Privileged Witness (14 page)

''Again, I'll put it to you. My client is not a public figure.''

''Josie, please,'' P.J. smiled as if to say even her patience had boundaries. ''Mr. McCreary is making quite a name for himself up and down the state. His wife's family is well known in California. Her death caused quite a stir that first week. The national media covered the two weeks Mr. McCreary took away from his campaign. A trial involving his sister would - well -.'' P.J. opened her hands to God. ''Politicians, their families, it's all the same to the public. You can go all the way back to the Carter clan. Clinton's brother. The Reagan kids. It would be hard to seat on impartial jury. It would be a mess.''

''Your reasoning is a little far fetched,'' Josie grumbled. ''So let's just leave it that you guys don't want the scrutiny. If you have an offer, make it.''

''As a matter of fact, I do have one. Involuntary manslaughter. Six years, two or three and she's out – we'll leave that to the judge but we'll recommend parole at two. I'd say that's a darn sight better than a first degree charge.''

P.J.'s grin disappeared. The lawyer had come to play. Her black eyes were flinty as she laid it out. Matthew and Grace were dismissed and Josie was barely tolerated. That's when Josie got it. P.J.Vega didn't like any of them. P.J. Vega was prejudiced and it had nothing to do with the color of their skin, only the color of their money. Fine. Josie could live with that. She didn't particularly like P.J. Vega's little jolly act either.

''That's an interesting offer considering you don't have anything that looks remotely like hard evidence,'' Josie answered calmly.

''We have an eye witness who puts her on the balcony helping her sister-in-law take a flying leap.''

''That's not true. . .'' Grace objected.

''Absolutely untrue. . .'' Matthew cried just before Josie put up a hand for silence.

''Grace has never denied that she was on that balcony,'' Josie said. ''She was trying to stop Michelle McCreary from jumping. So, unless you've got some telepathic way of knowing what was in my client's mind at that moment, I'd say you're a little light even on manslaughter without a motive.''

''I think there was a very good motive,'' P.J. purred. ''It seems that the McCreary ladies were having a rather heated argument about Mrs. McCreary's involvement her husband's campaign. Isn't that true, Ms. McCreary?''

Matthew's face clouded as he sat forward on his chair and looked at his sister.

''What's she talking about, Grace?''

''Nothing,'' Grace insisted. ''It wasn't that important.''

''Why don't you tell me what you've got,'' Josie suggested.

''Take a look.''

The prosecutor took a photograph from her drawer and passed it over without fanfare. Josie, Matthew and Grace huddled to look at it.

''Two angry women.'' Josie handed it back. ''I see worse every time I pass the hair salon.''

P.J. took the picture and looked at it again.

''Two women who had been angry for weeks,'' she mused before engaging Josie again. ''It seems Mrs. McCreary didn't want to be part of the campaign. She didn't want to shake hands; she didn't want to show up at fundraisers. She didn't even want to talk about it. Isn't that right Ms. McCreary?''

''Yes,'' Grace admitted. ''I was upset with her about that. Matthew needed her. People were starting to ask questions.''

''I imagine they were,'' P.J. said kindly. ''Especially the television stations that were asking for their money. It seems the Committee to Elect Matthew McCreary accounts were in arrears big time. I imagine you were also angry that your sister-in-law was refusing to make good on her pledge to infuse cash into the campaign coffers. I would further imagine, Ms. McCreary, that you had any number of reasons to be very, very upset with your brother's wife. She was messing with your livelihood as well as your brother's ambition.''

''That's enough,'' Josie insisted. ''This is ridiculous. I can't believe you're making an argument into a motive for murder.''

''I think I could convince a judge that I'm on the right track,'' P.J. said. ''I have feeling Ms. McCreary would do anything to keep from losing.''

''That's why we're such a good team. I don't like to lose either,'' Josie said. ''I'm not going to let my client make a deal and serve one day of jail time or probation based on that nonsense.''

''Is that what you want, Ms. McCreary? Do you want to take a chance that I'm right and your attorney is wrong? You just can't imagine what fifteen years in jail will do to a woman.''

''Oh, please,'' Josie scoffed and as she turned her head she saw that Grace was sitting rigid in her chair, staring straight ahead. Thinking too hard about what P.J. was saying; frightened by the picture P.J. was painting in her silky smooth voice. Josie called P.J. Vega's bluff before Grace was scared into a raw deal.

