Privileged Witness (29 page)

''You want to go up now?'' Billy whispered, sensing something was amiss but not wanting to incur Hannah's wrath by voicing his dread.

''I guess. I mean, since we're here,'' she answered, wishing he would be the one to stop her.

''Yeah, since we came all this way,'' Billy nodded and both of them looked at the building.

''Billy, do you think this is a stupid idea?'' Hannah asked.

''Naw. I think it's nice. Kind of like you being part of Josie's team. You know, like her assistant.''

Hannah's smile was shaky. Her hands were clasped in her lap. Little suction sounds could be heard as she pumped her palms together. That was nice for him to say when they both knew it wasn't right to go off half cocked and angry at Josie. Knowing she couldn't back down now, Hannah took her keys and said:

''Okay, so let's go then.''

They got out of the car and stood together in front of the old brick building. Billy opened the glass door. Hannah went in first. Instantly she put her hand to her nose. The place smelled of bad cooking and smoke. The carpet was dirty with the kind of grime that never came out no matter how hard you tried to clean it. There were three landings with apartments on either side. Hannah stopped short to get her bearings and Billy bumped into her.

''Christ, Billy,'' Hannah hissed. He mumbled his apologies in the dead quiet of that narrow hallway with the weak light hanging above them. Hannah looked up. ''Come on. It's the top floor.''

Billy stuck close as they climbed. First landing. Second. Hannah could hear her heart. Billy grunted and wheezed. They sounded like two scared little kids. What good would they do that lady if they sounded like that? Hannah took one deep breath and bounded up the next ten steps, pounding away her anxiety. Billy did the same.

''Made it.'' Hannah actually smiled when he joined her.

''Yeah. So, that's okay, then.'' Billy smiled back. ''Want me to knock?''

''No, we're just going to barge right in like Spy Kids,'' Hannah drawled, her swell of friendship curling into the disdain of normalcy. Billy could be so clueless. ''I'll knock.''

She raised her fist but the door wasn't latched so her knuckles scraped the wood and pushed it open. Hannah and Billy looked at each other but before they could bolt, the door jolted again and something came at them so fast they jumped into one another's arms, laid themselves back against the wall and knew that if they weren't about to die, Josie was going to kill them when they got home.

Matthew McCreary watched the television alone. He did not pick up the phone when it rang because his hands were busy. One held a bottle of scotch the other the television remote. He had monitored every news program he could find and all of them were dissecting the rise and fall of Matthew McCreary, talking about the dark cloud that shadowed his campaign during this primary. The personal tragedy that brought him sympathy votes was now turning into three ring circus of speculation, sensationalism and sadism. Everyone wanted a piece of Matthew McCreary and his family: talk shows and news programs, pop psychologists and pundits. He'd like to kill the fool that coined the phrase ‘family values' because – according to everyone – he probably didn't have any. He, the public now hypothesized, was the smoldering core of a volcano that would blow, spewing ever more toxic scandal. The dead wife had tried to leave him, making out a will assuring he would never get her money. Why? The prodigal sister was on the lam with the law on her heels. Why? Matthew McCreary was silent. Why? Why? Why?

He lifted his drink and downed it. Why was he silent? Because he had no answers; none that anyone would understand anyway. Exhausted, Matthew snapped off the television and let his head fall back. He tossed the remote to the end of the couch and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. His head lolled sideways and he surveyed all that he owned. It was a lot but it wasn't enough. He didn't want to run a company that belonged to his father. He wanted to be loved and honored and looked up to by lots of people. His eyes settled on the phone. He wanted Grace to call. He could save his career, if she would just . . .

Matthew put the bottle to his lips and kept it there for a minute before he realized it was empty. Just as he thought about that, the phone rang. The bottle went into his lap and Matthew watched the phone as if he could see the rings and count them.

One. Two. Three. .

They were nuts if he thought he was going to answer his own phone and talk to a reporter.

One more. There it was. Four.

The machine picked up. For the tenth time Matthew listened to his own voice invite whoever it was to leave a message. His head fell back. The beep sounded. He waited. It was . . .

Grace.

