by Carsen Taite
“I thought I was the one who made offers,” Starr said.
“I guess that’s true,” Catherine said. “But from what I hear, they’re never good ones.”
“I suppose that’s a matter of perspective.”
“True, but there are prosecutors who genuinely want to work things out and there are those who toss out some token offer just to be able to say they gave it a go,” Catherine said.
“And I fall into the latter category.”
“Granted I don’t have a lot of experience doing deals with you, but I’m betting that if Nelson hadn’t pushed you, you never would’ve offered ten years on Peter Knoll’s case.”
“You’re right about that. I wouldn’t have offered you anything.” Starr inclined her head. “They’re calling your name.”
Catherine honed in to the sound of a male voice calling out “Catherine,” followed closely by another name “Jill,” and she shuddered. There was a time when the sound would’ve made the blood drain from her head, but she’d moved past that to barely disguised revulsion.
“Is something wrong?” Starr asked.
Annoyed at Starr’s ability to zero in on her emotions, Catherine pushed past her. “Be right back.” She took the few steps to the pickup window slowly. She needed time to think, time to compose her feelings, and time to think of a way to get away from Starr as quickly as possible. But a quick escape would mean she wouldn’t find out whatever crumbs of information Starr was willing to share. She pulled on the steely reserves she’d learned to rely on so many times before and returned to Starr’s side and handed her a cup. “Shall we sit or walk?”
Starr glanced around, probably taking in the crowd and the possibility of being overheard. “Let’s walk.”
They strolled down South Congress, walking in awkward silence for a few moments until a tiny furball puppy ran across their path. Catherine scooped him up in her arms and hugged into his squirmy body and playful nips until the embarrassed young woman chasing him caught up to her.
“Stay safe, little guy,” she said as she reluctantly handed him over.
“Do you have pets?” Starr asked after the woman left.
“No, but I’ve always wanted a puppy.” Catherine realized her comment begged more questions, and she quickly followed up with “But it’s too hard with my work schedule.”
“Same here,” Starr said. “Someday, though.”
They slipped back into silence, but something had shifted between them. Anyone watching would probably think they were two friends out enjoying the sunny morning. Catherine wondered what that would be like. She had plenty of acquaintances, but Doris was the closest thing she had to a close friend, and even she didn’t know her biggest secrets. She pretended for a moment that Starr was someone she liked. The scenario wasn’t that far-fetched. They were intellectually compatible. Starr had graduated in the top of her class, a few years ahead of Catherine, and there was no arguing that she was a smart and capable attorney. If Catherine wasn’t hiding so much, would she choose to be with someone like Starr?
“Let’s start with a simple topic,” Starr said. “Are you a runner?”
“What?” Catherine stopped and looked down at her attire. She laughed. “Not hardly. I was out of coffee at the house and threw on the first thing I could find. I’m not much of an outdoors person.” She bit her lip, wishing she could take back the overshare. Starr didn’t need to know her likes and dislikes, and she didn’t want her to. Did she?
“Thank goodness,” Starr said with an exaggerated sigh. “About the running. I was going to have to hate you if you said yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Catherine recognized Starr’s attempt at teasing her, but she looked straight ahead and kept walking, bent on keeping the conversation from turning personal.
“Why don’t you like me?”
Startled out of her reverie, Catherine stopped walking. “What?”
“I’m a likable person.” Starr grinned. “Early polling says so. Sure, I’m kind of a bully when I’m trying to get my way, but my way is usually right, so there’s that. Besides, I only pull out the big guns when I’m fighting for justice and all. But people generally like me, except you, and I’d like to know why.”
Catherine considered the question carefully, turning it in every direction in search of a trick, but she saw none. She started walking again. “It’s not that I don’t like you. You’re an adversary. We don’t have any other relationship. There’s no need to like or dislike. It just is.”
“You’re not telling the truth. You actively do not like me, and I’d like to know why.”
“You play fast and loose with the truth.” Catherine raised a hand to stop Starr from interrupting. “I know, I know, you think it’s okay to do whatever it takes to put away the bad guys, but you don’t stop to consider you might have the wrong suspect or that even if you have the right one, by cutting corners in the rush to justice, you might get overturned on appeal.”
