Leading the Witness

by Carsen Taite

  “Any news?” she asked, bracing for his response.

  “I heard they have a lead on someone close to the family, but if you repeat that, I’ll deny I told you.” He pointed at the screensaver on his phone that featured a picture of a little girl in a polka-dotted dress. “I tell you what though, I’m hugging the hell out of my kid and keeping her close. I know this is probably a one-off thing, but it really makes you think. Do you have kids?”

  “No, but I—” She stopped before sharing anything personal and finished with, “I can only imagine what the mayor’s family must be going through.”

  “Here you go,” he said, stopping in front of a door bearing Starr’s name engraved on a plaque.

  “Thanks.” She waited outside the cracked door until he was most of the way down the hall, and then pushed her way in, her practiced speech at the ready. But no one was there. Damn. She looked around, taking in the various commendations on the wall and a few framed photos of Starr with various other people, some she recognized as local dignitaries. One featured Starr on a white-water raft, looking like she was having the time of her life. Catherine shuddered at the prospect of facing death-defying waterfalls with nothing but a rubber boat and paddle between her and certain death. Besides she’d had plenty of wilderness experience when—

  Catherine brushed away the thought. She wasn’t here to spy on Starr’s personal life or revisit her own. She considered her options. She couldn’t very well traipse down to the police station and insist on speaking to Starr. People would think she was crazy. The words of her therapist echoed in her head. Don’t let it fester when you can do something about it. But what was the something?

  “Catherine Landauer, are you looking for me?”

  She looked up into Starr’s face. Haggard eyes replaced the fiery demeanor she usually wore, and Starr looked like she hadn’t slept since Catherine had seen her at Guero’s earlier in the week. “I am actually, but I was told you wouldn’t be in today.” She realized her tone was overly harsh the minute the words came out, and she tried to strike a balance between being annoyed Starr wasn’t out working on the case and being glad she had this opportunity to talk to her. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind talking while I look something up. I’m only here for a few minutes.”

  Catherine followed Starr into her office. Starr sat down at her desk and fired up her computer, while Catherine stood in the center of the room, unsure if she should sit or stand. She started to equivocate. “This can probably wait. I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

  Starr faced her. “Actually, I could use a few minutes away from my current status, which is pure frustration. What’s on your mind?”

  This was it. Blurt it out or go away. “What are you doing to find Hannah Turner?”

  A few beats of silence passed, and Catherine watched Starr’s expression go from confused to what could only be interpreted as brewing anger. “Really?”

  “Really.” Catherine folded her arms. She was angry too, and her vision blurred for a second as her eyes started to blink rapidly—a childhood tic that hadn’t reappeared until this week. She fought to gain control and felt the movement slow and her vision clear. “I have every right to ask the question. I’m a tax-paying citizen of this county. Do you have a suspect?”

  “I’m not going to talk to you or anyone else about an ongoing investigation. You, more than anyone else, should be able to respect that.”

  Starr had a point. She and any other defense attorney would have a heyday at trial if they could prove the police had fixated early on a particular target. But she had a right to know at least what the press knew. “The news says that you’re holding a press conference this afternoon. Surely you can tell me what you plan to say.”

  “I’m not holding a press conference, Murphy is. If you want to talk to him and see if he wants to share what he plans to say, feel free, but if all you came here to do was tell me I’m not doing a good enough job, then get in line. There’s a little girl who’s either lost or has been taken, and until she’s found, safe and sound, there is nothing you or anyone else can say that will make me feel worse than I already do.”

  Catherine heard the frustration in her voice, but there was something else behind it. Compassion, empathy. Starr truly cared about Hannah Turner and what happened to her. Could she have misjudged Starr? Could she trust her enough to share her own experience in the hope what she’d gone through could help the task force find Hannah faster?

  A litany of choices sprang to mind, pointing toward a single conclusion, but the innate distrust she’d carried most of her life held her back. Besides, all she had were vague offerings, based on her own experience, unlikely to be of use in this particular case anyway. She’d been silly to come here, thinking she could help.

  “Did you want anything else?” Starr asked, her voice weary.

  A knock on the door kept Catherine from answering, and the receptionist poked her head in the door. “He’s ready for you.”

  Starr thanked her and stood. “I have to go.”

  “Okay.”

  “If you need something else, talk to Matt Abbott. He’s covering for me while I’m working on this case.”

  Catherine stood and Starr followed her to the door. They were both still in the office and inches from each other. In the close proximity, Catherine could see the dark circles and swollen bags under Starr’s bloodshot eyes. Had she slept? There was a slight shake in her hand as she reached to open the door. She wasn’t eating, or she wasn’t eating well anyway. Starr did care about this child and was making it her mission to find her. Catherine felt a sudden urge to reach for her arm, to clasp it, and tell Starr to hang in there. Not to give up, no matter what. And to explore every option, even the ones that seemed completely random and illogical.

  “I have to go.”

