Silent Witness (21 page)

''Sorry, man.'' Archer mumbled and clicked his eyes forward. Another thirty yards and they reached Archer's private accommodations.

The door was new and shiny. Two rectangular slits were sliced out of the metal: one for Archer's eyes to see out, one for food to be shoved in. The guard touched him. Archer knew the drill. He stepped to the side. A button was pushed. The break-away of the lock was jarring. Swallowing hard, Archer kept his eyes forward. The door pulled back like a slow-mo reveal: stainless steel toilette, metal bed frame, thin mattress, desk, chair, a window that allowed no more than a sliver of sun into the small room. Overhead lights Archer couldn't control. No sun, no sand, no sea to look at. This was a horror of a place and Archer would die here, of that he was sure.

With no recourse Archer stepped into the room. He paused as he faced the wall thinking he couldn't bear to watch the door shut and then he couldn't bear not to. The uniformed man never took his eyes off Archer. His expression was stoic yet there was something underlying it. Archer stepped forward, hands out to his sides to show he was no threat. His lips parted. The guard spoke instead.

''Watch your back,'' he said just before the door closed tight.

Watch your back
.

He knows me
.

The man remembered that they had worked together. He had given Archer a bit of advice he didn't need but the effort meant the world to him. Slowly Archer walked to the door and touched it. It was cold as ice. It sounded like the gates of hell when it opened and a coffin lid when it closed. No matter which it was, Archer was having a heck of a hard time drawing a breath now that it was done.

The first sob came on Josie so quick she jack-knifed with the force of it, cupping her hand over her mouth so Hannah wouldn't hear her cry. The beer sloshed out of the bottle she still held and Josie scrambled to set it aside. She grappled for a pillow and buried her face in it. She rolled and sobbed and still could not get rid of the pain.

Every arrogant belief Josie had ever held regarding her strength, her independence, her objectivity crumbled as she mourned for what she was losing. Finally, exhausted, she lay still, curled on her side, her arms wrapped around the pillow as she stopped fighting and let the tears flow down her face and into the pillow that swallowed her softening sobs.

She must have dozed because when she opened her eyes evening had become night and she wasn't alone. Hannah was kneeling by her bed, one hand on Josie's head, patting it in gentle bursts of five, ten and twenty.

Josie blinked. She felt Hannah's touches. Josie wanted to sleep but was afraid she would never get up if she did.

''It's okay if you don't pay attention to me,'' Hannah whispered. ''That's not why I was mad.''

Josie took a deep breath, trying to find the energy it would take to engage in conversation.

''Then what?'' was the best she could do.

''I didn't want you to hurt.'' Hannah said softly. ''I was mad because Archer hurt you. I wanted to protect you. Then you'd love me if I protected you.''

Josie closed her eyes. This was a first. Someone wanted to take care of her. In the still, Josie reached for Hannah. The girl lowered her head onto the pillow that Josie pressed against her body and her other arm reached out. Josie lifted her own hand and her fingers wound 'round Hannah's forearm. She wanted to hold tight, to let Hannah know she was appreciated if not quite loved yet. Before she could speak, Josie's fingers touched something warm and wet on Hannah's arm.

Blood. Oh, God. Blood.

Josie eyes opened. Hannah's were closed. Josie's touch had made the girl peaceful. Carefully, she closed her fingers around Hannah's arm. There was no reason to talk about the cutting, no need for outrage. Hannah had taken Josie's pain and lanced her own skin to let the sting of it run out with her blood.

They stayed like that – the tall woman, the girl with the dark skin and the green eyes. Their heads were close together, their breathing was deep and measured. They listened to nothing, felt the moon rise and watched its light creep into the room. Josie's fingers caressed Hannah's arm, gently the way she thought a mother might. When Hannah's breathing slowed and sleep was upon her, Josie let go and touched Hannah's hair promising herself that this was her last moment of self-pity and doubt. Hannah would never hurt on her account again nor would she hurt for Archer.

Closing her eyes, Josie knew she could keep the first promise. It was the second one she wasn't sure of. That one just might kill her.

