Lost Witness Read online

  When further information came he started the phone tree again, but this time what he had to say went straight to the top. He didn't envy the people in charge or the decisions they would have to make.

  "What are you doing, Jo? It's the middle of the night."

  Archer put his hand on the top of Josie's head and then followed it with a kiss. She sat back in her chair and stretched.

  "I've got a hearing today for Mrs. Callister." Josie smiled at him. "Her son wants her declared incompetent. He says she's a danger to herself and the community."

  "What do you think?" Archer asked.

  "I think the only danger here is of her living too long and being too sharp. Her son is fifty-eight, hasn't held a regular job since 2010, and thinks his mother should have checked out by now. She bought her house in the forties, and he knows what beachfront property is worth today."

  "If she's all there, then what's to worry?"

  "She's eccentric." Josie put her pen down, sat back, and rubbed her eyes. "She's fragile and she's refusing in-home assistance. If she had someone come in a couple days a week to help her out, that would go a long way to putting this thing to bed. She's a tough old broad. I give her credit for fighting this jerk. It's hard to fight family."

  Archer took a chair turned it around and sat down, hugging the ladder back. He had thrown his robe over his boxers and his hair was barely ruffled because he hadn't been asleep, he had been waiting for her to come to join him for hours.

  "Sounds as if she's just like her lawyer," Archer said.

  "I'm not old."

  "But you're tough."

  Josie chuckled as she picked up her pen and reached for her paperwork. Archer put a hand over hers.

  "Jo. We need to talk about Billy."

  "I've got it covered. I'll finish up Mrs. Callister at eight-thirty at the Torrance courthouse. I'll be back by eleven at the latest, and I'll go collect him."

  "But I'm talking about parameters," Archer said. "We need to be on the same page. We all saw the scars and the way he fought at the port. I don't presume to know what he has been through, but I'm not sure he came out the other end all there."

  "Lord, I'm getting tired of everyone trying to make him out like some nut case." Josie put her fingers to her brow and shook her head briefly.

  "I'm not saying he is," Archer said. "I'm saying he could be a lot of things short of that. He could be crazy angry, and that's something we're going to have to deal with. There's a lot of water under everyones’ bridge, including ours."

  Josie closed her eyes as she considered what he was saying. While she did that Archer took a long look at his wife. She hadn't changed much in the last few, quiet years, but that didn't mean Josie had mellowed. She was still ready for a good fight; he just wanted to make sure she knew what she was fighting for.

  "This pendulum could swing ten different ways, but I'm not going to default to him being out of his mind." Josie dismissed Archer's concerns. "There has got to be an explanation for whatever happened on that ship. I admit we knee jerked. I should have known more before going down there. We should have had a plan, or you should have stopped me."

  "Oh, yeah," Archer laughed. "When you latch on to something, it's hard to shake you loose. Besides, sometimes being a friend trumps being a lawyer."

  "I'll buy that." She leaned forward, put a hand on his cheek and drew him in for a kiss. "You're a good man, Archer."

  "So you say." He took her hand in his and kissed her palm.

  "Don't worry. I promise, everything is going to be okay." Josie said. "We'll figure it out. Whatever he needs, we'll take care of it. He can stay in Hannah's room and. . ."

  She paused when he raised a brow.

  "I know. I know. Hannah and Billy. Hannah and Jamal. Billy and the woman on the ship — ghost though she may be. I didn't say all of this was going to be pretty." Josie riffled her fingers as if something annoying were sticking to them.

  "First things first. We'll get Billy bailed and then see where we stand," Archer said as he got up. "I just have a bad feeling. I think things are going to get worse before they get better."

  "They usually do," Josie said as she got back to work.

  Her mind was on Mrs. Callister, so Archer headed back to the bedroom. Before he closed the door he took one last look at his wife. Her short hair shined in the low light above the dining room table. She wore a tank top and he could see the long muscles of an athlete snaking down her arms and across her shoulders. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. Archer could almost feel her mind working, methodically clicking through a checklist of arguments that would save an old woman from an impatient and greedy son.

