by Lis Wiehl
“The lunch hour. Around noon or so.”
“Did she seem upset or troubled?”
“Not really, no. She seemed fine. I’ve been over and over those few sentences in my memory, but I can’t think of any clues. As I said, our conversation was very brief.”
“So was this the last conversation you had with her?” Allison held her breath.
“Yes, I believe it was.”
“You believe it? Or do you know it?”
Fairview’s eyes widened. He was caught, and he knew it.
“She also called you repeatedly on that date. Correct?” Allison said.
“Well, no, that’s not true.”
“Your phone records show that. Your phone records show that a phone belonging to Katie called your cell phone repeatedly the day she went missing. Five times.”
“Well, that . . .” Fairview hesitated.
Stone seemed to be trying to look as if this wasn’t news to him. He was doing a lousy job. This was clearly a body blow.
“I mean, she might have left a message. She might have reached my voice machine, my uh . . . uh, phone company voice answering machine. She may have called and left a message.”
“Her parents are in hell, Senator,” Nicole said. There was zero sympathy on her face. “Imagine one of your own children missing.”
“I do, every day. I feel so badly for the Converses.” Tears welled in Fairview’s eyes. “Day after day, not knowing. But sometimes you wonder if not knowing is perhaps easier on them. I mean, the longer this goes on, the more likely that they are never going to see Katie alive again. Is it better for them to cling to a little hope than to be crushed by certainty?”
That was the moment when Allison knew in her gut that Fairview knew where Katie was. He knew what had happened to her.
He knew because he had been there.
CONVERSE RESIDENCE
December 28
Cassidy was scheduled for a live hit at 12:03. Never before had she had a story that led newscast after newscast. But with the Katie Converse story, it was like she had jumped on the back of a tiger.
Only sometimes she wasn’t sure if she was riding the tiger or the tiger was riding her.
Out in the field there was no teleprompter, of course, so Cassidy had to memorize everything she was going to say on camera. The voice-overs were recorded earlier in the studio, but there were still a lot of long sentences that she had to recite verbatim during the stand-up.
Andy gave her the signal. Cassidy took a deep breath and said, “On the left side of your screen, you are looking at a live picture of the front door of the Converse household. We’ve been following this developing story over the last fourteen days: the missing Senate page Katie Converse. Today the parents of Katie Converse—whose disappearance has attracted national attention because of her friendship with her hometown senator—urged legislator Senator James Fairview of Portland, Oregon, to tell what he knows.”
As she was speaking, Cassidy knew they had cut to the B-roll footage of the Converses, wearing buttons with Katie’s picture, looking dazed and tired as they faced dozens of reporters. Cassidy pressed the plastic IFB earpiece—she had no idea what the initials stood for—deeper into her ear to make sure it was in securely. It had been cast for her ear, so in theory it was supposed to fit exactly, but sometimes she found she had to wiggle it. The IFB allowed her to hear instructions from the producer, questions from the anchor, and all the other sounds of the newscast. The curly cord—a light brown color that was more or less skin tone—ran down from her ear and was clipped to her back.
This part of the package had been put together earlier in the studio, so all Cassidy had to do was listen. On the IFB she heard Valerie say, “I am heartbroken, but I still remain optimistic. I believe, and I continue to hope and pray, that Katie will come back to us alive. But if Senator Fairview can shed any light on what has happened to her, we need him to.” The B-roll footage would be switching to the now ubiquitous shot of Katie handing materials to Senator Fairview as he spoke to the Senate.
Next Cassidy heard her own voice, recorded earlier in the studio. “The couple’s news conference came just after Mr. Fairview, who is married and has described Katie Converse simply as ‘a young woman he mentored,’ met with authorities. The fifty-two-year-old Republican has donated $10,000 of surplus campaign money to a reward fund for the return of Ms. Converse, who is seventeen. In a written statement issued today, he said he shared her parents’ worry and concern and offered his continued cooperation. The authorities say there is no evidence connecting him to Katie’s disappearance.
“But by some news accounts, there are records showing that Katie telephoned Mr. Fairview repeatedly. Katie also confided to friends that she had a boyfriend whose identity she did not disclose. Senator Fairview himself refuses to grant interviews. In a statement today, he attacked the ‘tabloidization’ of the case.”
Andy signaled that Cassidy was live on camera again.
She said, “Katie, who is scheduled to return to Portland next month to resume classes at Lincoln High School, has spent the fall as a Senate page in Washington DC.” She gestured to the house behind her, with the huge photo of Katie on the front door. “She returned here for Christmas break.
“Across America, there are hundreds of missing people. What makes Katie Converse different is her rumored romantic involvement with the senator from her district.” An hour earlier, the station’s lawyer had agreed, reluctantly, that this statement would probably not cause them to be sued for libel.
Brad, the anchor, said into her ear, “Cassidy, just to put a small piece of it in perspective, can you describe to us the media scene in front of the Converses’ home?”
