Expert Witness (5 page)

“Do you ever say anything nice?” Hannah asked.

“Yeah.”

Archer left it at that, but was relieved when he caught site of Hannah’s slight smile. His relief turned to remorse when he opened the first box and saw the files were People v. Hannah Sheraton. He put the lid back on and pushed the box aside. Josie was probably boning up for the custody hearing in a few days. The scumbag comment had definitely been uncalled for.  He opened the next one and pulled the original filing. The date showed it was a case Josie worked on long before they knew one another.

“Want to do the calendar, messages or her notes first?”

Archer abandoned the file search and turned back to the desk. Hannah was putting the messages into neat piles, trying to make them evenly stacked.

“These are just personal things, so we can probably throw them away.”

“Don’t do that.” Archer took one of the slips.

“It’s from the plumber,” Hannah objected.

“You never know.” Archer took the rest of them and fanned the pieces of paper. “Here. Carpet cleaner. He could be on parole. The plumber could have a beef about compensation. Maybe one of them saw something or someone that didn’t look right. It’s all worth looking at even though it might not be a priority. There’s another from the shop where she takes her Jeep. I know those folks. Unless they’ve had some personnel change I won’t spend too much time on them. Still, they might know something about the condition of the Jeep. What else do you have?”

Hannah slid a few more messages his way.

“These are ones from clients or potential clients. Mr. Horton is a potential new client. He asked for an appointment. Abby Wingate has a third DUI. She was really scared when she came in to see Josie. We can put her in the pile with the plumber.”

Archer took those slips and put them in the low priority stack. Hannah was surprised but Archer paid no attention. When she was right, she was right.

“Okay. Judge Kramer called.”

“When was that?” Archer asked.

“A week ago.”

“I thought he retired when the South Bay courthouse closed. Did he say what he wanted?”

 “No. Maybe they just like to get together.”

“Maybe.”

Archer put that message aside and then fingered the first slip in that pile.

“What do you know about this one? Horton.”

“Nothing. But he said it wasn’t urgent.”

“Is that it?”

“No, a guy named Peter Siddon called. He didn’t leave a message. He never does. He sounds creepy. Angie might know more.” She handed the yellow slip to Archer who glanced at it.

“This guy is in the high desert,” Archer mused. “When was the first time he called?”

“About three weeks ago, but I don’t know if Josie talked to him.”

“Okay,” Archer muttered and put it with those he would follow up on. He was reaching for the next pink slip when his phone rang. He was quick on the draw and quicker still to hang up.

“They found Josie’s car.”

CHAPTER SIX:

An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

Someone was behind her.  Josie’s toes touched an ankle and then a narrow foot.  A woman's foot. Sleep came again. Josie didn’t fight it. At least she wasn’t alone.

Peter Siddon’s Home, California’s High Desert

Peter Siddon pulled into his garage, turned off the ignition, and let his hands fall to his sides. He didn’t move when the door closed behind him. He didn’t look at his wife when she poked her head out of the door that led to the kitchen. He didn’t acknowledge his five-year-old son pounding on the car door, calling for him to play.

Play wasn’t what he felt like doing. What he felt like doing was sinful and he felt like doing it to Josie Bates. His mind was always on Josie Bates, and he wished he could get her out of there. She was the one who caused all this misery, and all he wanted her to do was admit it.

He rested his head on the back of the seat. He loved this crappy car and now he would lose it even though he only had two more payments to make. He loved his wife, but he’d probably lose her too now that he’d screwed up her life. He didn’t know what to do. He sniffed. Tears were coming again. He didn’t want his kid to see his dad cry, and he didn’t want to endure his wife’s defeated silence. He needed to talk to someone.

Picking up his cell, he dialed a number.

“I need help. I need to talk,” he said.

In the next minute, his wife picked up their boy to keep him from running after his dad. The garage door was raised again, and Peter Siddon was speeding away from them. His wife looked after him and then went back to the kitchen, weary of his demons and his obsession with that other woman, the one who he would kill if he ever got his hands on her. Well, maybe not kill, but he would do something really bad if he got the chance.

The Pier, Redondo Beach

Archer pulled into the parking lot of the Blue Fin Grill and stopped on the far side of the black and white.  The driver side door was open and there were two cops inside. It was the guy behind the wheel who got out and greeted Archer.

“Sorry we couldn’t do anything,” he shrugged along with his apology. “Hermosa squawked for us to keep a look out, but we didn’t want to own it.”

“No worries. I appreciate the effort.” Archer cast a look at Josie’s Jeep. “Is this the way you found it? No other cars around, nothing on the ground.”

“What you see is what you get.”

When the uniforms took their leave, Archer leaned against his screaming-yellow Hummer, cast an objective eye on Josie’s Jeep, and resisted the urge to tear it apart looking for clues as to her whereabouts.

The black vehicle was parked in the third row, second slot from the south entrance to the restaurant lot and one space over from the steps that led down to the lower level of the old pier complex.  Down there, working boats were moored to a horse-shoe shaped dock that was flanked by an outdoor restaurant, a sad excuse for an arcade, and a bunch of shops that sold kites and whoopee cushions to the tourists who managed to find their way down.  Quality Seafood, the outdoor restaurant, served up lunches on Styrofoam plates, had ice beds for the catch of the day and bubbling tanks where lobsters crawled all over each other, their rubber-banded claws useless in their fight to survive.

To Archer’s right was a complex designed to look like a New England fishing village. It housed the now boarded up courthouse and still functioning professional offices. More right of that were the new Redondo Beach pier, the breakwater and a stretch of beach that wasn’t the nicest. A lot of rough people went to that beach after hours: drunks from pier bars, inner city types looking to cool off, gang members and drug dealers. Josie could have run into a bunch of problems down there.

