Silent Witness (3 page)

''The District Attorney's investigators?'' Josie prodded.

''Oh, yeah. I don't know if they refused him. You know John Cooper, he's one DA that plays things close to the vest. If he didn't let us in on this then he's looking for the glory – or something else. . .''

''Like what?'' Josie pushed for information. But he took her arm and pulled her further aside as two officers lingered in the lobby.

''Maybe they wanted to clean him up. What I saw didn't look good. Either Archer put up a hell of a fight or these guys have it in for him, if you know what I'm saying.''

Josie nodded. She knew exactly what he was talking about. What she couldn't fathom was what had brought Archer to this place in such a condition. Archer who never ran a red light, who lived and breathed the law. Newell put his hand on her arm. She had swayed without realizing it. Her father would have narrowed his eyes at her. Just enough to let her know it wasn't time to get girlie. She put her hand over his.

''Thanks for the call. I'll take it from here,'' Josie said.

''No problem. I figured he needed some help. I'd sure appreciate someone stepping in if it was me.''

''I'll keep it to myself,'' Josie assured

''No skin off my nose. I retire in three months.''

Josie smiled.

''Still, you went out on a limb,'' she said.

''Yeah, well, Archer did a friend of mine a good turn a few years ago. My buddy never got the chance to pay him back. This will square things.''

Newell left it at that. He paced off a few steps, assuming she'd follow but Josie had one more question.

''Newell.'' She went close to him again. ''Who's the alleged victim?''

''Don't have a name. Some kid. That's all I know.'' He shrugged. His shoulders swiveled. ''So, now that you're here, guess you want to see him.''

''Guess I do,'' she muttered and followed him down the hall and to a room where Archer was sitting behind a closed door. The man standing outside that door looked less than friendly; she could only guess who was inside.

''I'm Archer's attorney,'' Josie announced. The man seemed unimpressed until she went for the door.

''We're not done,'' he said quietly, his hand clamping over hers. Josie looked at him, her blue eyes cold.

''Yeah, you are. I don't care if the Pope sent you. You're history until I talk to my client.'' Josie took her hand from under his and pulled up to her full height.

''He didn't' call an attorney.''

''I don't know what they teach you at the DA's office, but you're supposed to ask him if he wanted one before you questioned him. It's kind of basic. Keeps your cases from being thrown out of court on a technicality.''

''And I don't know what law school let you slip through, but you should know better than to assume. We offered. He declined,'' the man shot back.

Josie stepped back, glancing through the small window in the door of the interrogation room. You didn't have to be on top of Archer to see that this had not been an easy arrest.

''I would imagine my client didn't have the wherewithal to understand that right. He might not have understood anything at all considering the shape he's in. Now, unless your boss wants some very pointed, very public questions about how the District Attorney's investigative unit does its job, I would suggest you let me in that room.''

They shared a moment, the big man and the extraordinarily tall woman with the exceedingly short hair. It wasn't a pleasant one. When it ended Josie got her way. The man knocked with one knuckle, opened the door. His partner slipped out. Slimmer but no less arrogant, he gave Josie the once over as his friend announced 'attorney' with the kind of effort it took to hurl.

The two men left, sliding along the testosterone slicked hall until they were swallowed up by the bowels of Parker Center. Josie watched them go, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowed. She wasn't concerned that they would come back. Those two would melt into the bureaucratic soup only to be fished out later and spoon fed to a jury hungry for the particulars of this day. Those men would remember everything; Archer would remember next to nothing. Josie would have to sort it out for him.

She turned. She put one hand on the knob, the other flat against the door as she took a minute to look hard at Archer. She needed to ground herself before she spoke to him. At this instant she was an attorney, nothing more. Not a lover. Not a friend. Not a woman who adored – never worshipped – the ground he walked on. Josie catalogued everything she saw. The blank room. The dark table. The four chairs. Archer sitting with his legs splayed on either side of one. One arm crooked and his forehead cupped in his upturned hand. His shoulders were slumped, his other arm dangled between his legs. He was hurt, possibly broken and probably afraid.

