Silent Witness (6 page)

Josie closed her eyes again but not because she was tired. She only wanted to soak up the tears that were coming. Crying never did any good. Not when her father died, not when her mother took off, not when she had seen Hannah lying near death in that hospital room. Tears wouldn't make Archer's problems go away and they sure as hell wouldn't make Josie stronger.

Startled by the sound of a door, Josie's eyes flew open. Her shoulders pulled back, her hands were on the mattress, her senses alert. It was a reflex learned after Linda Rayburn, Hannah's mother, had attacked Josie here in her own home. But there was no danger; it was only Hannah coming out of her room. She stalked by Josie's room without a second glance. She carried the plate and the knife and the half eaten apple. From where she sat Josie couldn't see Hannah once she turned from the hall, but the sounds of Hannah's deliberate housekeeping were like nails on a chalkboard. The water in the kitchen was run full blast, the door of the dishwasher was yanked open, the dish was thrown in and the dishwasher door banged shut. The knife was tossed in the sink like a javelin. Teenage angst manifested itself brilliantly: anger at being forgotten, being alone, not being the first thing Josie attended to. Josie was sorry. She didn't know how to be perfect for Hannah and still do what needed to be done for Archer. She would try harder. Hannah would have to let her feel her way through this strange black box of a child's dependency.

In the quiet that followed, Josie thought about apologizing again. Maybe she would take Hannah to dinner. Maybe she should just get up and do that. Yet Josie did nothing. A fog had settled over her mind. Her strength was gone, the course was unclear. All she could think about was Archer and the information he had kept from her. Lies by omission. Josie didn't have a clue what to do next but Hannah did. She stood in the doorway and announced:

''I have homework. If you go to Archer's place it will be quieter. I can study better.''

Josie blinked and Hannah disappeared. The door of her room slammed but not with the force of unadulterated fury. Rather it had the ring of reticent understanding.

Fine. Josie would accept that. She got off the bed, pulled on a sweatshirt and zipped it halfway up. Sweatpants and her clogs were next. Max's old neon pink leash was in her hands but the dog slept peacefully on the patio where he'd been left. He didn't raise his head as she opened the gate. Josie put the leash on the wall and let sleeping dogs lie.

She crossed the wide walking street in front of her house, jogged to the Strand and crossed over to the beach. She stuck to the shore not wanting to see anyone she knew. The low tide rolled toward her with a gentle woosh and rolled back with a skitter. The sun set away from her. Archer's building loomed ahead: pink and old and in need of some fixing up after an especially hot summer. It used to be the best building on the beach. Now it was just an old broad standing in the midst of the new babes. But those new places just passed as homes. In reality they were merely buildings.

Josie trudged the last few yards, crossed the bike path again and walked up the three flights to Archer's place. The door opened easily which was odd. Archer was usually so careful. Josie stepped in and locked the door behind her.

''Archer?''

Inside there was a sense of sedation, as if living had been suspended until further notice. She maneuvered through the living room, glancing at the huge rooftop deck. Archer's bicycle was there. The bar-b-que. The tripod. No camera. They had brought it back from the police station. Archer had it when she dropped him off right after they checked the high school for Hannah. Then she saw it in the corner. Either the damage was bad, he had lost interest in what he was doing or his injuries were worse than she feared. His pride and joy, the camera that was now his livelihood, lay in pieces on the end table.

''Archer?''

She called louder, wandering toward the bedroom only to find him in the bath. His head was back; his eyes were closed. She stood in the doorway.

''You didn't answer.''

''No.'' He didn't open his eyes.

''Want me to go?''

He moved his head slightly. That was a negative.

Josie knelt beside the claw-footed tub. It was long and it was deep: the perfect tub for a man like Archer when he invited a woman like Josie to join him. But now, alone, he didn't seem to fill it the way he usually did. Josie let her eyes roam over the body she knew so well. His right side was black and blue and purple and red, the bruise had spread like an oil slick. Archer's hair was wet but his face was dry. Josie pushed the sleeves of her sweatshirt up, reached into the water and retrieved a washcloth.

''Why'd they come after you so hard, Archer?''