  "Jo?" She looked up. She smiled. He asked: "You feel okay?"

  "Yeah. Don't I look okay?"

  "You look beautiful. Just—"

  "Stressed?"

  Archer shrugged. It wasn't the word he would have used. Tired? No, that wasn't it either. For the first time since he'd met her, Josie Bates just didn't seem comfortable in her own skin. She had been through worse than this, but had never seemed at odds.

  "Give me a couple days. We'll get Billy settled, and then we'll go to the desert. You and me."

  Archer raised his chin. Him and Josie. A blazing desert sun. A great hotel. There wasn't anything better than that. He only wished the promise of it made him feel better.

  Adeano Bianchi was cold. He had sat too long with knees up, his elbows resting upon them, hands clasped, and head bowed. His muscles ached, but he couldn't move. He looked like a man in prayer, which he was. The prayer had been the same for the last hour as he asked the Lord his God to strike him dead so that he would not have to endure whatever was to come when the authorities discovered what was in container forty-seven. The captain prayed for the courage to take his own life, but that prayer was short. Even he, Adeano Bianchi, understood such a thing would never happen. In his heart he knew he was a coward.

  So he sat, ignoring the call for him from the bridge for fear that it was some police or inspector wanting to ask about the body, or cargo, or God knew what else. He would be taken away in irons. He would be disgraced. He would —

  That was where Adeano's story of woe ended because something had changed.

  His head went up like a dog hearing his master's step, yet he really heard nothing.

  His hands went palm down to the floor and he sat up straighter.

  Nothing still.

  Suddenly the ship shimmied ever so slightly. He held his breath like a child waiting for proof there was no monster under the bed. When he felt the vibration again, Adeano scrambled up and ran for the ladder that led to the second deck, and one more that took him to the third, and finally those that took him to the upper deck. Adeano rushed to the narrow catwalk and threw himself at the railing, his breath coming hard and sharp. Perspiration pooled beneath his cap, but his body went cold with relief as he looked below. In the artificial daylight made by the port lights, the linesmen were at work, throwing the huge ropes away from the dock as they released the Faret Vild.

  Blessed mother.

  The ship was to sail.

  One more rope, the size of a man’s trunk, was drawn way.

  Two more to go. The Faret Vild would be free and he would be safe.

  Hurry. Hurry. Throw them off.

  Adeano took a step right and two left. Casting off was taking too long. The Americans worked slowly. They spoke to one another and made jokes. Their laughter enraged the Italian. Didn't they know there was urgent work to be done?

  The captain took off his hat and swiped at his forehead with the back of his arm. At last the ship was untethered. Adeano felt the telltale sway of the vessel and heard the engines churning. Nanda would be with the pilot, having offered some excuse why the captain was not there. The pilot would guide them out of the harbor to the open sea and then leave the ship.

  The linesmen stepped back to watch the Faret Vild move away: a foot, ten feet, ten yards. It was a sight all men of the sea loved: the
floating of a huge vessel, the little tugs nudging it out of the harbor to make room for another ship. They would watch until the lights of Adeano's vessel were a twinkle on the horizon and then the Faret Vild would be forgotten.

  No matter what happened now, no matter where container forty-seven was, no matter if that boy, Billy, brayed to the moon, nothing would happen to Adeano Bianchi. With that knowledge the handsome, witless captain sank to the metal catwalk, put his face in his hands, and wept in gratitude. When he was done weeping, when the swagger was back in his step, Adeano made his way to the bridge where he stood with the first mate and the pilot.

  When they had cleared the harbor but before they made for international waters, Adeano thanked the pilot and saw him over the side and onto the tug that would take him back to land where he would wait for his next assignment.

