The Reluctant Witness

By Marilyn Ellsworth Shelley

Maria, a divorced mother with two small children works as a para-legal for a large law firm in Lockwood. While jogging along the Riverford trail and hidden by the trees, she witnesses a brutal murder. Traumatized, she recognizes the assailant as Carlos Domingues, the Vice President of Validity Trust Bank and a powerful, influential man in Lockwood. She immediately recognizes the danger she is in if she reports to crime to the police no one would believe her and if Carlos knew she was a witness, she would be his next victim. When she receives a notice to serve on a grand jury, she realizes she needs help and turns to the only man she can trust. Karl Clayson, is a co-worker at the law firm and together they find a way to obtain evidence against Carlos. However Brad Wood of the Lockwood Police Department and a friend of Karls begins to suspect Karl of deception in his involvement with Maria. Determination drives Maria into certain death situations if caught in her pursuit to bring Carlos to trial. Her investigation uncovers two more deaths she is certain Carlos is responsible for. The mystery and thrills hold the reader to the edge of suspension as tragedy strikes time and time again until justice is in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499025385

Marilyn Ellsworth Shelley

Marilyn E. Shelley grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, and attended Brigham Young University. She married her sweetheart and traveled with him through many states and Canada before settling down in Newbury, Ohio, where they raised their five children. She attended Kent State University, where she became interested in writing stories and poetry, which were published in the Kent State Literary Magazine. She has two mystery-thriller novels published before changing her genre for this third book. She enjoys reading and writing. Her favorite genre is mystery but felt uplifted and inspired to tell this story and get it published. She enjoys spending time with her family and friends and especially her wonderful grandchildren.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

A scream caught in her throat. The dried weeds, brush, and trees hid Maria as she sat shaking violently. No, she moaned breathlessly between deep gulps of air, her mind unwilling to accept what she had just witnessed. Tears fell down her checks unchecked as she held her head in her hands. Why? she questioned. Why would someone do such a horrible thing? Unable to put any meaning to what she had just seen—the peace and quiet she had enjoyed such a short time age was shattered. Her calm world was changed forever. The scene repeated itself over and over in her mind. It had all started with her morning jog.

*     *     *

Maria ran steadily down the paved trail. The feel of her Reeboks hitting the well-traveled pavement and the earthy, damp air after last night’s spring rain invigorated her. She relished in the control she felt. It was a beautiful March Saturday, a perfect day to feel her muscles pump up and down to the rhythmic beat of her heart. The babbling of the Ford River and the twittering of birds overhead were music to her ears. Her soul was in tune with her surroundings, and a feeling of confidence and security flowed through her. The sun crested over the mountains to cast its first rays onto the valley floor. She had been running for about an hour, and the home stretch was in sight.

Feeling the sting of her shoelace slap against her ankle, she stopped, knelt down, and retied the laces. As she rose to her feet, she was surprised by the sound of voices and glimpsed through the trees to see two men standing on the bridge over the river. One was a tall Hispanic-looking older man with black hair and bushy eyebrows. The other man appeared to be in his midtwenties and was fair-skinned with short cropped blond hair. Their conversation was animated. Their voices charged the air with a negative force even though Maria couldn’t discern their words. It wasn’t unusual to pass other joggers at this time in the morning, but some inner sense told her to slow down and move cautiously. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt anxious. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and a shiver ran down her spine as she saw them leaving the bridge and heading in her direction.

Cautiously, she pulled back behind the trees and hid from view, hoping they would pass by her. The voices grew louder and angry as she held her breath.

Both men were dressed in casual golf attire with light jackets against the cool morning air. She guessed they were walking along the trail while waiting for the golf course to open. They stood only a hundred feet from her now, their voices low and secretive. What she saw through the branches made her legs go weak. She sucked in a slow breath and watched. The older man scowled and turned to check the path as if to make sure they were alone. Suddenly his face filled with rage at something the younger man had said. Grabbing the front of the blond man’s red polo shirt, he yanked him in close, focusing his dark eyes on the young man’s face. With another quick movement, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pressed it against his companion’s rib cage. Maria guessed he held a gun in his pocket but hoped she was wrong.

Two shots made no more sound than a cork being popped from a bottle, silenced by the closeness of the weapon to the victim’s chest. Blood splattered onto the assailant’s face and jacket, and he swore. The victim grabbed at his chest and lurched forward, his boyish face contorted in agony and disbelief. His right hand grasped tightly to the sleeve of the killer’s tweed jacket, the hole smoldering through the pocket. He turned his face upward in a questioning why. The swarthy man snickered and pushed the dying man away from him. The body hit the ground with a thud.

