by Lis Wiehl
Girls wailed with their arms around each other. Boys with reddened eyes awkwardly wiped their noses on the sleeves of their ill-fitting suits. Still other kids snapped photos with their cell phones. Nic just hoped they didn’t leave the service, go across the street to where the hundreds of reporters had gathered, and offer to sell the photos to the highest bidder.
Then the pastor—who did not seem to know Katie well, if at all—read a letter from Portland’s mayor. The letter quoted a biblical passage: “The righteous are taken away to be spared from evil.”
Spared? Nic thought cynically. She remembered Tony saying Katie could have lived for minutes after the blow that shattered her larynx. How she would have tried to speak or scream, but nothing would have emerged but the faintest of sounds. What could be more evil than that?
As the service drew to a close, Wayne got up and began to enumerate Katie’s virtues, pawing through note cards, naming off awards and honors, frequently losing his place. Finally, he set the cards down. When he looked out at the audience, his eyes were wild, his face wet and red.
“Why? Why? Why?” Wayne shouted. The mic whined with feedback. He pounded his fist on the podium. It sounded like the beating of a giant heart. “I accept dying, I know we all have to die. But this way, the way Katie died! Why?”
At the sight of Wayne’s anger, the standing-room-only audience grew silent.
“God took my first wife from me, and now He’s taken my baby girl. For no reason!”
Nothing but muffled sobs answered him. Nic looked at Valerie. Her head was high, her expression blank. Whitney’s mouth gaped wide as she wept, her face crimson and swollen.
Finally, the pastor touched Wayne on the elbow and murmured something in his ear. Wayne, his head hanging, shuffled back to his seat beside his wife and remaining daughter.
MYSPACE.COM/THEDCPAGE
Over and Out
December 1
It’s over. I can’t stop crying.
He tells me to hold on to the future.
I think the future is a long way away & it never really gets here.
RIVERSIDE CONDOMINIUMS
January 10
When Cassidy answered Allison’s knock, she was dressed in an old terry cloth robe and not wearing any makeup. Her eyes looked small and tired. In one hand she held a remote control and in the other a water glass half filled with what Allison thought was red wine.
Nicole pushed impatiently past them both. “Okay, we’re here,” she said, turning to face Cassidy. “What’s so important you needed us both to drop everything and come over?”
Cassidy closed the door behind them. “You know that feature we do called ‘Nasty Neighbors’? It’s all people who steal their neighbor’s papers or collect junker cars. Because of the whole Katie Converse thing, I’ve got a huge backlog of submissions, so I was trying to get caught up today. I was logging tapes when I found this.”
She pointed the controller, and the big-screen TV at the far end of the living room came to life.
What appeared on the screen was the corner of someone’s lawn. The scene was unwavering, as if the camera were on a tripod. There was nothing else on-screen besides the yard—no people, no clues, not even any other houses. Just a lawn and a hedge, a sidewalk, and beyond that a little slice of street. At the edge of the screen, a curtain. Viewed through a window. A lawn and nothing moving.
So why was it so important?
Allison squinted at the date in the corner. It read 12/13.
The day Katie disappeared.
The back of her neck tingled. It was like watching a movie, waiting for the killer to jump out of his hiding place. Allison half expected to see Katie appear, walking Jalapeño, or maybe being hustled into the back of a windowless van.
But twenty seconds ticked by, thirty, and nothing changed. Nicole huffed impatiently. Cassidy took a sip from her glass. The lawn was a rich dark green, except in the corner centered in the camera. That part was patchy, more brown than green.
“This guy decided to videotape his lawn,” Cassidy said. “He was sure that when his neighbor came home from work at 4:00 p.m. she let her dog out and let it—encouraged it, in fact—to poop on his lawn. So he set this up with an auto timer.”
“And?” Allison prompted.
“And here’s his proof. It’s why he sent it to us.”