 Behind him was the Blue Fin Grill.  Drinks were expensive, the menu predictable and the waiters distracted. Josie might have met someone there, but it wouldn’t have been a friend. Friends went to Burt’s or Scotty’s or the Mermaid.  There were lawyers, accountants and insurance offices in the small complex. She could have parked in the Blue Fin lot, walked over there and done what? He turned his attention back to the Jeep.

The ragtop was down. The windows were up. That meant it had been left while the sun still shined. Josie always closed up the car after dark, even if she garaged it. Whatever happened, it happened in the open and after three o’clock if he added in drive time to her departure from the shelter in San Pedro. Given that time frame, and the fact that it was a weekday, it would have been dead quiet around here.

“Okay, Jo, here we go. By the book.”

Archer opened the back of the Hummer. He was a cop again, a cop with a camera. The fact that he loved Josie might drive him, but it wouldn’t overrule his common sense. He was trying to decide between the digital or film camera when he heard:

“Hey! Archer!”

His head snapped up. He smiled a real and relieved smile sure that Josie would come sauntering toward him. His smile faded when he saw Liz Driscoll.

“Ask and you shall receive, huh?” Liz came to a halt beside him, looked at the Jeep and gave him a little shoulder bump to underscore how cool she was.

“Yeah.”  Archer opted for the digital camera even though he preferred to use film.

“Don’t go overboard thanking me for sticking my neck out.” She grinned, obviously unconcerned about her neck or much of anything else. “Brought you a present, bucko.”

  Evidence bags. Sweet. Archer stuffed them in his pocket without saying a word and started to circle the Jeep.

“You’re welcome,” she quipped and dogged his steps.

Both of them looked for signs of foul play. If they found it, Liz would make this an official missing person’s case; if they didn’t, Josie was just another grownup who wasn’t where other people thought she was supposed to be.

An early drinker pulled into the parking lot and wanted to know if the Jeep was for sale and if Archer would throw Liz into the deal.  A few chosen words from Liz – one of which was police – and the man drove on and parked at the far end of the lot. Archer looked after him, taking a minute to consider that beauty was definitely in the eye of the beholder. He gave up his musing when Liz dropped to her knees, flattened herself on her back, and checked under the chassis. She was up again a second later, brushing herself off.

“Nada.”

Archer was leaning over the driver’s seat when he said: “No keys. Parking brake on.”

Click. Click. Click

He walked around the car and opened the passenger door, careful to cover his hand with his shirt. He snapped a few more pictures of nothing. Not even a gum wrapper on the floor.

Click. Click.

Running shoes in the back. A couple bottles of water. A jacket. All of this was standard emergency fare for Josie. She kept those things in a box next to chains and a jumper cable.

Click.

Archer paused when he saw Josie’s baseball cap. The pain hit him in the gut. It took a second to put it in its place, and then he looked past the hat to the roll bar, the wheels, the tires.

Click. Click. Click.

He was shooting zilch: no dirt, leaves, new scratches or scrapes. He took five more pictures because he hoped he was just missing the one thing that would set him on the right road.  The paint gleamed. The Jeep was recently washed. That could be good news or bad. Good news because there would be fewer fingerprints to check, bad news because everything would have been cleaned out of the inside. He made a note to visit the carwash. Archer slid on to the passenger seat, covered his hand again with his shirt, opened the glove box, and sat still as a statue as he peered inside.

“Archer?” Liz called. “Hey, Archer. What have you got?”

He raised those dark eyes of his, his boxer’s face expressionless. He slid out of the car.

“Nothing.”

“Just as well. Means we can be pretty sure she was okay while she was in the car,” Liz said.

“But someone could have taken her outside of it,” Archer countered.

“Yeah,” Liz said. “Or she’s on a bender.”

“Josie doesn’t drink that way.”

“Everybody drinks sometime.” Liz’s grin indicated she knew that from personal experience. “I don’t know Josie all that well, but I’d say she has a hard time getting on with her life. She’s always being side tracked by one thing or another. You know, like saving the world, lifting up the downtrodden. Not like you and me.”

Archer almost laughed at how off-base Liz Driscoll was. He carried every pain, every joy, and every uncertainty with him every damn day. He didn’t share any of it unless someone got real close, and Josie was about as close as anyone had got to him in his whole life.  Liz mistook his silence for petulance and tried again to engage him.

“I looked up the Rayburn trial. That woman? Linda Rayburn? She almost killed Josie, didn’t she? And now Josie’s guardian for a killer’s kid.”

“Is there a point, Driscoll?”

“Point being, the attack was bad.”

“Broken ribs. Shiner. Cracked cheekbone. Dislocated arm.” Archer filled in the laundry list he knew was coming.

“Head injury?” Liz hooked her thumbs in her belt and talked slow, but he didn’t need the lead.

“I see where you’re going, but no,” Archer shook his head. “Clean bill of health.”

“Yeah, but there was the McCreary thing, too.  He had her under those waves a good long time. How long did she spend in the hospital after that?”

“Two days. Totally cleared by every doctor who saw her. Josie’s an athlete. She’s strong.”

“That doesn’t rule out residual damage. Blood clot. Something,” Liz went on.

“I called Torrance Memorial and Little Company of Mary hospital this morning. No one matching her description was brought to emergency.”

“Maybe she couldn’t get to a hospital. Maybe she hasn’t been found.”  Liz kept at the argument while Archer raised his camera and angled one from the passenger to the driver’s side. Liz shut the driver’s door to give him a clean shot, still talking as she came around beside him. “On the off chance something’s going down, though, I’ll have this baby towed.”