Lost Witness Read online

  "Back then it was good, Hannah. We were good. For a while in Alaska we were strong together, weren't we?"

  Hannah looked at him. She truly looked into his eyes and then let her gaze run across the face she knew as well as her own. Three years had turned him into a man to be reckoned with, but had not destroyed the boy who had faith that life was going to turn out okay. Hannah had missed him so much; she hadn't known how much until that minute. When she shook her head and looked away, when she tried to move on, Billy held tight.

  "Damn it, tell me I'm right, Hannah. We were strong in Alaska. We would have made it. All you had to do was call to me. I would have heard you. I would have saved you."

  "I couldn't." She shook her head, her voice caught. "Let me go, Billy."

  He tightened his grip. "I always knew you didn't want me the way I wanted you, but I didn't think you would throw me away."

  "I never did that," she said.

  He let her go so fast and pushed past her so quickly, that Hannah fell back. She righted herself and went after him, raising her voice.

  "I gave you away because I loved you, not because I didn't."

  "Christ." Billy threw up his hands, but he didn't look back as he railed at her. "What is that Hannah? That's like some romance novel bullshit. I thought you were better than that."

  Billy walked to where the water lapped at the shore. He kicked at it, pushed his hands into his pockets, and then turned around to see that Hannah had followed him, but only so far. Her expression was stone cold, her voice flat when she said:

  "Screw you, Billy Zuni. Screw you. Neither of us ever made our own choices. Josie gave me my chance, and I gave you a chance to make a big one."

  He turned on Hannah and came at her, fists balled, his cheeks burning, his expression outraged, but Hannah stood her ground and gave him no opening.

  "Billy Zuni isn't even your real name. I don't know who my father is. My mother was going to let me go to jail for murder. Your sister's life was a lie even if she lived it to protect you. Josie didn't know where her mother was for forever, and when she found her she was like some zombie. So don't tell me what I have to say is bullshit; don't tell me that I was being selfish when I let you go."

  Hannah shook back her hair and just then the breeze came up. She raised her face to it and breathed deeply. Her eyes still blazed when she faced Billy again, but she was dead calm.

  "I gave you the chance to choose the life you wanted, Billy, because you meant that much to me. It was a gift. You should say thank you."

  Billy was on Hannah before she could say another word, pulling her into him, burying his lips in her hair. Hannah closed her eyes and put her cheek to his chest. She listened to the beating of his heart and felt her own torn in two when he said:

  "I wanted to live with you, Hannah. That's the choice I would have made. I knew who I was when I was with you. I still do—"

  "No."

  She pulled away, but he drew her back. Hannah put him aside with a wave of her hand. There was no misunderstanding her intent. She didn't want him to touch her; she couldn't touch him without wondering which one of them was speaking the truth about their relationship.

  "Don't say that. Don't ever say that," she said. "It's not what we were."

  "It's what we would have been. We could have helped each oth—"

  Suddenly, Billy stopped talking. Something came over him, changing him. He looked toward the house, and then down the coast, and back toward Josie's house once more.

  "We have to go," he said, putting a hand out to Hannah even as he started to run toward Josie's place. Hannah reached for him, but he was already ahead of her.

  "Where are we going?"

  "The port. We've got to go now."

  Billy skipped ahead even as he looked behind for Hannah. She waved him on, not wanting to slow him down. When she got to the house Josie was on the phone, Billy stood behind her listening and anxious, and Archer was headed out the door, car keys in hand.

  "What's going on?" Hannah asked.

  "Josie will tell you," he said. "I'll get the car and meet you all out front."

  Closing the door behind her, Hannah sat down on the sofa and listened to Josie's one-sided conversation.

  "The Faret Vild," Josie said. "Liberian registry."

  She waited a second and then held the phone to her chest as she spoke to Billy.

  "They're checking on her status. What else do you have?"

  "If she hasn't docked, the ship is in a queue. It will be three miles off shore," he said. "If she's docked and off-loading she probably won't clear for another twenty-four hours at the earliest."