Terrified, Maria jumped back—startled by the sound her heel made when it snapped a dead twig. She froze, her eyes opened wide with fear, and she prayed the man hadn’t heard the sound.

He swung around, searching. Bile rose in Maria’s throat and she gagged. It took every ounce of strength she had to force it down. She wanted to run out of there as fast and as far as she could, but she was trapped, held rigid by her fear of being discovered. She was forced to remain and pray she wasn’t seen.

The man stared in her direction. He swore under his breath and took a few steps toward the thicket. He paused, listening to the slight rustle of leaves. His face a dark mask of fury. He scanned the trees and stepped closer. Rage was in his fiery eyes as his hands pushed some low tree limbs out of his way and started toward her.

Droplets of sweat broke out across Maria’s forehead and ran down the side of her stricken face. She prayed he wouldn’t come any closer. Leaving her two children motherless was something she couldn’t bear to think about. Oh, please God help me, she prayed.

He was coming closer, one terrifying step at a time, the advancing footsteps sounding like thunder in her ears as the breaking twigs and limbs cracked loudly with each movement he made. A sharp pain gripped her heart as she realized her life was about to end.

Suddenly, her body jerked as the man snapped a large branch, startling several magpies into flight in front of him. He exhaled a mirthless chuckle and released his grip on the gun, stuffing it back into his jacket pocket. He turned and, in long strides, walked back to the writhing blond man. For a few seconds, he just stood over his victim and watched the lifeblood flow out of him. Making sure no one was on the jogging trail, he bent down and grabbed the bloody wrists of the now-lifeless man and dragged him toward the river.

Maria dared to breathe, a small sense of relief flooding over her. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears. But it wasn’t over. Blinking hard, she saw the murderer drag the corpse toward the river. He stopped to reposition his hands under the arms of the dead man and positioned him closer to the edge. Grunting at his efforts, he dropped the victim’s arms and gave the body a swift kick, causing it to roll down the embankment into the flowing water. Stupido! The murderer spat in Spanish. No one crosses me and lives to tell about it.

Wringing his bloody hands, he knelt and splashed water over them and onto his face. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dried his face. Taking his jacket off, he splashed water on the still-smoldering hole in the fabric of his coat. Again he cursed, and Maria wondered if he had really meant to kill the younger man. The horror of it all forced her to turn away, her fist jammed into her mouth to stifle a scream. Turning back, she watched him dab at the blood stains on his shirt and jacket in an effort to wash them away. Then with a quick look around, he made his way back to the trail, kicking dirt, dead leaves, twigs, and dried weeds over the bloody pools as he went. He looked back at the ground for several minutes, studying his work, and seeming satisfied he had covered his tracks adequately, he walked rapidly down the path.

The small cluster of trees had provided protection for her, and Maria watched the darker-skinned man stride with confidence toward the bridge. He had the look of one who knew no one could link him to this crime. He straightened his shirt and threw his jacket over his shoulder while running his hand through his thick black hair. His stride was quick and sure as he crossed the bridge before reaching the adjoining trail leading up to the golf course. Maria guessed his car was waiting for him there.

Taking in quick gulps of air like a marathon runner after a race, Maria listened to any sound indicating the murderer was gone. After a few agonizing minutes, she heard an engine roar to life, and tires squealed across the hardtop as the car sped away. With the release of tension, her body sank to the ground. She pulled her knees up to her chest and sobbed uncontrollably.

*     *     *

In quick steps, the assailant moved up the hill to his waiting car. Noting that his car was still the only one parked there, he unlocked the trunk and threw his bloodstained jacket into a plastic bag and hurriedly removed his bloody polo shirt and also stuffed it in the bag. Reaching into his gym bag, he yanked out a clean shirt and pulled it over his head, smoothing it down over his husky frame. He had been stupid not to anticipate the blood splattering over his clothes, but then he really hadn’t thought about killing the man. He had brought the gun only to scare him. At least that was what he tried to tell himself. No matter. He sighed. It was done. He closed the trunk with a slam, moved to the driver’s door, and slid into the car behind the steering wheel. He glanced in the rearview mirror to check his face and hair for any remaining blood, then started the car and sped out of the parking lot and onto the road. The clock on the dash assured him there was still time to get home, take a shower, and dispose of his clothes before his housekeeper arrived.