  Catherine shook out of her trance and realized Starr was in the hallway and she was standing alone in Starr’s office. “Sorry.” Embarrassed that she’d zoned out in the middle of their conversation, Catherine edged away from the door. “If I think of anything, I will let you know.”

  She left before Starr could respond, but not before she saw the puzzled look on Starr’s face. Why had she said that? Of course, it didn’t make any sense, and now Starr probably thought she was as crazy as the tipsters who came out of the woodwork whenever a case like this became public. Too late now to change this impression, but she had to think of a way to help without exposing herself to the same level of scrutiny. It was a serious challenge.

  * * *

  Starr entered the room, not surprised to find Nelson already seated in Murphy’s office. She resisted the urge to check her watch, instead plastering a fake smile on her face. “Good morning,” she said even though it was no longer morning and there was nothing good about it. She resented being called in when there was important work to do, but showing her annoyance wasn’t going to do any good, especially not with suck-face Nelson sitting in the room.

  Murphy motioned for her to have a seat before he jumped directly to the point. “We have a press conference scheduled for this afternoon. Is it going to be a cluster fuck, or do we have some actual news we can share?”

  Both of them stared at her, and she wanted to ask them who the “we” was since they were clearly relying on her for information. “We may have some news, but I’m not sure yet when we will have something you want to share.”

  “Spill.”

  She ran through the details about where Hannah Turner had last been seen, including the description of the pickup truck. “We’ve run cameras in commercial areas nearby, but come up with nothing, and we’ve canvassed as well.” The cops had done all that, but if he could use “we” in a broad sense then so could she. “The friend who saw her get in the truck didn’t see anything to make her think Hannah was forced, so we’re covering that angle as well by talking to her friends to find out if Hannah mentioned anything to them about where she might be going, and w
e’ve covered most of them so far.”

  “What’s the holdup?” Nelson asked. “Do you need more resources?”

  She took a breath to keep from snapping at him. “Two of Hannah’s close friends are on an out of town trip. They don’t have cell phone access, but we’re working on reaching them and I should have more information before the press conference.” This morning, she’d told Pearson to do whatever it took, and they’d contacted the other jurisdiction to get their cooperation. Frankly, it was doubtful that Hannah’s friends knew anything, but in these early stages, it was just as important to look like they were doing everything they could as it was to actually do something productive. When the victim’s mother was the mayor, the need escalated.

  “What else do you have?”

  Starr knew she had to tell him about the mayor’s brother-in-law, but she could at least control the narrative before it got out of hand. “Professor Turner’s brother recently moved to town. He came to Hannah’s birthday party last week and is having some financial troubles after a recent fraud conviction. He asked the Turners for money, and not a small amount.”

  “Did they give it to him?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Mayor Turner made it pretty clear she thinks he’s shiftless, but I’m not certain that the professor wouldn’t slip his brother funds on the side just to keep the peace, although he showed solidarity with his wife when we were there. If he didn’t, then perhaps there’s a motive there, but we’ve received no contact about a ransom, so this may be complete conjecture. We’re getting bank records now.”

  “Holy shit,” Nelson said. “You’re pulling bank records on the mayor? No way you’re going to keep a lid on that. When the press gets wind, they are going to go crazy with conclusions. Do you think you might have checked with us first?”

  That was it. Starr stared him into silence before turning to Murphy. “You put me on this case because I have experience and you trust me. I’ve worked plenty of high profile cases and am perfectly capable of handling myself with the victim’s families and the press. Requesting records is standard operating procedure in cases like this, and this office will not proceed differently because of the parties involved lest we give the appearance of impropriety. If you do not have confidence in my abilities and my strategic decisions, say so now and I’ll hand over the reins.”

  Murphy cleared his throat and shot Nelson a look that told him to stand down. “Let’s dial this back a bit. There’s going to be plenty of finger-pointing if this girl isn’t found soon, but it’s not going to happen inside my office. And keep in mind, both of you, that it’s still my office. Next year, when one of you is sitting here, you can make the hard calls, but for now, it’s up to me. Starr, have we brought the brother in for questioning?”

  “We were headed there when I got the call to come in here. Pearson is pulling all his records now.”

  “Then let’s not waste any more time here. Go talk to him. I want updates as soon as you’re done. And I want you both here for the press conference. If we don’t have something solid soon, the chief is calling in the feds.”

  Pearson was going to love that. Starr nodded and left the room. She was at the elevator when Nelson jogged up beside her. “Maybe I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” she said, irrationally punching the button again even though it was still lit.

  “No?”

  “You heard me. This isn’t about getting glory. It’s about getting information that can help us find this girl. Too many of us show up, and this guy is going to clam up even if he doesn’t have something to hide.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to help.”

  He wasn’t, and they both knew it, but Starr wasn’t interested in debating with him on the point in public. They’d have plenty of time to debate later about all kinds of issues, but for now she needed to focus on this case, because if they didn’t find this girl and her abductor, then Starr’s chance at becoming the next DA would be dead on arrival.