  Josie nodded and then attended to the person on the phone.

  "Yes. Yes, I'm here. The Faret Vild. Liberian registry. That's correct. There is an injured crew and a report of a dead passenger onboard."

  She listened a moment longer and then said:

  "My name? Josie Bates. I'm the injured crew's attorney." She listened again. "The injured crew member's name?"

  Josie raised a brow, directing the question to Billy.

  "Tala," he said. "Tala Reyes."

  TALA REYES

  SANTA CRUZ, PHILIPPINES

  TEN YEARS EARLIER

  "Balut! Balut!"

  "Taho!"

  "Nangnang. Lelong. Please may I have taho? Or squid balls? Please."

  Tala Reyes hung out the window of her grandparent's house, excited to see the street vendors were out. Behind her back, her grandparents smiled at one another knowing very well who was on the street below their tall, narrow home. Anyone living in Old Manila - especially in Santa Cruz where houses stood wall to wall and the windows were left open to catch a breeze - could hear everything that went on for blocks.

  Tala's own home in Marikina City was not like this at all. Marikina was quiet and peaceful, nestled as it was at the foot of the Sierra Madre Mountains. The cleanest river in all the Philippines ran through the city and there were parks and wide, tree-lined streets. In Marikina Tala's days were spent behind the high walls of her school learning math and English from the nuns, dreaming about boys when she was alone and playing games with her friends when she wasn't. At school she wore a uniform: navy blazer, white knee socks, and a plaid skirt that fell long so her knees didn't show. Her white blouse was starched, there was a small red bow at the collar, and her long black hair was always pulled back and wrapped with a neat blue ribbon.

  But now she was at her grandparent's home where she would stay for three days before her nanny came to fetch her back. For three days Tala would be free of her school uniform, trading it for the one preferred by fourteen year-old girls: jeans and a t-shirt, sneakers and no socks. For this visit Tala brought her new jeans, the ones that made her long, skinny legs look even longer, and the t-shirt with an American band's name on the front. She had never heard of the band, but her uncle had brought the shirt from New York, and she was proud to wear it. Someday Tala would travel to New York herself; someday she would travel all over the world.

  But now she was here in Santa Cruz without school walls around her or a bevy of nuns to watch her. Here there were only nangnang and lelong to spoil her, there were the narrow streets big enough for two lanes of tricycles - the Filipino tucktuk - but only one and a half lanes for cars. There were people coming and going, their voices making so much noise Tala didn't just hear the joyful sounds of life, she felt them.

  Neighbors bickered, a television played loudly across the way, the men at the tables set up on the sidewalks played cards. Women shushed their crying babies and stood in doorways gossiping. All of it mixed together in the warm fading day to make a sound as delicious to Tala's ears as the creamy sweet taho would be on her tongue - if her grandparents gave her the money to get some.

  Tala looked over her shoulder and saw her grandfather was not paying one bit of attention to her. Tala's mother said it was sad that lelong didn't hear well, but Tala thought he heard fine. He just didn't like to be bothered by a teenager begging
for taho. He turned the page of his newspaper and Tala hopped off the chair that had been her perch. She kissed lelong's bald head on her way to see her grandmother in the kitchen.

  "Nangnang," she said. "Please may I get some taho?"

  Her grandmother shook her head. "Not tonight. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we will all go into the street and get some. Or we'll get dirty ice cream."

  Tala's face fell. She had such a hunger for the treat, but she loved her grandparents and would do nothing against them. Still, it was no fun to be up here when the city was down below. Sighing, she went back to the window, knelt on the chair, crossed her arms on the sill, and watched the street once more.

  The taho vendor had moved on. The dirty ice cream man had not come yet, but the men still sat at their tables talking, and drinking, and gambling, and the women busied themselves with children and food. A motorcycle wound through the mess and down the road a car honked but no one moved out of the way.