  The gangway retracted with more difficulty than it should while the captain returned to the bridge. Once there, he dismissed Nanda who, to his credit, did not question where Adeano had been while the ship was made ready. But Nanda did not leave. Instead, he paused, his eye caught by fast moving boats that seemed to be headed toward the Faret Vild. Adeano looked too and then joined his first mate to watch. Before either man said a word, the ship and all souls on it heard:

  Heave to, Faret Vild. Prepare for Boarding. Faret Vild, this is the United States Coast Guard.

  18

  Day 2 @ 4:10 A.M

  Nanda looked at his captain and waited for his orders, but Bianchi was staring out to sea as if he had not heard the Coast Guard directive.

  Faret Vild. Cut your engines and heave to. Faret Vild.

  "Captain," Nanda said.

  Faret Vild. Respond. Respond.

  "We've only a mile, Nanda," Adeano said. "A mile to international waters."

  "It won't be good enough," Nanda insisted. "They can board even then. They can say we are carrying drugs. They can say anything, and they have the right. You know that."

  Bianchi blinked. The eyes he turned on his first mate were both bright with denial and blank with fear. The Indonesian knew exactly what must be done and yet Bianchi, the captain of the vessel, waffled.

  "Let me think. Let me think, Nanda."

  "This is not a thinking thing. This you must do." Nanda rushed back to the bridge. He snatched up the radio and pushed it toward Bianchi. "Say something to them. Call the engineer. Do as they say."

  Nanda looked at his captain and then at the Coast Guard cutters. It was never a good thing to run afoul of any government, but the United States was the worst. The United States did not make mistakes and they always got what they wanted. The boats that chased after the Faret Vild were clean and new, fast and armed. Adeano Bianchi on the other hand suddenly felt as old and tired as the ship he commanded.

  "Just see what they want, captain," Nanda pleaded.

  "I know what they want." Bianchi said. "We all know what they want."

  "Then you know what to say and what to do —"

  Faret Vild.

  Failure to respond . . .

  Subject to force. . .

  "They will fire on us."

  Nanda rushed outside. From the compass bridge he could see everything: the acres of containers lashed to the deck of the Faret Vild, crew coming out of their quarters to line the edges of the decks, worried about what was going on. A few of them threw contraband over the side of the ship.

  Fools.

  The two cutters had split off and now flanked the big ship. Nanda went the length of the bridge wings, back and forth, peering past the free fall lifeboat. In the distance, the tugs headed back to the port. It was frightening how fast the Coast Guard had come upon them, as if they were waiting for the Faret Vild to be cleared of non-personnel before they converged.

  Nanda grabbed the railing and hung on tight as he threw himself forward. The moon was not up, nor were the stars shining, but the lights from the cutters were enough for him to see that the boats were well armed with mounted machine guns. One had a grenade launcher. The crew would be carrying small arms. Though there were only two boats, Nanda knew well enough there were more where those came from. Before they could make that last mile to international waters, the Faret Vild would be surrounded if the U.S. Coast Guard wanted it that way.

  . . . Heave to, Faret Vild . . .

  The first mate swiveled his head and saw Adeano Bianchi standing where Nanda had left him, looking through the glass of the bridge, listening to the commands of the Coast Guard.

  Nanda put his forearm over his eyes to shield them from the lights strafing the ship from bow to stern. He lowered that arm as the light passed from the bridge and danced over the containers. The cutters were now so close he could make out the crew. They were at the ready, neither lax nor overly anxious and that worried Nanda. Well-trained men were the most dangerous of all.

  Faret Vild, heave to. . .

  . . .Prepare for boarding. . .

  Swearing, sweating, Nanda rushed back to the bridge where Adeano Bianchi stared at one of the boats as if he were looking through it. His black hair and golden jewelry glittered with each pass of the klieg lights.

  "Give the order to stop," Nanda said.

  Just then they heard the rat-a-tat of a machine gun, a volley fired over their bow. Nanda started and swore; Adeano Bianchi fell to his knees and the Indonesian along with him. The Coast Guard had only fired a warning, but Nanda knew that next they would fire upon their engines in an attempt to disable the ship. It was the way things were done, and it was lawful. Nanda took the radio, glaring at Bianchi while he spoke.