Josie dabbed at the red wound on the side of his face. He winced. She adjusted. She feathered the strokes patiently, working every last bit of dirt and asphalt out of his skin.

''It's about a kid. Nobody likes perps who pick on kids,'' he mumbled. ''They don't like bad cops either. That's what they think I am. Jesus. . .''

''Okay, babe,'' she whispered, knowing he was right and knowing it pained him to speak and to imagine that he was accused of crimes he, himself, despised.

Seeing there was no help for the lip and little for the eye, Josie kissed the bruised flesh and spent some time on the cut above his brow. There would be no more questions tonight so she finished up. Josie searched the medicine cabinet for what she wanted and bent down again. Dabbing at him with a dry towel, Josie then worked a salve into his cuts and scrapes.

''Come on. Time to get out,'' she said.

Josie steadied Archer and he leaned on her. Gently she dried him, taking a moment to put her cheek against his broad back. She reached for his robe and covered him before leading him into the bedroom.

''Are you hungry?'' she asked as he eased onto the bed and lay on his back.

''No, Jo. Tired. So damn tired. Like a bad dream. . .all of it coming back. . .thought it was done. . .''

When Archer stopped talking he held out his hand and Josie crawled in beside him. Her long, athletic body stretched out against his. Her arm went around him. Archer was a big man, not unmanageable. Josie had always felt safe, as if the world could fall in and Archer would protect her. It should have been like that now. So much was familiar. Lying together. Listening to the sounds of people below, the white noise of the low the tide. So much was different. There was a catch in Archer's voice. He didn't hold her as much as let her lie beside him. This new Archer was as shocking as the hidden jolt of an undertow that dragged you silently out to sea. And, like an undertow, the more you struggled against it, the more frightening it became.

''Why would anyone say I did this? Why would they?'' His voice spiked then trailed off.

Having no answer, not wanting to see Archer's anguish, Josie did what women do when their men are afraid. She soothed him, she pretended that all would be well, she ignored and appeased and turned a blind eye to this horrible thing that had happened.

''Rest, Archer. Just go to sleep. Tomorrow we'll figure it out. Not now. Don't worry. Don't worry. Don't. . .''

She petted the side of his face that didn't hurt. Her other arm was crooked under her own head. When she was sure that he wouldn't cry or ask the unanswerable question, Josie opened her own eyes. In this dark familiar place, in this bed where they had made love a hundred times, Josie was scared. They weren't alone anymore. Someone she'd never met was between them – a boy named Tim. Someone she thought was long gone watched them – a wife named Lexi.

Turning on her side, Josie looked toward the place where Lexi's picture used to stand like a blessing beside the bed. It was still there but now Josie saw a different woman: one whose eyes were slightly narrowed, whose mouth didn't quite smile, whose head was cocked as if in question. Did she question Archer's innocence or Josie's ability to help him? Maybe she was trying to tell Josie something. Beside her Archer slept. Josie shuddered and rolled off the bed. She didn't belong there. She didn't want to know what Lexi knew. The spirits of Archer's dead family were too oppressive for her to rest and Hannah's needy spirit called her home.

Quietly she let herself out and walked slowly down the stairs. On the bike path Josie paused. She looked back. No light had gone on. Archer didn't know she was gone. At her place Hannah wouldn't sleep until Josie was safely home. There was no bed that would feel comfortable tonight. For Josie Baylor-Bates there were two people who needed her and no one she could turn to for help.

''It's a good night.''

Isaac Hawkins shrugged into his overcoat. He did this more from habit than necessity as he surveyed his park. It wasn't exactly overrun with thrill seekers but it wasn't a bad weeknight for Pacific Park either.

Roger McEntyre stood beside the old man, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood at his ease. Isaac Hawkins was properly turned out as usual: his overcoat was on, his tie knotted just so, his shirt buttoned up. He'd lost his wife and his son to diseases that were usually reserved for the very old , but Isaac never lost his old world style. Roger admired that because it came with old world values: hard work, loyalty, determination, ritual.

They stood as they did at the end of every workday. Isaac would look around and say 'it's a good night in the park'. Roger would agree. There had only been two exceptions. The days those boys died Isaac hadn't said it was a good night. But tonight no one had died, the problem of Timothy Wren was on the district attorney's desk and the gate was good.