Parking his sports car in the garage, he swiftly grabbed the plastic bag of soiled clothes from the trunk, entered his rich two-story house and took the stairs two at a time up to his master bedroom. In his large walk-in closet, he dropped the plastic bag in the corner and selected a blue striped cotton shirt with navy pants to put on after a nice hot shower. A smug smile crossed his face as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. His secrets were safe. No one would ever know, and there was no one to testify against him now. He had taken care of everything.

*     *     *

When Maria staggered through the back door of her middle-class home into the kitchen, she lowered her five-foot-four-inch frame into a chair at the table, her body not willing to move any farther.

Lucy, Maria called out, not wanting her teenage neighbor, who was babysitting the children, to see her in this state of collapse. You can go home now.

Lucy loved Ethan and Karen and didn’t mind babysitting for Maria on Saturday mornings while Maria jogged.

I’ll see you later, Mrs. O’Neal. The kids are still asleep.

Maria heard the front door open and close and buried her tear-stained face in her hands. Her long shiny black hair fell forward over her hands, and she cried. Her jet-black eyes had seen too much. Insistent questions ricocheted like Ping-Pong balls in her mind. What was she going to do? Of course, her first thought was to call the police to report what she had witnessed; however, the tall dark man was somehow familiar to her—but at first she couldn’t remember where she had seen him. Then she gasped as the realization of who he was sank in.

Several months ago his picture had been on the front page of the newspaper. His name was… Carlos Dominguez, she remembered. He had been promoted to senior vice president of Validity Mutual Trust Bank in Lockwood and was also nominated by the Lockwood Police Department as Man of the Year by Chief Greg Stevens. The photo showed Carlos Dominguez and Stevens shaking hands. She guessed the two men had been friends for a long time and were very competitive on the golf course.

Carlos was well known, an influential man in the community, and well respected by the Lockwood police chief. He had a high profile in the inner circle of society and highly visible for the charity work he directed in the city. He was rich and powerful—certainly not a man to deal with lightly. Especially when the police chief was a friend of his.

She shivered at the thought of reporting him to the police as a murderer. Instantly, Greg Stevens would come to his defense, and she would be called a liar. That would be such a dangerous move for her. Instinctively she knew she couldn’t tell anyone what she had seen. If she did, he, Carlos Dominguez, would find her and kill her too. No, she couldn’t risk going to the police. They would think she was crazy to accuse such a man of any criminal activity, especially since Carlos Dominguez and the chief of police were friends. No one would believe her. It would be her word against his, a powerful man, known to the community, one who had friends in high places and others who were not so savvy. She couldn’t jeopardize her own life or the lives of her two small children. She couldn’t afford getting involved in a murder scandal.

After a hot shower, Maria went to her kitchen to fix a late breakfast for her children who had slept in. Pulling eggs from the refrigerator and setting them on the counter, she looked out the window and noticed four of the neighborhood teenage boys stopping by the river at the bottom of the highway bridge. Each had a stick in his hand and was poking at something that seemed stuck in the rocks. Tommy, one of the younger boys, let out a blood-curdling scream and ran as fast as he could go along the trail toward his home. Shane, Maria’s neighbor across the street, pulled out his cell phone and tapped the keys, quite possibly 911, while Jerry and Oakley looked over the body.

Maria’s vision blurred and she felt faint. She hurriedly pulled a chair away from the table and sat down, dropping her head to her knees in an attempt to chase the darkness from her mind.

Mommy,—Karen tugged at her mother’s shirt.—aren’t you going to fix my breakfast? I’m hungry.

Mommy doesn’t feel well, baby, Maria murmured and tried unsuccessfully to lift her head to look at her daughter. Just… let Mommy rest for a minute.

Three-year-old Karen got down on her hands and knees and crawled under the chair, then between Maria’s legs. She rolled over onto her back and looked up into her mother’s pale face. Does your head hurt, Mommy?

Yes, darling.

Karen remained on her back looking up at her mother’s face for a few moments longer.

Please, Karen, go play in the other room with Ethan for a few minutes. Maria’s senses gradually began to return. Karen crawled out from under her chair and padded to the family room to call Ethan to come play with her. I love you, baby, her mother called after her. Maria didn’t want to think about what was happening outside her window. Her mouth felt dry, and she ran her tongue over her lips and tried to swallow. She raised her head, taking in several deep breaths.

The sound of sirens brought Maria to her feet, and she looked out the window again. As expected, a Riverford police car was parked on the bridge over the Ford River, and two more police cars were parked in the field off the road, down closer to the river. Police officers were making their way along the path to the river where Shane and his two friends were eagerly waiting for them.