''Grace, let's go.''

Grace looked at Josie's outstretched hand as if she was coming out of a dream. She put her hands on the arms of her chair but before she could get up Matthew mixed it all up.

''Wait. Aren't you going to give us some time to think about this?'' He looked at P.J. then whipped around to talk to Josie. ''Are you just going to walk away?''

''That's exactly what I'm going to do.'' Josie took Grace's arm to help her up. ''If they had a good case they'd prosecute on the original charge. If they've got no case then, in good conscience, they should admit to it, apologize and drop the charges. This is about the D.A. and the cops saving face, Matthew. They don't want to admit the arrest was a mistake in the first place. They don't want to admit. . .''

''We don't work that way in this office.'' P.J. snapped and her big, beefy hands came down flat on her well ordered desk. The little pink pencil holder jumped and shivered. She pushed the calendar sporting pictures of kittens out of her way. ''I'm ready to go on this. I'm giving you a gift because that's the way it came down from the top but the top says it's my call . . .''

''Then, if the DA is asking you to plead her out he must know something you don't and we might as . . .''

''Hold on.'' Matthew was between the two women, facing Josie, lowering his voice. ''Josie, if what she says is true then there's more room to negotiate. I think we should go directly to the D.A.''

''This isn't a business deal, Matthew. Even if they offered straight probation Grace would still be a convicted felon if she pled out. She'd have a record,'' Josie insisted.

''What would that matter? Grace doesn't have to worry about filing out job applications. She's rich. No one will care. It would probably make her a celebrity.''

''And you're okay with that, Matthew?'' Josie moved in close to him. She lowered her voice and argued. ''Don't you want to clear her name to be sure that Grace had nothing to do with Michelle's death? Doesn't that mean anything to you?''

''And doesn't it mean anything that she's my sister and I've already lived with the guilt that I drove her away all those years ago. Josie, don't play games with Grace's life. Don't let them take her away from me when I need her and she needs me. Negotiate. There's room, here.'' Matthew took his argument to Grace. ''Grace, you don't want to take a chance they might send you to prison? Do you?''

''No. I don't want that.'' Her voice was made small with awe and fear and uncertainty and her eyes never left Matthew. Josie saw exactly what was happening. The pull of family – of a begging man - was awesome. Grace wanted to be saved and Matthew didn't want to take a chance that Josie couldn't do it. Add the fear of the unknown, the distrust of a mysterious legal system and Grace would take what she was offered with no thought for justice or truth. Josie put herself between them before the McCreary's mutual fear and need forced them to the wrong decision.

''Did you do you have any reason to hurt your sister in law?'' she demanded of Grace.

Grace shook her head.

''Did you help her take her own life?'' Josie pressed.

Grace shook her head again.

''Do you think you should admit to something you didn't do even if you don't have to go to jail? Do you want anyone to think that you hurt your sister-in-law?''

Grace's head moved in rhythm with Josie's questions but soon enough her eyes went past Josie again. She whirled on Matthew, pulled him close and turned their backs to P.J. Vega.

''Don't say anything, Matthew.'' Josie's whisper was a warning. ''Please. If you want to make things right, give me a chance. Please.''

''But if you lose.''

''Matthew, I don't want to go to jail.'' Grace reached for his hand. Matthew moved and let it slip out of her grasp leaving Grace mired in the same hysteria Josie had witnessed during her arrest. ''Please. . .Matthew. . .''

''Hold on. Hold on,'' P.J. knuckled on her desk and they broke the huddle. ''Hold on. Take it down. The offer is on the table. Take twenty-four hours. Get back to me. Fair enough?''

Matthew and Grace stood shoulder to shoulder; the same way they stood in the picture when they were so much younger and no one had died, no one had left, no one had made any mistakes. They looked at Josie: Grace so hopeful, Matthew anxious and unsure. Josie took a deep breath and did what Grace hired her to do. She made a decision.

''We don't need time. We're leaving.''

''Grace. There's no guarantee if you walk out of here,'' Matthew warned but a second later something changed. Whatever passed between them made him ask: ''This is what you want?''