As Andy panned the crowd of other reporters—the shot a sure sign of a news story that had no “new news”—Cassidy said, “There are literally dozens of media people here, but we work carefully not to intrude upon the Converses. We have regular conversations with the family to make sure that we don’t interfere with what they have to do and yet maintain a presence so that if they want to speak, we are here at a moment’s notice. And the Converses have been extremely willing to talk to us when they have something to say. Obviously, all the media attention benefits the case of their missing daughter.
“Now we are hearing that there is a negotiation going on. Fairview’s lawyer, Michael Stone, says he is willing to discuss the possibility of a polygraph. The negotiation has been stuck on the scope of the questioning. Stone says there have to be some limitations, but federal prosecuting attorney Allison Pierce has said that the authorities will decide what the questions are, and there will be no limitations. So it’s a bit of a stalemate.”
In her IFB, Brad said, “How is the hunt for Katie going? Have there been any new leads?”
“No, Brad, but not for lack of trying. Police are continuing to search outbuildings, sheds, garages, that sort of thing, in the area where Katie disappeared. There are also plans to take cadaver dogs—which are exactly like they sound: dogs that look for bodies—to take these dogs out to the landfills.
“Authorities have thoroughly searched Fairview’s home, car, and local office for signs of a struggle. The material that they got from that was apparently fairly minimal. But we’re told that the police are having their evidence technicians go over it. The experts say that they can find signs of blood, body fluids, hair, and other signs of a struggle, even if there has been some attempt to cover them up. They also say that Fairview is one of nearly one hundred people they have interviewed. Even so, they still have not been able to answer the most important question, and that is—what happened to Katie Converse? Until authorities are able to answer that question, they still have a long way to go in this investigation.”
Her face serious, Cassidy added, “Back to you, Brad.”
FAIRVIEW RESIDENCE
December 28
The Portland cop slumped in front of the video monitor watched as absolutely nothing happened on the screen, which showed the Fairvi
ews’ driveway and front door. The video camera providing the feed had been installed across the street from the Fairviews by a guy wearing the uniform of a local cable company.
The monitor was in a house a few blocks from the Fairview home, which the task force had rented and converted into a small watching post. Anyone coming out of the house or pulling up the driveway or running across the front yard was seen immediately.
Whenever Fairview left, he was followed. Two unmarked cars were assigned to track his movements. To avoid alerting Fairview to their presence—“getting burned,” as the surveillance people called it—they rotated the ground units so that the vehicles were never the same from one day to the next.
The FBI had donated the use of one of the bureau’s single-engine Cessnas to assist the ground units. All day it stayed high above Fairview’s house, sliding in and out of the clouds, circling endlessly. If Fairview pulled out of the driveway, the air unit would follow. A spotter seated next to the pilot would watch Fairview’s movements, making sure they stayed with him.
“Okay,” the spotter would say, speaking over the radio to the units on the ground, “Eagle has the eyeball.”
Their only hope was that Fairview would lead them to Katie. Dead or alive.
MARK O. HATFIELD UNITED STATES COURTHOUSE
December 29
Between the pregnancy and the Katie Converse case, Allison was having trouble sleeping. Could Katie still be alive? Could Senator Fairview have hidden her away so that she wouldn’t talk with the press? Certain passages in her blog had shown her turmoil and depression. Could she have committed suicide? Could she have run away?
One by one, the reports came in from the various FBI offices where the young pages had scattered over the holiday break. One of Katie’s roommates reported that the senator did seem to spend more time with Katie than any other page. A second hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. The third roommate said she was good friends with Katie and that absolutely nothing was going on, that the senator was friendly with everyone. She did yield the name of the Senate page Allison had been involved with: Dylan Roessler, who lived in Nashville.
An FBI agent from Tennessee called Allison, speaking in a drawl so slow that she found herself gritting her teeth.
“I interviewed that Dylan kid your missing girl used to date. Although ‘dating’ might be too strong a word. It was more like they spent a week or so doing some heavy necking in the common room at the page residence. When she quote, ‘broke up,’ end quote, with him, he thought at first it was because he wanted to take things further. But later he realized it was because there was someone else.”
Allison wanted to crawl down the phone line and shake the agent. Why couldn’t he have led with this information? “And who was that?”
“He said it couldn’t be one of the pages, because they all lived so close together and he would have known. He thought it was an adult. Quote, ‘And not like someone going to college. A real adult.’ End quote.”
“Where was Dylan the day Katie went missing?”
“Home. Three thousand miles away. And they weren’t really on speaking terms before break.”
“Did he think she was suicidal?”
“He wouldn’t go as far as that. All he would say was that she was moody.”
Every lead petered out. With a shallow pretense of cordiality, the interview with Fairview had ended in a draw. Even once his lie about Katie’s phone calls was unmasked, Fairview continued to maintain that he had told the truth. What did it matter which phone she called him on? He hadn’t known she had gotten a second phone, and he certainly hadn’t suggested it to her. Katie was a troubled girl. He had tried to help her. And that was all. The only relationship between them had been platonic.
To prove it, Fairview’s wife, Nancy, had agreed to being interviewed by Nicole and Allison. The law protected communication in certain relationships—between a doctor and patient, priest and penitent, attorney and client. And between husband and wife. But Fairview had waived that right and agreed for Nancy to come in and talk to Allison and Nicole.
