Hostile Witness

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 26

"Even if there's an ounce of truth to what they're saying about that judge, then that girl had a right to do what she did - if she did it. Well? Need I say more? Ever hear of the movie The Burning Bed, for God's sake?" - Talk radio/Inland Valley

"So, like, here's the question. Did Governor Davidson know this guy was a sicko when he appointed him? If he did, then I'm voting Republican. Hey, what about the guy's son? Maybe he's a weirdo, too. Politics. Davidson can go pound sand." - Talk Radio/Sacramento

"Hey, have you seen that chick? Sixteen ain't sixteen anymore. She probably loved it." - Talk radio/Hollywood

"If they just would put prayer back in the schools. . ."- Talk radio/San Diego

Josie walked out of terminal three and dropped her duffle bag at her feet. She dialed Archer's cell. He was where he said he would be: Starbucks just off Sepulveda, nursing a coffee, waiting for her call. Ten minutes later he maneuvered around LAX and pulled his Hummer up to the curb. Josie threw her bag in the back seat and settled herself in the front.

They met in the middle and kissed one another. Archer checked his side mirror and was back in the flow of traffic before he heard the click of her seat belt. He skipped the turnoff to Sepulveda south that would take them home, and instead rolled down Century Boulevard at a decent clip for that time of day.

"Where are we going?" Josie asked, disappointed she wasn't headed home.

"Dinner." he answered.

"It's three o'clock," Josie pointed out.

"Yeah, well, it will take us awhile to get there."

"Okay." She sighed and rolled down her window. It had been bone-chilling cold in San Francisco. Los Angeles was cloudy, but still warm enough for Josie to be comfortable in her shirtsleeves. She cocked her elbow in the open window, and laid her left arm over the back of the bench seat.

"Hannah's story checks out," Josie said. "I found Lyn Chandler. The woman clerked for Rayburn for six months third year of law school. Now she's on the partnership track at Monikar & Finacker. Smart lady. Good looking. Petite. Light-skinned African-American."

"Interesting," Archer commented. He changed lanes, moving the tank of a car through traffic like he was slaloming on razor-sharp skis.

"So, Lyn Chandler was working for Rayburn for three months when he puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes hard. You know, he hits that little nerve right here." Josie dropped her hand to the base of Archer's neck for a second. "She says she didn't think anything of it at first. He'd touched her before. There was nothing sexual about it. Usually the contact was brief and in context of him looking at her work. But that time he hurt her. She said something, but Rayburn made light of it. Told her if she wanted to be a player she was going to have to toughen up. That's what the law is about."

"Lay it on her. Nice touch," Archer muttered with a dispassionate approval. He had a great appreciation for those who performed well, whether they be cop or criminal.

Josie adjusted her sunglasses as he stopped at a light. The neighborhood had changed. Warehouses and airport hangers gave way to one of those nondescript arteries that connected the vital parts of LA. This one was peppered with small houses and smaller businesses. Every window was barred, every flat surface graffitied. The billboards were in Spanish. Instead of touting sleeper seats to the Orient, they advertised family planning and beer. Josie leaned her head back and closed her eyes, as if trying to remember the sequence of her interview. Archer hit the gas, Josie picked up the story.