  Chapter Six

  Catherine drew the covers over her head. She should spend the entire day in bed, which would be much easier than facing anything the outside world had to bring. It was Saturday, so it wasn’t like she had to be anywhere, but her desk at the office was loaded with work, and if Doris showed up on Monday morning and saw the files still there, she’d wonder what was wrong since Catherine had worked weekends ever since she’d gone into practice. The real question was, if she didn’t go to the office, how would she keep herself occupied until Monday morning?

  She lasted all of a minute before the nagging need to know if there was any news about Hannah Turner urged her out of bed. She sat up, puffed the pillows, reached for her phone, and started scrolling through the news sites, quickly becoming frustrated when every page she viewed appeared to be a repetition of the one before, consisting of replay after replay of the press conference from yesterday and quotes from Murphy’s canned speech to the press. Starr Rio stood at Murphy’s side, her face fixed with determination, but the fact that neither Murphy nor the police chief shared any substantial specific information was telling.

  Catherine knew what they were thinking. The clock was ticking for this girl, and if they didn’t find her in the next twenty-four hours, she’d probably turn up dead or never be seen again. Eventually, the missing person signs that had been plastered around town would begin to fade, and the search teams would return to whatever they’d been doing before Hannah Turner’s life became entwined with theirs.

  She growled with exasperation and tossed her phone toward the foot of the bed. She felt helpless, and the feeling brought back so many memories that it paralyzed her. Very few people had her perspective, but what good did it do? She had no idea what had really happened to Hannah, and for all she knew the girl was already dead. But what if she wasn’t? What if she was alive somewhere, a prisoner whose only hope was that there were people in the world still trying to find her, longing for her safe return?

  Her gut clenched, and she closed her eyes. Not my problem. There were plenty of people focused on Hannah Turner—police, the search and rescue crews, her parents. Catherine needed to direct her attention elsewhere, or risk reopening wounds she’d worked her whole life to heal.

  She crawled out of bed, dragged on sweats, and made her way to the kitchen, determined to get her mind off this case. First order of business was coffee to jog her brain out of its fog, but a quick search of the cabinets revealed she’d forgotten to buy any. A more in-depth inspection revealed she’d forgotten to buy pretty much anything, and the only item in the fridge was a single container of cottage cheese that had expired. Damn. She hadn’t been hungry until she realized she didn’t have any food. She made a list of a few essentials, put her hair up, slipped on a pair of Nikes, and grabbed her keys to head to the store.

  But first coffee. She turned onto South Congress and circled around the block, looking for parking, mentally planning where she would pick up groceries as soon as she was caffeinated. There weren’t a lot of grocery stores in her neighborhood, and Doris was always encouraging her to use a delivery service, but she’d rather have the slight inconvenience of stopping by the store than have strangers show up at her door. Besides it wasn’t like shopping for one, which was all she’d ever done, was a burden. Yogurt, eggs, bread, salad mix, cream for coffee, and a few other ingredients to vary her meals were all she needed to fuel her work. More often than not, she’d grab food to go and eat it standing at the kitchen counter.

  Jo’s was super busy as usual for a Saturday morning. Catherine liked the crowd because it allowed her to blend in and go unnoticed. She took a place in line and breathed in the scent of the cold morning air. It had taken years for her to enjoy the outside again after having lived a month outside under absolutely deplorable conditions. She closed her eyes and took a moment to remember she was no longer that timid, lonely little girl. She was an adult, free to go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She was strong and capable, and no o
ne would ever be able to force her to do something against her will. Most importantly, she was alive—a fact for which she was grateful, even if she hadn’t always been.

  “Guess we have something in common after all.”

  Catherine opened her eyes, but she didn’t have to see the face to recognize Starr Rio’s crisp, distinctive voice. Damn. Her peaceful meditation faded into frustration. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, I guess.”

  Catherine focused on her breathing and dug deep. She wanted to be mad at Starr for taking time to stand in line for coffee when Hannah was still missing, but maybe Starr needed caffeine to fuel her work, and didn’t she want the people who were on the case to be at their very best? Or maybe Hannah had been found? “Did you find her?” she blurted out the question before she could think.

  Starr put a finger to her lips and shook her head. At that moment the guy behind the window said, “Can I help you?”

  “Let’s talk in a minute,” Starr said, gesturing toward the waiting employee. “I’ll buy your coffee.”

  Catherine hesitated. It sounded like an innocent offer, but she suspected Starr had some ulterior motive. But if she said no, she’d look like a jerk. The chance to get some information was too tempting. “I’ll buy.” She motioned for Starr to join her at the counter. “Whatever you want. This is probably the most generous offer you’ll ever get from me, so feel free to take advantage.”

  Starr ordered a large Americano with an extra shot, and Catherine told the guy to make it two. She paid, and they stepped to the side to wait for their drinks.