It took Matthew a minute to realize that he wasn't hearing things. When it dawned on him that Grace was on the phone, Grace was leaving a message, Grace was telling him something important, Matthew lunged for the phone and grabbed it up, fumbling the receiver and finally getting it right. But by the time it was at his ear and he was yelling her name, promising everything, but the connection was broken. Matthew collapsed on the sofa with the phone on his chest, a pillow pulled tight and his knees pulled up. Everything was just falling apart. Just falling apart and it wasn't fair to him when he had always tried to do what was right.

Matthew McCreary, drunk and alone, sobbed his self pitying tears. It was never, ever supposed to be like this.

CHAPTER 37

Archer, Josie and Tim stood between the car and an old stucco building that seemed to be held together with the glue of graffiti. A necklace of blown out windows wrapped around the place. The ground beneath their feet was a crazy quilt of asphalt and pebbles, stones and hard packed dirt. It crushed as they walked single file with Tim in front. Familiar with the lay of this land, he led them to a small metal door above which a naked bulb hung from wire strung from post to building. The face he turned toward them was etched with worry and sadness and resignation.

''She's in the caretaker's apartment. She's expecting me to come with food and fresh clothes but she's afraid so . . .''

Tim didn't have to lay out the ground rules. He did not have to tell them that Grace was afraid to be in this deserted building, in this mean town so far from her accustomed comforts. Archer reached for the door handle. Tim beat him to it.

''She trusted me, you know.''

''Okay,'' Josie said and Archer acquiesced.

Silently Tim opened the door and they were inside a factory filled with rusting machinery, degrading boxes and long tables where people used to work. Now abandoned, the place was oddly sterile. Despite the clement weather outside, cold from the concrete floor traveled up Josie's legs and settled in her belly. She touched nothing but saw everything: on the floor was a fast food bag, candy wrappers, shards of brown glass that had once been a beer bottle that glinted in a shaft of light that javelined through a hole in a high window. A comb had been left on one of the work tables. There was a lathe. A bench saw. Half a chair. Lumber was stacked on the west wall. More boxes were stacked neatly on the east wall, bigger boxes than the ones she had initially seen. Glass crunched underfoot.

''What did they make here?'' She drew close to the men to keep from calling out to Grace.

''Furniture,'' Tim whispered back. ''When my father died I got the property. I've been trying to sell it but haven't had much luck.''

Tim ducked behind some boxes. Josie and Archer were on his heels, following through another door that led to a hallway. To the right was Josie could see an office with filing cabinets, a pen on the metal desk, an adding machine. Tim paused a moment and looked at it. Josie imagined he was seeing his father behind that desk, looking up, wondering what his son was doing with these rich folks. Tim pointed to another door.

''In there,'' he whispered. ''I'll go in first.''

''Maybe not.''

Archer shouldered him away and this time Tim let him. It was what it was. Archer turned the knob slowly. All of them held their breath, listening for the sound that would give them away, but Archer was smooth. He entered first, then Tim. Josie pulled up the rear. They found themselves in a small room that looked like a utility apartment: table, a metal sink, two chairs. Grace wasn't there. Tim shrugged, confused. He pointed to one of two small doors. Josie opened the one on the left.

''Bathroom,'' she whispered. The men faded away to explore while Josie lingered.

There was moisture in the air. Grace's earrings were on the sink. Three cigarette butts floated in the toilette. A towel with make-up smudges hung on a nail in the wall. There were drops of water on the floor. Josie touched the towel. It was damp; the soap was wet. Grace had washed her face; Graced had washed her face off. Josie was thinking she wouldn't know Grace without make-up when something caught her eye. Hunkering down, she reached into the box near the sink and plucked Grace's emerald ring from the trash. Josie put it in the palm of her hand.

Pocketing the ring, she retraced her steps and looked for Archer and Tim. The next room had a cot, a hot plate, another table. A small rectangular window cut high above the bed was open and that told Josie all she needed to know. Grace had seen them coming. She had washed up, was ready to settle in for the night, when she had heard the car drive up. But bringing Tim's car hadn't fooled her one bit, smart girl. Grace had listened to the sound of more than one door closing, heard their careful footsteps on the gravel, perhaps tiptoed on the cot, straining to see just enough to tell her that she had been betrayed. Perhaps the ring had fallen into the trash in her rush to get away and now Grace was out there in the dark wishing she had it for comfort.