A tremor fear spidered out from Josie's center, creeping into her arms, her legs, up through her neck until her jaw was locked but her knees and hands shook uncontrollably, almost imperceptibly. Two shallow breaths through her nose and the vise around her lungs weakened. Another deep one filled them and she was ready. She pushed open the door, slipped inside and stood against it.

Archer didn't move, he didn't look up when he said:

''I don't want you here, Jo.''

CHAPTER 3

''So, I don't sleep over for a couple of nights and you go get yourself in trouble. There are better ways to let me know you miss me, Archer.''

Josie moved slowly, trying to get a feel for the lay of this new land. They should have been home, sitting on the rooftop balcony of his place watching the afternoon crowd at the beach. They should have been at her place, knocking down that back fence, the one she wanted to replace with a cinderblock wall and cover with smooth stucco. They should have been at Burt's fighting about Hannah and the way the presence of a sixteen year old kid was changing their lives. They should have been in bed, screwing their brains out, making up once the fight was over. They should have been doing anything but this. Not this.

Archer shifted in his chair, keeping his head lowered, his face turned away.

''Go home, Jo.''

His voice was strong. That was a relief.

''I'd like to Archer but we were having a fine fight a few days ago and I can't finish it alone. So unless I walk out of here with you, I'm not going.''

Josie had taken those tentative steps that took her forward and around the table. Now she stood beside Archer, towering over him.

''The hell you are.'' His head came up, his arm went down and every nerve in his face contorted with a swift pain that bent the bear of a man half over the table. The air blew out of him just as Josie heard her own intake of breath.

''Christ, Archer.''

She touched his chin and tipped it up. He sliced his eyes left, winced and pulled away. Josie's eyes flickered from his face to his massive chest, the hand that lay protectively against his side. More harm had been done than Josie originally thought. When he moved his breathing sounded like a kayak scraping bottom so she figured some real damage had been done. She'd guess a cracked rib but hoped it was only bruised. Josie tried again. Archer was as ornery as a junkyard dog and if she was going to get past the gate Josie needed to move slow. This time Archer let her shift his head. Her other hand went to his shoulder. She hunkered down, balancing on the balls of her feet to look at the mess that was Archer's face. His left eye was swollen. There was a cut over his brow. Dots of asphalt tattooed his temple. His upper lip was swollen and his right cheekbone was scraped raw.

''Ribs hurt bad,'' he whispered.

''Sounds like,'' Josie whispered back as she lay her open palm gently against the side of his face.

Finally she stood up, stepped back and opened her briefcase. She pulled out a disposable camera, ripped off the foil cover and pressed the button to charge the flash. Archer waved her away. Their personal moment was over. Time to get down to business. Josie brushed at his hand.

''Sit up, Archer,'' she ordered.

''You won't need it. It's a mistake and I'll take care of it.''

''You can't fix this with the right word to an old buddy,'' Josie muttered. ''Nobody is arrested the way you were without a damn good reason or a belly full of hate driving it. So turn your head up,'' she directed and snapped the picture when he finally did.

Josie shot the first five frames in close up: Archer's eye, his lip, the red screaming streak of raw skin across his cheekbone. Jury's reacted well to close-ups. Close ups turned their stomachs and made the defendant look all too human. There was nothing beautiful or forgiving in close, cheap photographs.

Josie pointed to his shirt. He lifted it. Time enough had passed for a fine bruise to be spreading. Cold with fury, Josie stepped back and shot from a few feet. She took comfort in the rote steps an attorney took in situations like this. Without them, Jo, the woman who loved Archer, would fall apart. She took another picture.

''What in the hell happened, Archer? They say they tagged you for murder. When have you had time to murder anyone?''

Another picture so she wouldn't be looking directly at him when he answered the sixty-five-thousand dollar question.

''Jo, I. . .'' Archer tried to sit up straight. Pain zig-zagged through him and exploded behind his eyes. It would be a stunning picture; a perfect exhibit. ''Christ, I'll handle this.''