  Raising a hand, resting her cheek against it, she let her eyes wander up the street where a group of children were gathering for a game of patintero. When Tala looked closer, she saw some were teenagers. There was a handsome boy who was tall. Tala was tall too. Often her classmates made fun of her - not cruelly - but still she was self-conscious about her height. If she stood next to that boy, she would not feel self-conscious. If she stood next to him she would feel . . .

  "Hoy! Hoy!"

  Tala narrowed her eyes. Grasping the sill, she leaned out the window to see who was calling. Below was a girl who looked a lot like Tala, but not. Her hair was long and black, but it wasn't pulled back modestly. It was parted in the middle and it was loose and messy. She was dressed in jeans like Tala, but hers were torn at the knees. She had on a t-shirt like Tala, but even from her second floor window Tala could see it was very old, frayed, and tight enough to show off her small breasts. Unlike Tala, she wore rubber sandals and stood like a boy, her legs apart, and her hands on her hips. She looked coarse, like a girl the nuns would have to reprimand often. Tala could see all that in the girl's eyes. The nuns would not get along with this girl, and that intrigued Tala.

  "Hey, you." The girl called again and there was no doubt who she was talking to.

  "What do you want?" Tala called back.

  "We need one more to play," she said.

  "Estrella." The tall boy called out. "Is she coming?"

  Now all the patintero players were looking at her, and Tala felt suddenly shy. She was about to tell the girl no, or duck back inside her grandparent's house and not answer her at all, but something made her pause. Sitting beside lelong and reading a book was not what Tala wanted to do. Often she did things at home because her father told her to, but she wasn't home. Tala fully intended to be her own woman one day, so maybe now was the time to start.

  "Come on then."

  The girl was impatient. Tala thought she was very rude, but also exciting. This girl knew her own mind and that was something the nuns certainly discouraged. Then the girl did something unexpected: she raised her chin and smiled. When she did that she was really quite nice looking and she wanted Tala to play patintero in the street as the sun set. No one had ever asked her to do that before and there would be a boy on the team who looked very nice. Tala had never talked to an older boy before. She looked at her grandparents and back at the girl.

  "Yes," Tala said. "Yes, I'm coming."

  "Okay," the girl answered. "I'm Estrella. What's your name?"

  "Tala. Tala Reyes."

  9

  Day 1 @ 2:00 P.M

  The afternoon was getting on and Adeano Bianchi was becoming ever more anxious. The inspector, an obnoxious, serious little man, had come on board, but he had not gone. Instead, he walked slowly through the Faret Vild, touching things, jiggling knobs, peering at dust. In all this time the inspector had only found four minor violations. The life jacket count was off. Even though Adeano assured him that the missing ones were certainly about somewhere, the inspector marked them gone. Then he found fault with the HAZMAT sticker on container sixty-two. Adeano pointed out that it was not missing, but the inspector said it was unreadable and had not been properly placed, so that constituted a violation. Adeano thought that was a silly thing since he didn't believe the sticker was necessary in the first place. The unit was packed with Class 1 lithium batteries, Division 1.4, a minor explosive hazard, but the little man made such a commotion one would think that a selfish man already blessed with wife and mistress had ravaged his virgin daughter. Still, all this Adeano accepted with grace until the young inspector —the ridiculous American who spoke in a voice that grated — began to inspect the crew quarters. One plug and one light in the mess were not working and, again, a citation.

  Minor.

  Minor.

  They would be fixed, the captain assured him.

  Then he put his head into two of the crew cabins and found them adequate. He spoke to members of the crew, and being a stupid American unable to speak any other language, accepted nods and grunts as confirmation that all was well and they were being treated fairly. Just when Adeano thought the man would leave, he said:

  "Now shall we take a look at your infirmary?"

  Adeano went white as plaster and his heart beat fast when the inspector asked this.

  "The infirmary?" Adeano repeated.

  "Yes, the infirmary," the inspector said.

  Unable to think of a reason to keep the man away from the infirmary, Adeano led the way slowly as if guiding a funeral procession. As they walked, he tried to figure out how he would explain Tala Reyes. An accident that had gone unreported because of the confusion of off-loading? But cared for. Yes, he would point out she was cared for as evidenced by the Chinaman, Guang, sitting by her side. There had been no time to alert the authorities, he would explain.