Josie looked at the back door. If Grace had run that way the men would find her. But what if Grace was playing them all? Instead of panicked, maybe Grace was buying time, forming a strategy. Quickly Josie retraced her steps back to the main factory. Standing alone in the dark Josie held her head high and listened. She heard nothing but sensed something.

''Grace?'' she called quietly.

Josie took one step, then another. Her eyes darted to the stacked boxes, the lumber, the high tables under which someone could hide. She did double takes on shadows that seemed to move and dark spots that threatened to suck her through the floor. Grace was there. She was waiting. She was watching with those eyes, those eyes that would now seem smaller, meaner, odd and ugly without the definition of shadow and line.

Josie turned in a slow circle trying to focus, knowing her task was made more difficult because Tim Douglas's father had been cautious man, worried about those who worked around wood and stain and there were more fire exits than she first imagined. The green lights that would lead people to safety were long dark. Squinting, Josie concentrated on each one in turn until she found what she was looking for: the one door that was ajar. Trotting toward it, her head moving side-to-side in case she was wrong, Josie pushed the door open. She was outside. Alone. There were other buildings. She would let the men search the nooks crannies while she kept her eye on the big picture.

To her right were the half open gate and Tim's car; on her left was a wooden lean-to. The dirt and gravel were disturbed as if someone had pushed off in a hurry but Josie couldn't say if it had been a woman or the two men or vandals. It could have been a minute ago or another day long ago. Then it didn't matter what Josie was thinking because she heard Archer bellow and Tim holler and the roar of a car engine coming to life.

Instinctively Josie started toward the ruckus only to stop, unable to pinpoint where it was coming from. The wide yard was like a canyon and the sounds echoed off the concrete building only to be swallowed up by the wooden structures and empty spaces. Unable to get her bearings, Josie opened her mouth to call Archer but instead let out a howl of surprise and threw one arm up over her eyes to shield against the bright headlights of a big car as it careened around the corner of the lean-to. Its bald tires spun. The car fishtailed, righted itself and kicked up gravel as it fought for traction. Without thinking Josie sprinted toward it, holding out her arms, screaming for it to stop but suddenly the tires caught and the car barreled toward her.

In that split second, in those flickering silent film moments between the car lurching out of control and righting itself again, Josie saw that it was Grace McCreary clutching the wheel of the monstrous car.

''Stop! Grace! Stop!'' Josie screamed, but it did no good. Grace didn't seem to care who stood in her way in the dirt, in the middle of the night, in a place where there was no one hear cries for help.

Brave but not stupid, Josie would have run if she could but Grace was determined and Josie disoriented. She couldn't tell where Grace was going. Her only chance, her only choice, was to stand firm until she was forced to choose. She hated that Grace McCreary could take everything Josie held dear if she made the wrong choice. Hannah would be alone again. Archer alone again. Josie would die never knowing what had become of her mother because this crazy woman wanted to run from her life instead of facing it.

The hell with that.

Josie bent her knees. The time was upon her. Three more seconds. Two. One. . . But before she could take her best shot, Grace McCreary did what Josie least expected. She slammed on the brakes. But it was a minute past the last minute and the car skidded, spun and caught Josie straight on and hard on her hip. She doubled over the hood before spiraling over the right headlight. Her arms stretched out on the hood, her cheek met metal. There was one blazing instant when Josie stared at Grace's face. Ghostly white, it was awash with terror, shock, sympathy and determination. Just as Josie thought Grace was going to help, she let out a hellish wail. Grace bared her teeth and hit the gas.

''Stay out of my way. Stay away from Matthew. If you don't want me to hurt you, just stay away.''

Grace screamed and screamed as Josie melted down the side of the car to her knees. The car sped past her, out the gate, into the night, with a crazy woman at the wheel. A killer at the wheel.