A pretty young woman with a spaniel on a leash walked into the frame. She was bundled up in a long black down coat, but her legs were bare and she wore high-heeled pumps. No sound. But Allison could see her lips moving, see her bending down, and Allison knew she was urging the dog to hurry. Finally, it squatted and did its business. And then she pulled it out of the camera’s view. As she did, she nearly collided with a man rushing down the sidewalk. He wasn’t out for a jog, not in a suit and a heavy overcoat. His face was twisted, his eyes wild, his mouth open as if he were panting.
Senator Fairview. Running in a panic.
“Where is this?” Allison said sharply. “And what direction was he coming from?”
“Northwest Portland,” Cassidy said. “And one block behind him is one of the entrances to Forest Park.”
Allison thought of how Fairview had danced around, never telling them the truth. There was no way he could deny this videotape.
“Give it to me.” She held out her hand. “I’m taking this to the grand jury so they can indict him.”
Cassidy walked to the player, popped out the tape, and handed it over.
As Allison’s hand closed on it, Nicole narrowed her eyes.
“That was easy. That’s gotta be a big scoop. And you’re just giving it up?”
Allison was about to defend Cassidy when she realized the other woman wasn’t saying anything.
“Is this a duplicate?” Nic demanded.
Cassidy took a sip from her glass before replying. “It’s not a dup.” Another sip. “The dup’s actually at work. That’s the original.”
Nicole wagged her finger threateningly. “You’re not thinking of airing this!”
“Hey, it’s my scoop.” Cassidy’s voice was mild. “I’m the one who found this tape, not you.”
“I need to get ahead of Fairview on this, Cassidy,” Allison said. “Every step of the way, he has misled us. All of us. Well, he can’t with this. Not if we don’t tip our hands. This is the evidence I need to get the grand jury to indict him. This guy’s as slippery as a seal. With this tape, I can finally pin him down.”
“I need the tape just as much as you do. If I don’t keep coming up with scoops, the station is going to pull me off this story. They keep pressuring me to let Madeline McCormick take over the coverage.”
Cassidy scrubbed her face with her free hand. She looked like an overtired child.
“Even though I’m the one who broke the story. I’m the one who made this story happen.”
Allison knew she had the subpoena power to force Cassidy to turn over the tape to the grand jury. But the reality was that red tape would make it nearly impossible. The Department of Justice would have to green-light the idea, and by that time it would be too late. The station would air the tape now and claim freedom of the press later. The best she could do was to work out a deal.
“Cassidy—this is about a murder. Isn’t that more important than ratings? I’m begging you—you have to hold on to this until after we arrest him. Once that happens, I’ll give you a twenty-four-hour window before we give it to anybody else.”
There was a long pause.
“Forty-eight,” Cassidy said finally. “I need it to be forty-eight. With forty-eight I can tell the management and Maddy to take a flying leap.”
Allison gritted her teeth. She didn’t have many options. “Okay. Forty-eight. But you have to promise me it won’t run until after he’s arrested.”
Cassidy finally seemed to come alive. “Thank you, thank you, I promise!”
She leaned in to give Allison a hug, and Allison could smell the wine on her breath and in her glass. Cassidy alwa
ys had something to drink when the three of them were together, but even for Cassidy, a water glass full of wine seemed a bit much. But they were all under so much stress from the Katie Converse case that maybe it was understandable.
Cassidy pulled back, a smile on her face. “Are you going to have him arrested right away?”
“I’d like to, but it’s probably not feasible.” Allison ticked off the reasons on her fingers. “One, Fairview is a public figure. Two, he’s shown no indication that he is likely to flee. Three, there aren’t any allegations that he’s a serial killer or in any way a danger to others. It’s not like we need to get him off the street before he kills again. I’ll take this to the grand jury first thing Wednesday and get him indicted.”
“Wednesday? Why not tonight?” Cassidy’s smile fell from her face like a plate from a shelf. “This man needs to be locked up. He killed a beautiful young girl.”