  No, no.

  He would say that he did not want to alert the authorities until he knew the extent of her injuries. He, Captain Adeano Bianchi, liked to be thorough in his reporting. He would confide this to the inspector and the man would commend him, perhaps. Or he might write him another citation. Or he might call a doctor who would take the woman off the ship. Adeano couldn't allow that to happen before the Faret Vild was ready to leave. Yes, they would have to be well away before that mate could tell anyone what happened. No matter what had gone on it wouldn't be good for him. There would be an investigation, the body would be found, the man identified and the cargo searched and confiscated. Then again there was a chance that Tala Reyes might stay silent. She had, after all, killed a man. She was the one with much to lose. All this was going through the captain's mind when he opened the door and saw . . . nothing.

  The one bed was tightly made as if it hadn't been touched in months. There was no blood, no discarded paper cups, no bandages. There was no Chinaman and, thank you Blessed Virgin, there was no Tala Reyes. The medication cabinets were closed and secured. The inspector walked around the little room, pulling on this and that, opening a drawer, touching the sheets, poking at the small pillow. He looked at the oxygen tank strapped to the corner near the sink and checked the last test date on the defibrillator before he walked off. Adeano followed and as he closed the door of the infirmary the Serb, Bojan, appeared. He nodded to the captain and the captain nodded back. It had been a curious meeting because the man should have been on the upper deck. Then it dawned on Adeano that Bojan knew where the woman was, and that was the meaning of his gesture.

  Adeano saw the inspector off the ship, chatting happily, thanking him even as he was being handed a list of violations. The captain watched until the man was well away, and then he had a word with the stevedores. This made it seem as if everything was in order should someone be watching who might think things were not in order. Only when that was done did the captain seek out Bojan who said that the first mate had the woman moved, and now Guang was with her in a small room aft.

  Adeano Bianchi felt his heart start to beat again, only now aware that it had stopped the moment the inspector
opened the infirmary door. The captain patted the Serb's arm and assured him there would be extra for him and Guang in their pay. They were, he said, fine mates. Nanda would also be taken care of. Good Nanda who, Adeano sometimes believed, knew more than he, the captain, since it was Nanda who had arranged for Tala Reyes to be moved in anticipation of the inspector's wishes to see all of the ship. All was well that ends well. In fact, it could not have gone better unless the Serb had laid Tala Reyes to rest in container forty-seven along with the other one.

  Feeling happy, Adeano found himself hungry. Because days at port were hectic, he had cold food laid out for him in his cabin so not to bother the cook unduly. When he had enough of the sliced meats and cheeses and his loaf of bread, he put his cap on again and made his way to the bridge.

  "Report," he said to Nanda and the first mate did.

  Four hundred containers measuring fifty-three feet long by eight feet six inches high and wide had been removed from the Faret Vild along with two hundred forty foot and three hundred twenty foot containers. The Faret Vild carried thirty-two hundred containers in total, so progress was good. When the off-loading was complete, there would remain seven hundred and fifty containers due for delivery in Panama. The ship was also scheduled to onboard twenty-two hundred containers and, above deck, forty-five earthmovers, and twenty threshers that would go back to the Philippines. Adeano knew that four of the containers scheduled for delivery in Los Angeles belonged to the man who was now dead.

  All this was being accomplished under the supervision of Nanda, Adeano, and the engineer. On different decks other crew were monitored by one of the Filipinos, a Croat, and an Albanian. The Albanian, though, had a small problem. According to the schematic there were two twenty-footers missing that were not supposed to be off-loaded. He thought to ask the crew working for him to double check on this, but then it occurred to him that reporting the missing containers would result in a re-inspection of the vessel and accounting of the cargo. The port would have to call back the HAZMAT inspectors and departure would be delayed by at least a day. The Albanian had no idea of the cost of such a problem but he did know that the captain was eager to be on his way, so he decided not to report the discrepancy.