Josie let the camera fall. Her patience was wearing thin.

''You won't. You can't. You know it, and so do I. You're already processed through. They've got a nice bed waiting for you downtown until they figure out what to do with you. Now, tell me what's going on starting with who they say you took out.''

Archer took two more of those short little breaths. Josie was bringing the camera back up toward her eye only to drop it again when she heard:

''Lexi's kid.'' Two shallow, sharp breaths. ''They say I killed Lexi's kid.''

Josie took a second and let that little bit of info sink in. Her father always said you needed to do that when you took a hit on the battlefield. When a bullet tears into you, you go down. You know you're down but you think you can get up. So you try, but you can't. Your legs might move – or maybe an arm - and your happy for a second until your hand comes to rest on your head or your chest or your gut and you realize there's blood pouring out of you. And, if it's bad enough you can't help but acknowledge that your guts or your brains are coming out right along with all that blood. And all of this – surprise, hope, honesty – takes a few seconds. That's when you do one of two things: you scream as you die or you do what you can to save yourself.

But it is those first seconds of waiting, absorbing, associating and assessing that are critical to survival so Josie took that time, stuffed her guts back into her belly and got on with saving the situation.

''How old was he?'' Josie pulled out a chair, stepped around it, sat down. She felt wooden, uncoordinated, off her mark.

''Seventeen.'' Archer's deep, low voice should have been comforting. It wasn't. There was a new dimension to it, a flat dark quality, like the bottom of a well where ugly things grew under the deceptive depth of the crystal clear water.

''I've known you a year. I would have known if you had a seventeen year old stepson,'' Josie said.

He shook his head. ''He died two years ago in an accident at Pacific Park.''

''That big amusement park off the ten freeway?''

Josie cocked her head, tracked memories of news stories about amusement park accidents. They were big money cases but Josie was already in Hermosa, not caring about that kind of law anymore. She didn't know Archer then. She had been nursing her own wounds alone, just like him.

Archer nodded, ever movement – or memory – caused him pain. He shifted in his chair. Josie half rose to help him but Archer found a better place on his own. Their eyes met. There was nothing for Josie in those eyes of his; not assurance, not guilt, not anything.

''Tim fell off one of those things that take you way up and drop you to the ground really fast. It was ugly. God, it was horrible. Lexi was. . .'' Archer paused until he had himself under control. ''Lexi was sick a month already. She had maybe eight weeks left. Pacific Park was this kid's favorite place and she wanted him to have a good day. So we went. There was an accident. Tim fell and we had to ride that thing all the way down to the ground looking at him all crumpled beneath us. So how come they're crying murder?''

Archer dropped his head. He put the heels of his hands to his eyes. Josie expected something more. When he remained silent, she asked:

''Did you know you were under investigation?''

He shook his head again, this time adamantly. If there was pain, he didn't show it.

''I don't know what anybody thinks they're doing,'' Archer growled. ''That kid's death was an accident. I don't even know what caused it because I never asked. I just wanted to take care of Lexi. Maybe Tim caused the accident himself. Jesus, Jo, he was a mess. He was retarded. He had a degenerative muscle disease. He had some lung problems. The whole thing was a damn nightmare and it happened two years ago and only God and the DA know why it's so damned important.''

Archer's red rimmed eyes flashed with anger and fear. Josie understood the first; she was shocked to see the other. If Archer were innocent, there was nothing to fear. But she looked again and readjusted her thinking. Hannah had been accused of murder. Hannah had been convicted. Hannah had been innocent. It had been sheer luck, Josie's moment of clarity at the eleventh hour. That's what saved Hannah. Josie would be smarter this time. She would look at this from every angle, turn over every rock until she found the truth.

Truth.

She brushed away the thought that truth might not be what she'd want to find – at least when it came to Archer's guilt or innocence. But there was one truth she wanted told that very instant and she wanted to be looking right at Archer when he answered her question.

''Jesus, Archer, why didn't you tell me about. . .''

The door opened. A uniformed officer was in the doorway.

''Ten minutes, counselor,'' the man said.