“The only way I could do it tonight would be to take it to a judge. And a judge’s standard is ‘beyond a reasonable doubt.’ Fairview knows all the judges in town—do you think any one of them is realistically going to say this tape is proof beyond a reasonable doubt? It doesn’t show him with Katie. There are no marks on his hands, no pine needles on his clothes. Nothing to connect him to what happened. Michael Stone will say that all it shows is that his client was late for a meeting or something. Stone could even argue that the date in the corner is wrong. We all know that half the time the date on a video camera isn’t right. But I can show the grand jury the tape, and it will establish his opportunity. Katie’s blogs establish his motive. And the medical examiner has told us the means—that blow to the throat. Once we get the indictment from the grand jury, a judge will have to sign off on it. By this time Wednesday, Fairview will be locked up.”
“And then they should throw away the key. That’s what Rick says.”
Allison said patiently, “Rick’s been around the block enough to know that even once Fairview’s arrested, he won’t stay in jail long. He’ll post bail.”
“But he killed that girl. We all know he did it. I thought this would finally be enough to prove it.” The glass slipped from Cassidy’s hand and shattered into a dozen pieces. She started to cry. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think.”
Cassidy wasn’t a pretty crier. Her eyes immediately turned puffy, and snot leaked from her nose.
“Why?” Allison asked. “What’s wrong?”
Was it Allison’s imagination, or did Cassidy hesitate?
“Like I said, the station is pressuring me to step aside for Maddy. I’m making enemies, but if I don’t hold on to my turf, I’ll be nobody.” She bent down and started to pick up the pieces of glass that lay around her bare feet.
“Here, Cass, let me,” Allison said. “You’ll cut your feet.”
Together, Allison and Nicole picked up the biggest pieces of glass. In the kitchen, Allison opened the cabinet underneath the sink. Instead of table scraps, the garbage can was heaped with a half dozen silk bras and panties in shades of turquoise, silver, and pink.
Allison and Nicole exchanged a look. Allison set the pieces of glass on the counter and picked up a sky-blue bra. It had been sliced in several places.
Dear God, Allison prayed, something feels very, very wrong about this. Help me to find the right words to help Cassidy.
She took the bra out to the living room. Nicole followed after grabbing a broom and dustpan.
“Cassidy, what’s this?” Allison held out the cut-up bra. “Your garbage can is filled with your underwear.”
Cassidy bit her lip and looked away. “Oh, Rick says I dress too slutty. If I want to be taken seriously as a professional, he says I need to look more buttoned up. He says I’m insecure, and that’s why I’m always flaunting myself.”
There was more than a grain of truth to what Rick said. Still, wasn’t it up to Cassidy to determine that?
“So he cut them up?” Nicole demanded.
“Of course not! I did it! He said if I was serious, I would cut them up. Then he would know that I meant it.”
“But that’s the kind of thing you should decide for yourself,” Allison said.
“Rick loves me, and he doesn’t want anyone to see me as a whore.” Cassidy straightened up, although the bathrobe detracted from the effect. “I’m a professional broadcast reporter, not some little tart on an entertainment news program. I’m a serious journalist.”
“And serious journalists can’t wear pretty bras?” Nicole said with a deadpan expression.
“Not if they expect to be taken seriously.” Cassidy sounded like she was parroting Rick.
What was happening to Cassidy was right out of the brochures they kept at the front desk of Safe Harbor: name-calling. Excessive possessiveness. Destruction of personal property.
And from experience, Allison didn’t think it would stop with Rick making Cassidy get rid of her sexy underwear.
“Cassidy,” Allison said carefully, “you have to promise me you’ll think twice next time Rick wants you to change some part of your personality. It makes me nervous that he doesn’t like you the way you are.”
As she spoke, Nicole nodded.
Cassidy shook her head. “He likes me the way I should be.” She managed a teary-eyed smile. “And isn’t that better?”