Isaac's faded eyes looked at every young face that passed by as if waiting for one of them to notice him, say something nice about his park. When they didn't, his gaze wandered to the line at the concession stand before he squinted toward the rollercoaster. It sparkled, outlined by ten thousand new red and blue lights. Roger looked, too, but his gaze was sweeping and he looked for different things: the wrong hand in the wrong pocket, the teenager with the sharp edge of a troublemaker, the middle aged man alone in the park eyeing the little girls. When the silence stretched and Isaac didn't offer his usual goodnights, Roger knew there was something on his mind.

''We did the right thing, Roger.''

It was a question disguised as a statement, so Roger answered it.

''Of course, Isaac,'' Roger said quietly. ''The district attorney said so.''

''It is a man's life we are talking about, you see.'' Isaac's right hand drifted up like a teacher trying to ascertain whether the pupil truly understood the deeper meaning of a critical equation.

''Questions were raised. We couldn't make the call, Isaac. It wasn't up to us.''

''So we did the right thing?'' This time Isaac asked outright.

Roger put his hand on the old man's arm and made no further move. The connection was enough. They both understood it was a sign of affection.

''Not a problem, Isaac. Go on home. Sleep well. It's been a long day. I'll see you tomorrow.''

''Yes.'' Isaac hesitated. Roger waited. The old man looked at the crowd. ''There are a lot of people here, Roger, and probably none of them will know each other their whole lives. They won't even remember who they came to Pacific Park with on a cool night in October. That's sad. That makes me miss your father. He was a good friend during his short life.'' Isaac turned and smiled. ''As are you, Roger. You are a good friend for life. Like a son to me, Roger.''

With that the old man walked through the throng of people who waited in lines in front of rides that were designed to stop their hearts just for the fun of it. They had forgotten that people died at Pacific Park. Those had been freak accidents, nothing more. Even Isaac would have forgotten by the time he got home. Age and familiar surroundings would lull him to sleep, keep him dreamless. So Isaac Hawkins dissolved into the night leaving Roger McEntyre to weigh the worth of life, money, friendship - things. In the end Roger didn't spend much time on it all. He decided that pretty much every thing was equal in the end. Everything except friends. Those were worth a lot and he and Isaac didn't have many to spare.

Colin Wren did not go back to work after his meeting with the two lawyers and – that man. He didn't go back even though work had sustained him through many a trying time. Most people would find this difficult to understand because Colin Wren's work, while lucrative, was not very interesting. He owned a factory that made things people didn't think about. His factory made knobs that were used for car radios and kitchen appliances and wall heaters. He made levers for toasters. Some had serrated edges, some were smooth, some were big and some were small. The levers came in five colors and two thicknesses. They cost pennies to make but, because they were sold by the hundreds of thousands and because Colin's factory worked lean, making knobs made him a lot of money.

When Colin was younger, he had taken pride in the amount of money he earned. As he grew older, and life did not go as planned, money no longer mattered as much. He had made bad choices, he admitted it. But, in the last years, money was a means to an end and that end was to find his son in order to start over again.

Then, one day, as he ate his Spartan meal in front of the late news, Colin Wren found out exactly what had happened to Tim. Knowing he could no longer help his son in this lifetime, Colin went after the people responsible for his death. Pacific Park would pay for their negligence because someone had to.

That had been the plan until Colin found out about Archer and Jude pointed out the logic of helping him. Colin bought into it. Pacific Park had been the object of Colin's hatred for so long all he could imagine was a settlement so large it would ruin the place. That thought had driven him to post Archer's bond.

But then Colin sat across from Archer, a brutish, low man who had not acknowledged Colin's pain or shared in his anguish. That was when Colin started to have doubts. Perhaps Jude, in his lawyer's greed, had pushed Colin to fast, too far. It was to Archer that Lexi entrusted the care of her son; it was Archer who now stood in the way of Colin's plan. It was Archer who was there the moment Tim died. Archer had brought a new dimension to the plan. He had soiled it and had derailed Colin's thinking.