Hostile Witness

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 34

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Josie woke with a start and sent a cascade of papers over the side of the bed as she did. It was less than two full days after Hannah's accident, and less than seven hours until she was due in court to present defense arguments. She'd fallen asleep with her case files spread out over the blanket and the television on. Archer's report was among them. Not that it mattered. What Hannah had done since the fire would not be raised by the defense, what happened before it would be. Archer didn't agree with the strategy; Josie was going it alone. They'd work on what was between them when this was done. She didn't think about missing Archer; she just did.

Josie's neck was crooked on the stack of pillows and her glasses were still perched on her nose. Groaning, she shook her head to clear it and pressed on her neck to work out the knot. She felt the stirrings of a second wind, snapped off the television, and tossed the remote at the foot of the bed. TV may suck, but everything else was looking good. Hannah was stable. There was no permanent spinal damage; the swelling on the brain had been reduced significantly. Her arm would heal. The internal injuries were being monitored. Hannah wouldn't walk out of the hospital tomorrow but she would walk out. In another day or two Josie would be able to talk to her.

Josie rolled off the bed and picked up the mess of papers on the floor, and put them in her briefcase. The bedside light cast a bright circle on the rumpled spread. The rest of the room was gray with middle-of-the-night light. Max slept.

In the bathroom she threw some water on her face, ran her hands through her short, short hair, and mentally checked off the witness list. Doctor Choi, an independent coroner would dispute the prosecution's time of death. There would be exhibits to chart the progress of Hannah's path as she checked her surroundings, mathematical calculations that would prove it impossible for her to light two fires and then hide the matches. Doctor McGrath would spend quality time going over the meticulous behavioral attributes of an obsessive/compulsive. Rosa's testimony would make a big splash. A subpoena had been served on Lyn Chandler. Worried about being disbarred, Lyn would never commit perjury. Doctor Ritchland, an expert on child abuse, would testify that abuse victims seldom attacked, much less killed, their abuser.

Josie flipped off the bathroom light, picked up her briefcase, and shuffled through the bedroom to the hall. Dropping her briefcase by the front door Josie turned to go back to bed, but stopped. Every nerve tingled, sleep was forgotten as she narrowed her eyes and checked out the doors that led to her half finished patio. A butterfly fluttered up in her stomach. Someone was moving out there and they wanted in.

Josie slid into the corner.

Okay.

She was scared.

Okay.

But not that scared.

Slowly, keeping flat to the walls, Josie backed out of the living room just as she heard a muffled crack of glass and the click of the lock. In her bedroom, she eased the dresser drawer open and wrapped her hand around the heavy, cold metal of her father's gun. Stepping away, her eyes toward the bedroom door, Josie released the safety. With both hands on the grip she pointed it out and away as she retraced her steps.

She paused in the shadows. She could feel him in the house. Pulling the gun into her chest, the barrel now pointed up and out, Josie stole a look around the corner. His back was to her as he bent over her dining room table. So casual. So sure of himself.

Josie pulled her head back, laid her body tight against the wall. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing the way her father showed her - the way a soldier did - and ignored the pounding of her heart. Committing her first impressions to memory - the exact time, the mode of entry, the stance of her intruder - Josie moved out from her corner, planted her feet wide, raised the gun stiff-armed and took aim.

"Stand up slow and make like Christ unless you want your head blown off."