CHAPTER 21

Emily Baylor-Bates was always in exactly the right place at the right time. It was an incredible talent that Josie admired in her mother. If a supermarket gave away free groceries to the twentieth person through the door, Emily would walk through, number twenty. If there was a man in heat, Emily would be there to fan the flame. If there was attention to be had Emily would turn the corner right into it.

Josie was a little different. She worked for her good fortune, identified her strengths and honed them, made plans and executed them. It wasn't a bad way to live. In fact, Josie took pride in the fact that, when she set her mind to something, she usually figured out a way to get it. Perfecting her volleyball game got her a scholarship to USC, tenacity and brains had made her one of the highest paid lawyers in California before she decided morality should not take a backseat to money and power. And Josie kept her eyes wide open even after she decided to shrink her universe and make Hermosa Beach and Faye Baxter's neighborhood law firm her home. Bottom line, Josie liked knowing what she was walking into, unlike her mother who preferred to open any door to a big, fat, surprise.

That's why, when Josie parked in front of a low white building out in the Valley she had a pretty good idea of what was in store for her at The Greenwood home.

The Greenwood Home housed a maximum of thirty-five patients, all of whom had both mental and physical disabilities. The extent of those disabilities ranged from complete dependence to functional, but limited independence. Tim Wren was at the high end of the scale. He had grown up in this place and Barbara Vendy was the current administrator. She was also the easiest person to identify on Ruth Alcott's witness list so this was where Josie started.

Tossing her baseball cap in the backseat, Josie ruffled her hair and unzipped her jacket. The weather was mild, the sun was out. Traffic had been bad on the freeway and no better once she hit surface streets. She was half an hour late when she walked up to Greenwood's entrance and through the automatic door that was wide enough to accommodate wheelchairs. Josie heard the mechanical swoosh and felt a ripple of cool air embrace her. Another swoosh and the door closed behind her. Josie's steps slowed and she made a concerted effort not to show that she was less prepared for Greenwood than she thought.

A man paralyzed from the neck down motored along in a wheelchair powered by his own breath. A woman used one finger to type on a keyboard that translated her thoughts into the painful hesitation of mechanical speech while a nurse patiently listened. Josie could not imagine being so broken, so dependent. She nodded to the woman with the keyboard then stuck her head in the first office she came to.

''Barbara Vendy?'' she asked.

''Second office on the left.'' The young girl with the pencil stuck behind her ear made a motion. Then, thinking again, she looked up. ''She's expecting you, right?''

Josie nodded. The girl went back to a task that involved a yellow marker, a computer print out and a ruler. Down the hall Josie passed an office with the door closed before she found the right one and knocked perfunctorily.

''Barbara Vendy?''

''That's me.'' The woman looked up and took off her reading glasses.

''Josie Bates. Sorry I'm late.''

Barbara Vendy put out her hand and Josie took it. Her grip was as no nonsense as the rest of her: khaki pants, open necked oxford with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, loafers, dots of gold in her ears and a haircut that was more for convenience than fashion. Her face was broad, kind and plain.

''No problem. Have a seat.'' Barbara pointed to a chair and held up a file. ''I don't have much on Tim Wren so I'm not sure the drive out here was worth much.''

''I thought he lived here for most of his life,'' Josie said as she sat down.

''Tim was in one other facility for a while but you're right, we had him since he was eight. I'd say that was most of his life.''

She opened the file, scanned the contents and ticked off an overview.

''Difficult birth. Oxygen deprivation resulted in brain damage. Not a problem with the doctor, just one of those things. He had cerebral palsy that was managed with some of the newer drugs. Patient frustrated with his lack of physical control and there were some socialization problems that were dicey. But then who wouldn't be bothered?'' Barbara glanced up as if she expected an answer but didn't have time to wait for one. ''And, for a grand finale, there was some trouble with one of his heart valves.'' End of story. She closed the file and gave it over to Josie. ''That's all I've got.''

''I was hoping to get his complete medical files so I could understand the details of his treatment. There should be no patient confidentiality problem.''

Barbara pulled up her chin, and her bottom lip disappeared for an instant as she thought.

''Unfortunately, I don't have the files. We usually keep patient records five years but in this case we were asked to forward them to Lexi after Tim died. We kept this summary as a back-up.''

