you are. I’m pissed and I’m sad and I’m torn up inside because something happened, and I wasn’t there for Hannah. Her mother wasn’t there. She’s just a kid and she was trying. . .”

Archer threw up his hands in frustration.

“Jo, stop qualifying this thing. You couldn’t have done anything about this. Hannah was bolting God damn it!” He walked toward the bed. He put out his hand and smoothed Josie’s hair that had spiked where it rubbed against the pillow.  He put his hands on her bare thighs and hunkered down, speaking softly.   “I’m sorry she’s hurt and I’m sorry she’s going back to prison but shit happens, Jo. You can’t make the world right, you can only try to make some things okay.”

“I only had one case, Archer. I used to juggle ten. If only I had called Hannah once more last night. If I’d sent Linda home right away. . .” her voice trailed off.  “But I didn’t, did I?”

“Hannah made her choices. You didn’t push her. You can’t defend someone who doesn’t want to be defended,” he pointed out.

“Or someone who is guilty? Is that the next part of your little sermon, Archer?”

“Jo. Please. Don’t do this. . .”

Josie pushed his hands away. He retreated but didn’t back down.

“Look,” he said, “I gave you what I had and we both know what the prosecution’s going to do with it. The fight between the Rayburns was about Hannah. It looks like Hannah was running. She admits to being in Rayburn’s rooms, she admits hitting him. Call Klein. See if you can work a plea. The DA can’t be too happy about the way things are going. It could be in everyone’s best interest to make this go away.”

“What do you want, Archer? Why are you here? I don’t need anyone to tell me to throw in the towel. I already thought about it.”  Josie dug her hands into the pillow.  “But that would make me a quitter, or a fool, because I believed Hannah. Isn’t that just the way I want to think of myself, a loser or a fool.”

Archer found his pants and whipped them off the chair. He was an easy-going guy but even he had his limits.

 “I’m saying you need to shake it off like a pro. Your job is to make the call, take care of your client.”

“I’m going to take care of her. I’m going to defend her.”

“You’ll lose.”

“You haven’t even heard the defense. How can you condemn her, and me, at the same time, Archer? You of all people.”

“I don’t want her to go down for life, Jo, but I don’t want you dreaming about that kid for the rest of yours.”

Archer pulled his shirt on and sat on the edge of the bed with his shoes in his hands. He turned around so he could look at her. Even in the dark Archer knew that all Josie wore was a t-shirt and a look of despair.

“Once the prosecutor finds the gardener you won’t be able to argue self defense. He was clear that Kip was aware his father was afraid of Hannah. The accident investigation shows that Hannah was in Huntington to meet Miggy Estrada, the man she was arrested with last year, the man who broke into Fritz Rayburn’s apartments with her. Estrada has disappeared.  Nobody is going to believe she’s just a poor, sick kid anymore.”

Josie raised her head defiantly. “I’m not going to do anything until I talk to Hannah. I want to hear it from her.”

“You can’t even talk to her! She is unconscious.” Archer threw up his hands, exasperation getting the best of him.

“God, Archer, I thought I could count on you. I thought you told me to go for it, to find out what I was made of.  Guess we’re both finding out what we’re made of.  You can give up, Archer, but I sure as hell won’t.”

“Time for us to get on with our lives, Jo.” He pulled on his shoes. He was ready to go. “That’s all I’m saying. I already lived with one woman who suffered; I don’t want to do it again. Cut your losses.”

“I’m not throwing Hannah away,” Josie insisted. “I’m not abandoning her, and I’m sure as hell not going to pass judgment when she hasn’t had her God damn day in court.”

“It’s going to be worse for her if she does have it.” Archer stood up, he towered over her. “You’ve proved you can get back in and fight, now prove you can do it right.”

“That’s what I’m doing.  There are a million reasons to run. Maybe she was just scared.  I’ll work my butt off to prove she’s innocent until she tells me different. I don’t care about Rudy’s circumstantial evidence or what somebody told you today.  She’s hurt, and someone’s got to help . . .”

Josie’s voice was lost inside her somewhere. Sentences weren’t finished. Tears were lurking. She was a little girl again, fighting to stay strong while her world was falling apart for no reason. When Josie turned her back on him, curled up and left no room for him in her bed, in her life, in this case, Archer did the only thing he could do.

He left.

34

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Josie woke with a start and sent a cascade of papers over the side of the bed as she did. It was less than two full days after Hannah’s accident, and less than seven hours until she was due in court to present defense arguments.  She’d fallen asleep with her case files spread out over the blanket and the television on. Archer’s report was among them. Not that it mattered.  What Hannah had done since the fire would not be raised by the defense, what happened before it would be. Archer didn’t agree with the strategy; Josie was going it alone.  They’d work on what was between them when this was done.  She didn’t think about missing Archer; she just did.

Josie’s neck was crooked on the stack of pillows and her glasses were still perched on her nose. Groaning, she shook her head to clear it and pressed on her neck to work out the knot. She felt the stirrings of a second wind, snapped off the television, and tossed the remote at the foot of the bed. TV may suck, but everything else was looking good. Hannah was stable.  There was no permanent spinal damage; the swelling on the brain had been reduced significantly.  Her arm would heal. The internal injuries were being monitored.  Hannah wouldn’t walk out of the hospital tomorrow but she would walk out. In another day or two Josie would be able to talk to her.

Josie rolled off the bed and picked up the mess of papers on the floor, and put them in her briefcase.  The bedside light cast a bright circle on the rumpled spread. The rest of the room was gray with middle-of-the-night light.  Max slept.

In the bathroom she threw some water on her face, ran her hands through her short, short hair, and mentally checked off the witness list. Doctor Choi, an independent coroner would dispute the prosecution’s time of death.  There would be exhibits to chart the progress of Hannah’s path as she checked her surroundings, mathematical calculations that would prove it impossible for her to light two fires and then hide the matches.  Doctor McGrath would spend quality time going over the meticulous behavioral attributes of an obsessive/compulsive.  Rosa’s testimony would make a big splash. A subpoena had been served on Lyn Chandler. Worried about being disbarred, Lyn would never commit perjury.  Doctor Ritchland, an expert on child abuse, would testify that abuse victims seldom attacked, much less killed, their abuser.

Josie flipped off the bathroom light, picked up her briefcase, and shuffled through the bedroom to the hall. Dropping her briefcase by the front door Josie turned to go back to bed, but stopped. Every nerve tingled, sleep was forgotten as she narrowed her eyes and checked out the doors that led to her half finished patio.  A butterfly fluttered up in her stomach. Someone was moving out there and they wanted in.

Josie slid into the corner.

Okay.

She was scared.

Okay.

But not that scared.

Slowly, keeping flat to the walls, Josie backed out of the living room just as she heard a muffled crack of glass and the click of the lock.  In her bedroom, she eased the dresser drawer open and wrapped her hand around the heavy, cold metal of her father’s gun. Stepping away, her eyes toward the bedroom door, Josie released the safety.  With both hands on the grip she pointed it out and away as she retraced her steps.

She paused in the shadows. She could feel him in the house.  Pulling the gun into her chest, the barrel now pointed up and out, Josie stole a look around the corner. His back was to her as he bent over her dining room table. So casual. So sure of himself.

Josie pulled her head back, laid her body tight against the wall.  She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing the way her father showed her – the way a soldier did – and ignored the pounding of her heart. Committing her first impressions to memory - the exact time, the mode of entry, the stance of her intruder - Josie moved out from her corner, planted her feet wide, raised the gun stiff-armed and took aim.

“Stand up slow and make like Christ unless you want your head blown off.”