''I didn't push Michelle,'' she said quietly and touched his arm. ''I wouldn't hurt you. I won't ever hurt you.''

With that, Grace McCreary walked out of P.J. Vega's office. Matthew and Josie followed.

''Guess we'll see you all at the prelim,'' P.J. Vega called. Josie turned around.

''Looking forward to it,'' she answered then reached for the door and pulled it closed behind her.

CHAPTER 18

The day was blindingly bright.

Not a cloud to shade, not a meniscus of haze to cut the glare. It was so bright the world was one dimensional. Blue water and sky, white sand, buildings and boardwalk shimmied with heat waves. It was so hot Josie couldn't smell the ocean. Instead she smelled asphalt melting, paint liquefying and the scent of coconut oil in the sunscreen that was slathered on everyone within a mile of her. Josie was tired of the local news tracking Matthew's campaign problems on one hand and the bizarre heat wave on the other so she walked two blocks to the Strand with only Grace on her mind. She blocked out strategies, played devil's advocate, mentally perused the witness list. Josie knew there was another shoe waiting to drop and when it did she would be there to toss a few of her own into the ring. Her own preliminary investigation had dug up an interesting little bucket of worms. Michelle McCreary had problems herself and any one of them could have led to a meltdown and a flying leap from the eleventh floor.

The daughter of a fragile mother and a larger than life father, Michelle McCreary had been born into money and privilege. Her mother was of little consequence. The woman pretended her husband didn't exist and her daughter was treated like a barely tolerated acquaintance. Michelle's father had been governor of California, an old school politico who screwed everything in a skirt. He beat back charges of statutory rape when a school friend of Michelle's succumbed to his charms. During his tenure there had been allegations of graft and fraud, some of which were indicted, none of which were proven. The man was a first class pig in private and a hell of a politician in public. He trotted Michelle out like a prized horse when he needed some respectability. The more beautiful his daughter became, the more he thrust her into the spotlight. He was a proud father who loved his daughter. Some thought that poor Michelle had been just a little too loved by her seemingly doting father – but that was a place no one dared go while the old man was alive.

Josie kicked at a stone. It careened into the wall and ricocheted back behind her. She passed Burt's at the Beach. The restaurant was packed even in the middle of the afternoon on a workday. Scotty's was the same. The Sea Sprite hotel was overflowing with people. A family with triplets lounged on the porch of the pink cottage adjacent to the main building. A couple of teenagers could be heard inside playing the music Hannah preferred. In-line skaters came at Josie forward and behind and they all shared the space with bicycles, baby strollers and people who just plain walked. It was March, three months from the primary. It felt like the middle of summer. On Pier Plaza the wild parrots had taken off for cooler climes and the happy hour was starting early. Josie passed the hustle and bustle, but she couldn't stop thinking about Matthew's dead wife.

Fred Delgando was Michelle's father and she couldn't have been dealt a worse hand. She hated that he was a politician. She hated that he was crass. She hated that she was interesting to the press because she was Big Fred's daughter.

Psychiatrists, Catholic school counselors, fleeting friends, a boyfriend or two helped Michelle cope but from what Matthew told Josie it was the Church that kept Michelle sane. Her priest, gone to Ireland on a sabbatical, would be back by the time a trial commenced – if a trial commenced. But that was months away and Josie was positive she could neutralize any of the witnesses P.J. Vega brought to the prelim. In fact, she was sure of it. Almost.

Cutting through a break in The Strand wall, Josie kicked off her shoes and trudged across the sand, one hand shielding her eyes. A foursome at a far volleyball court was loosing a player. Josie knew them by sight and they knew her by reputation. She weighed in with introductions, found out her partner was from Huntington Beach, stripped off her top to the sports bra beneath, dug in and the game began.

Muscles tensing, Josie moved through the deep sand easily, receiving the serves smoothly. Knees bent. Elbows locked. Hands clasped. Thumbs parallel and rigid she popped the ball to her partner for a set up that she put away. She moved as fast as the game. Point after point. Give and take. A bump. A spike. People stopped to watch the tall woman, her body brown and ripped, glistening with sweat. It plastered hair to forehead. She pushed is back, annoyed that even this short it distracted her. Her sunglass slipped down her nose and she whipped them off, tossing them into the sand outside the court boundaries, squinting into the sun.