''Okay, I'll track down the medical records in Lexi's storage, but what can you tell me about Tim himself. I mean, what quality of life did he have?'' Josie pressed.

''Mostly he was happy. Sometimes he was a handful but that's to be expected when you have someone who is both physically and mentally limited.''

''What about his relationship with his stepfather?''

''I don't know,'' Barbara answered with a shrug. ''Sorry. I only met the man in passing. He wasn't here very often, but when he was he courteous and patient. I have to be truthful, Ms. Bates, I'm an administrator. I make sure nothing leaks, broken things get fixed, bills are paid and our residents have access to their doctors.''

''But you did know Lexi, right?'' Josie pressed. ''She was coming here long before she remarried.''

''Everybody knew Lexi.'' Barbara laughed lightly as if just thinking about Lexi made her feel happy. ''She was lovely. She never missed a planned visit and came as often between those as possible. She always paid in advance and tried to anticipate everything Tim might need. She even managed to come up with money for experimental treatments and therapies. Lexi was a model parent. I wish all of our families were like her.''

''Did any of it work?'' Josie asked.

''No,'' she answered sadly. ''And it never would. Only Lexi believed and she believed like a fanatic.''

''Then it was money down the drain,'' Josie mused.

''Not really. If it made Lexi feel hopeful then there was a benefit.'' Barbara cocked on arm on her chair. ''But what you're really asking is how did Lexi's husband react to all that? All I have is some insight. Sometimes one spouse resents the output of money, the time spent on useless endeavors, the emotional connection between a patient and a parent. Situations like this can be especially hard on men and worse for a stepparent to boot. With Lexi's husband, you had it all.''

She dropped her arm and put her hand on the phone.

''You know, I think maybe you should talk to one of the nurses who worked with Tim and his family. Maybe that would help.''

CHAPTER 22

''Hey, hey, Mr. Folton. Come on, now. Be good for me. There you go, man. Nice and easy now. Shit!''

The big black man threw himself across the bed and landed on top a patient who fought like a banshee and looked like a beanpole. The black man was football player big and still he struggled to bind the other man's hands to the bed frame. There were grunts and groans and it was impossible to tell who was working harder: the one who wanted to be free or the one who wanted to make sure he was not. The football player in green scrubs won the scrimmage. Mr. Folton was restrained, his energy sputtering out as the other man talked.

''Okay, Mr. Folton. Now, there you go. Now you gonna go right to sleep in a minute after that nurse get here and give you something to make you sleep. Then you're gonna feel just a whole lot better, Mr. Folton. You'll see. You'll see there, buddy. No sweat now, sir.''

The man on the bed wrenched and hollered one last time. The big man reached out and put one of his hands on Mr. Folton's head as if he was giving a blessing. Josie heard a calming 'shhhh' and tugged on the bindings once more. When the man turned away, he saw Josie.

''You sure ain't the nurse but we could use you on our team,'' he decided as he walked right at her. Josie stepped back, let him pass then followed him down the hall.

''Don't you think you ought to stay with him until the nurse does come?'' Josie looked over her shoulder half expecting to see Mr. Folton chasing after.

''He can't hurt himself now. He'll be fine until she gets there.'' He gave Josie a sidelong glance. ''Why you so interested?''

''I'm not.'' Josie had to shorten her stride to keep abreast of him. ''It just seemed that was a little drastic what you did in there. You could have crushed him. Instead of tying him up, you could have stayed with him until he got his medicine.''

The black man stopped and laughed with a hack.

''It's worse to let him lose, lady. He could hurt other patients who can't protect themselves. And, if he couldn't get to them, he'd hurt himself tryin'. Now, if you ain't a relative, I don't think I should be talkin' to you about what's good and what ain't for Mr. Folton.'' The man put his hands on his hips. ''And, since I've been takin' care of him for long on about ten years now, I don't think you're a relative. And if you're from some do-good agency like I figure then, with all due respect, I don't want to be talkin' to you neither. What I do think is you should be talkin' to the people in the office. So, 'scuse me, ma'am, I got things to do.''