  "This is the first mate of the Faret Vild speaking for Captain Adeano Bianchi. We will heave to. The Faret Vild is stopping. We are stopping. Do not fire upon the Faret Vild." Nanda screamed into the radio while he reached for the onboard communications and called to the engineer. "Stop the engines. Stop. Drop anchor."

  When Nanda received no response his blood ran cold, fearful that the engineer was one of those looking at the action below, terrified that there would be no one to obey orders and the big ship would continue on course. The Coast Guard would believe he had lied. Suddenly Adeano Bianchi ripped the phone connecting the bridge to the engine room out of Nanda's hands. The captain was pale and shaking.

  "This is the captain. Heave to."

  Adeano's eyes stayed on Nanda. The first mate gave him no quarter, and in that moment the captain knew an ally was lost. It took ten minutes to fully accomplish what they must. When the anchor was being lowered the captain, followed by his first mate, Nanda, made his way to the main deck and stood at the railing waiting for the approach of the small boat that had launched from the cutter.

  On that boat were five people: four men and a woman. Four were armed. The fifth man, the commander at the bow, carried a side arm, but it was not drawn. The small boat cut their engine and bobbed. The commander raised a megaphone.

  "Faret Vild, make ready for boarding."

  Adeano Bianchi carried a bullhorn of his own. He raised it and said:

  "With all due respect, you are refused boarding to the Faret Vild."

  19

  Day 2 @ 5:38 A.M

  Sparkle was at her regular place at Mikes Diner: last seat at the counter, best view of the harbor, and the only one that still had a backrest attached to the vinyl seat. She was a regular so Mike - who was really Miguel - didn't bother to take her order. Two minutes after Sparkle sat down, there was a mug of coffee and the morning newspaper in front of her; ten minutes later it was a plate of eggs and bacon. She folded the paper in half and then quarters and kept reading while she ate.

  Today the news wasn't good. Then again it wasn't really bad either. In fact it was the same old stuff: the California governor was trying to convince everyone that he could single handedly reverse climate change if he just dipped deeper into the tax payer’s pockets, there had been a pileup on the freeway that snarled traffic for three hours the day before, and finally there was the requisite celebrity arrest. She read the celebrity's
name twice and still didn't know who the guy was. He sounded like a mean, arrogant son-of-a-bitch beating someone up over a parking space, so good for the cops for taking him down. The stock market was still strong and that was good. Sparkle was thinking retirement was in her future, and she had a few bucks invested.

  Turning the page, she folded the paper again and gave the next stories a once over, too tired to actually read everything. Yesterday had done her in. The kid, the attorney, and the lawyer's fine looking husband were a nice change to her usual routine. And the house? That was icing on the cake. Man how Sparkle coveted that house. But the stock market would have to go through the roof and then some before she could afford a place like that. Still, it was something to shoot for. She would start small.

  Wielding the last piece of bacon like a cigarette, Sparkle put it between her lips and hung on to it while she turned to the real estate section. Her gaze ran past any city listing with the word 'beach' in it before she tagged a cute little bungalow in North Torrance. Grabbing hold of her bacon, she snapped off a piece and checked out the price and terms. It was doable, but only if she worked another four years and business picked up. She wrapped her tongue around the bacon and pulled it into her mouth, unfolded the paper and this time looked in the Lomita and Wilmington listings and. . .

  "More coffee, Sparkle?"

  She smiled and pushed her cup toward Miguel. The man looked ancient, but he was only forty-eight. Years at sea, hard living on land, and probably a hefty dose of genetics had carved the crevices in his face and put the silver in his fine head of hair. His eyes drooped like a Shar-Pei and his voice was scratchy. He picked up her mug and refilled it. Two of his fingers were missing their tips but the rest of his nails were clean. She liked that.