Since Michael Stone couldn’t represent both the senator and his wife—it was a conflict of interest—Nancy came in with her own lawyer, a quiet, corporate type named Joel Rickert. Nancy was a tall, thin woman, probably eye to eye with her husband, with a long face, big teeth, and a wide swathe of gums. She reminded Allison unfortunately of a horse.
They met in the same conference room in which Allison and Nicole had met with her husband.
“Have you ever met Katie Converse?” Allison asked after the preliminaries were out of the way.
“Actually, James introduced me when we ran into her while we were Christmas shopping at Nordstrom. We had a very brief conversation.”
“This was the same day Katie disappeared, correct?”
Nancy shrugged. “I guess so. I didn’t really think about the date until later.”
“And did she seem upset about anything?” Allison asked. “Did she share any of her plans for the rest of the day?”
“Our conversation only lasted a minute or two, if that. It was about the weather, if they were both enjoying the break, things like that.”
“And what did you think of her?”
Nancy pursed her lips, looked down at her hands, looked back up at Allison again. “I think she was head over heels about James.”
Allison was surprised by her honesty. She cut her eyes to Rickert, but his expression betrayed nothing. “What makes you think that?”
“She would barely look at me, but she was all over him. Giving him a hug. Complimenting his tie, of all things. His tie! I pick out all of James’s clothes.”
“Do you think your husband was having an affair with her?” Allison asked.
“I don’t know. And frankly, I don’t want to know. But after twenty-some years of marriage, you know when something might be going on. James is a gregarious man. He gets lonely sometimes, living three thousand miles away. But his little flirtations don’t mean anything. They don’t mean anything to our marriage. And I understand that. It’s always some young thing who will look up to him. He likes that. Some simpering little nothing who—” Nancy stopped abruptly.
Allison wondered if her lawyer had touched her knee under the table. Warned her to shut up. Simpering little nothing—either Nancy or her lawyer must have remembered she was speaking ill of a girl who was more than likely dead.
“And what happened after that? Did you talk to him about it?”
“Talk?” Nancy snorted. “There was no point in talking. As soon as we left Nordstrom, I told him he was not going back to the office, he was coming home with me. And then I spent the rest of the afternoon reminding James exactly how I’m not like any of those silly girls he likes to flirt with. I’m not some naïve, virginal little nothing who doesn’t know which end is up.” Nancy’s head was up, her eyes were narrowed, and her breathing audible. “Because I love my husband, and I will do what needs to be done to help him. Even if it means, like now, being forced to share my private life with strangers.”
“What do you think?” Allison asked after Nancy and her lawyer had left.
Nancy had walked out of the interview room with her head held high, as if daring them to try to picture her teaching her husband a lesson.
“I think she’s lying,” said Nicole. “Only I’m not sure about what. You?”
“I think you’re right. Nancy’s not telling us the truth, at least not the whole truth, no matter how embarrassed she claimed to be.” Allison looked back at the empty chair where Nancy had been sitting and ran the woman’s words through her mind again. “But the thing is, maybe she’s not lying to save her husband’s skin.”
Nicole looked up from the report on which she was putting the finishing touches. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe Nancy’s lying to save her own skin. That alibi gets both her husband and her off the hook. She clearly hates Katie. Maybe she hated her enough to kill her.”
&nbs
p; Nicole didn’t answer, just tapped her pen against her teeth and looked thoughtful.
By the time Allison left the office, it was well after eight o’clock, and she hadn’t eaten since lunch—which couldn’t be good for the baby. In the car, she turned on the radio. It was still set on the station she listened to in the morning for its frequent traffic updates. Outside of drive time, it was a series of conservative talk shows. Allison heard enough one-sided arguments in court that she didn’t like to hear them in her car as well. She was reaching out her finger to push the off button when she recognized the topic: Senator Fairview.
A sonorous voice she recognized as belonging to this particular show’s host, Jim Fate, was saying with disgust, “Isn’t lying in a criminal investigation enough? Isn’t that enough, Senator Schneider?” Fate’s radio show, The Hand of Fate, had started out small, but Allison had heard enough promotion for it in between traffic and weather reports to know that it was now syndicated nationally.
“If you’re under oath, of course it is. It’s perjury.”
Fate said, “It wasn’t under oath. But you know, sources say that Fairview has just refused to tell authorities about his affair with a minor. He just wouldn’t tell them. First he denied it, and then he clammed up. Isn’t that enough to get him impeached?”
Schneider said mildly, “I would think not.”
Fate’s voice dripped with disgust. “Really? If you, Luke Schneider, were on the Senate Ethics Committee, which you’re not, and evidence came in that a senator lied to the authorities in what could well be a murder investigation—are you saying that wouldn’t be enough to get him out of there?”
“But Senator Fairview’s been charged with nothing.”
“All right, so if someone from the FBI would stand up and say, ‘This guy impeded the investigation . . .’”
“Of course that would be enough,” Schneider said.
Fate echoed, “That’s enough to get him out?”