“No,” Allison said. “Frankly, it’s not. You should only change for your-self. Not because someone tells you they won’t love you unless you do. Let me ask you something, Cassidy, and you have to promise to tell me the truth.”
“Okay,” Cassidy said slowly.
“Has Rick ever hit you?”
“No.” Cassidy laid her hand over her heart. “I promise you, Rick has never hit me. Ever.”
Watching her, Allison felt sick. She had known Cassidy long enough to know when she was lying.
MARK O. HATFIELD UNITED STATES COURTHOUSE
January 12
Allison had faxed a target letter to Stone. It told the lawyer that not only was his client the subject of a grand jury investigation, but Allison believed she had substantial evidence to link him to a crime. Fairview was now compelled to leave rehab and testify before the grand jury. He could still take the Fifth to any and all questions that might incriminate him, but he’d run a higher risk of being indicted because the grand jurors might think he was hiding the truth. And once you were indicted, the public decided you were guilty. As a politician, his life would be over.
And did Fairview even have a life outside of being a politician?
Allison figured that Fairview and Stone had to be weighing the odds. Did Fairview need to focus on saving his career—or on saving his skin?
What they didn’t know was that she had a videotape that would be nearly impossible to explain away.
Although they would probably have rehearsed Fairview’s testimony a dozen times, Stone would not be allowed to accompany his client into the grand jury room. Instead, he would be forced to sit in the hall, twiddle his thumbs, and hope that his client didn’t open his mouth and hang himself. Inside the grand jury room, it was only the prosecutor, the jurors, and the witness. Grand juries were supposed to hold a prosecutor in check—but they also gave a prosecutor a lot of power.
Allison could have skipped the grand jury indictment and gone right to a probable cause hearing in front of a judge. But in that case, the defendant and his lawyer were on hand to hear every word of her argument. And then the balance of power was tipped the other way. A probable cause hearing gave the defense an early crack at the case, and an opportunity to cross-examine the FBI agents who testified to the evidence.
Allison began by bringing the grand jury up to speed on the events of the last few days. She put Leif on the stand to set the scene by testifying about what the ERT had found in Forest Park. But just as important, she had him identify a photo of Katie’s body. Behind her, she heard the jurors gasp as the photo was passed from hand to hand.
In a way, it was overkill to show these photos to the jury
. Given the evidence of the videotape, Allison knew they would indict Fairview with-out them. But at the same time, she wanted to hear their reactions, gauge how everything would go when it really came for trial.
Next, she called Nicole to the stand. Nicole testified about how the Converses had taken the news that their daughter’s body had been found. While this was hearsay evidence that couldn’t be used at trial, it was permissible at a grand jury hearing. At this point, with the facts of their daughter’s murder still fresh in their mind, it would be too volatile—as well as too cruel—to call Wayne and Valerie to the stand. Nicole also identified autopsy photos of Katie’s throat and the injuries it had received. By the gasps Allison could hear coming from the jurors, these photos were just as powerful as the previous ones. And Nicole explained that the autopsy results meant that Katie had definitely been murdered.
Finally, Fairview was brought into the room and sworn in by the court reporter. His face wore an expression that Allison was sure had been practiced in front of a mirror. It mingled equal parts sorrow and righteous indignation.
Allison got up to turn on the TV-VCR unit she had requested. “Senator, I am going to show you a tape that was shot on December thirteenth. The day Katie Converse went missing. The day, we now know, that she died.”
Something in Fairview’s eyes flickered, just for a second. The rest of his face remained impassive. As the tape began to play, he made his disinterest obvious, at one point even yawning as seconds ticked by and nothing happened.
But then the woman appeared with the dog. The jurors leaned for-ward in their seats. And finally, there he was, Senator Fairview, running in a panic. In a panic from the mess he had just left behind.
When the tape ended, Fairview was slumped in the witness chair. He looked, Allison thought, broken. In a voice so small she had to strain to hear it, he said, “I would like to consult with my attorney.”