Maria couldn’t watch. She knew what the boys had found. She snatched up her purse and keys from the countertop and headed for the garage. Come on, Ethan and Karen, she hollered, we’ll go to McDonald’s for breakfast today.

*     *     *

CHAPTER TWO

C reeping silently down the stairs from her bedroom when she heard the front door open, Maria felt frightened and tense after her experiences of yesterday. Spotting the intruder, she yelled, Jim, what in blazes are you doing here?

Her ex-husband sat in her family room reading the Sunday Tribunal News as if it were commonplace for him to be there. Hi and good morning to you too, he said cheerfully.

How did you get in here? You scared me to death when I heard the door open.

I’m sorry, but I’m here early to pick up the kids for church and our day together. I didn’t want to wake you up since you said you had the flu when I called last night. Are you feeling any better?

Jim, you make me so mad. How did you get in when all the doors were locked?

Simple. I borrowed a set of your keys and made me some copies, he said with a quick smile. Besides, I need a set so I can pick up the kids when I need to get them.

Well, you are way too early. The kids just got up and haven’t even had their breakfast yet.

Their divorce had been finalized eight months earlier, and she had changed the locks on all the outside doors when the house was allotted to her.

Jim held up the keys and jiggled them. You don’t mind, do you? he said smugly.

Of course I mind. Why do you think I had the locks changed in the first place? she threw back at him. Give me the keys and don’t ever come in without my permission again, she said angrily. "When you need to pick up the kids, I will be here, so you don’t ever need to come in my house."

Jim threw his key ring into her hand and smiled up at her. I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about me, he laughed. So how do you really feel? You know I still worry about you.

Yeah sure, she answered, her anger subsiding. I still feel dizzy and nauseous, but I guess it’s all part of the flu that is going around.

Maria didn’t tell him about the murder. She was too shaken. Instinctively, she knew Jim would overreact and would want to take immediate action. It frightened her to think of how vulnerable her family would be if Jim started making accusations against Carlos Dominguez. She knew Carlos and knew he had powerful friends. If he had killed once to protect himself, what was there to stop him from killing again?

Jim was a Riverford City councilman and was very fanatical about carrying out his civic duties—sometimes to the point of extremes. No, telling Jim wouldn’t be a wise move. What she needed was time to think about what she had to do. Her invented story about having an attack of flu to explain her nausea, nervousness, and anxiety hadn’t really meant anything to Jim who was too occupied with his own interests to even notice the difference in her. She left him sitting in the family room and walked to the kitchen to start breakfast for her children.

Hey, look at this, Jim called her back into the room. It says here an unidentified man’s body was pulled out of the Ford River just south of here. He had been shot twice. The police aren’t sure how far the man’s body had traveled in the river before it was found. They’re speculating the murder took place yesterday in the early morning hours, somewhere between Bruster Highway and 126th Street. Jim looked up from the paper and paraphrased the news story for her. Imagine a murder being committed in this calm, quiet upper-class neighborhood.

Ya, imagine that! she said. Her skin crawled with the memory, and a chill ran down her spine.

Mommy, we’re waiting, the voices of the two children rang out from the doorway. Maria hurried back to the kitchen and drew the pitcher of milk from the refrigerator and attempted to pour it into her children’s cereal bowls on the table.

Mommy, you spilled it, Karen scowled. I don’t like milk on my table. Wipe it off. A typical impatient whine of a three-year-old.

Jim? Maria called. "Since you’re already here for your day with the kids, please come help them. I just can’t face this right now."

She ran back up the stairs to her bathroom and shut the door. Her stomach retched, and she sank down on the floor next to the toilet, holding her head in her hands, and letting the tears flow. What am I going to do? The ugly scene repeated over in her mind, and she wanted to scream. She was caught in a horrible nightmare that was too real. She had never been a pansy or a wimp—always solid and accurate in her work. But this was different—her children were involved, and she wouldn’t put her precious little ones in danger.

After several minutes, clarity came into her mind and she knew the answer. To jeopardize her family was foolish. She had to stick with her determination not to report the murder. The police will handle it now that the body has been discovered, she rationalized and drew in a deep breath. Hoisting herself up off the floor, she walked to the sink and washed her face and swollen eyes with cold water. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she straightened her shoulders, tossed her head back so her hair fell smoothly down her back. She set her expression into a firm resolve not to get involved and endanger her children. She promised herself the incident would be forgotten.

*     *     *