This time it was Starr who stopped in her tracks. “Wow. Been holding that back for long?”
“You have a reputation. There are some people who think it’s a good thing. I just don’t happen to be one of them and not just because I work on the other side.”
“Why then?”
“What?” Catherine was taken aback by the question. It should be obvious why Starr’s approach was a problem in general. She wasn’t prepared to share how it affected her personally.
“Take this case for instance,” Starr said, pressing the point. “If I had a chance to find Hannah, but doing so meant compromising a conviction, wouldn’t you want me to do that?”
“That’s a trick question because it assumes that you would sacrifice one for the other. What I think you would be more likely to do is take the risk and then hide it from the defense attorney to get your conviction.” Catherine regretted the words immediately, not just because they were overly harsh, but for the look they evoked on Starr’s face. Their détente was ending quickly.
“We don’t know each other very well,” Starr said, “so I’m not sure how you draw that conclusion. I’m not ashamed of my reputation or my results. If you’re concerned about Hannah Turner’s well-being, then rest assured there is no better person to be on the case.” Like a closing bell, Starr’s phone rang, punctuating the uncomfortable air between them. She glanced at the screen. “I have to go. Thanks for the coffee. Maybe someday I’ll return the favor and give you an opportunity to get to know the real me.”
Catherine watched as Starr rushed off, unable to help feeling empty at the vacuum Starr’s large presence left behind. She shook away the feeling. Starr Rio was a politician, gifted at saying exactly the right thing at the right time to leave people questioning their preconceived notions, especially if those notions didn’t already lean in her favor. Catherine only hoped that Starr’s strong motivation to win the hearts and minds of voters would fuel her motivation to find Hannah. And fast.
* * *
Starr drove like a madwoman, wishing she had lights and sirens to clear the traffic in front of her. Pearson’s text was simple and to the point. We found something. Hurry. His cryptic text was followed by a Google Maps link.
She knew that if they’d found Hannah, he would’ve said “her” not “something.” She visualized the area where he’d directed her to go. It was a park near Barton Springs. The area was fairly well trekked on a regular basis, but there were some hidden coves where it would be possible to hide out. It was miles from Hannah’s house, and the spot where she’d last been seen. What had they found? Was it some sign that Hannah had been there? If so, what was she doing so far from home? How had she gotten there?
Starr resisted the urge to fall further into the spiral of what-ifs and focused on getting to the location in one piece. When she arrived, she spotted Pearson standing by the side of the road next to an unmarked van. She threw her car in park and rushed to his side. “Talk to me.”
Pearson pointed at the van. “Crime scene techs. Made them co
me out here in a plain van to keep the press out of this. We got an anonymous call saying they’d seen something suspicious out here. This way.” He led the way down the trail and Starr followed, grateful she wasn’t wearing a suit. Pebbles gave way under their feet and tumbled ahead of them down the path, and she couldn’t help but think that a person pushed down this hill wouldn’t fare well from the fall.
When they reached the bottom of the trail, they were standing on the sandbar next to the water’s edge. Two analysts had already blocked off the area with tape and were busy taking photos and gathering samples of the sand. Pearson led her closer to their work, and they both backed away to give him and her space to see the centerpiece of their display. Starr looked down and zeroed in on a large white satin hair bow. She leaned closer, and Pearson motioned to one of the techs who turned it over with his gloved hand. It was pretty and girly, and even lying in the dirt, it looked sweet and feminine and innocent. And absolutely nothing like what she’d seen in any of the things she’d seen in Hannah’s room which tended to fall into tomboy territory.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “Do you really think this bow is connected to Hannah? It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen in the pictures her parents showed us. She didn’t strike me as a girly girl.”
“Kinda like you, I guess,” Pearson said. He directed the crime scene techs to resume their work and motioned for her to join him a few feet away. “No, I don’t think it’s hers, but someone called this in to 911 and hung up before the operator could get a line on the caller.” He looked down at his flip book. “Here’s what the caller said. ‘I’m calling about Hannah Turner. I think she was here. Good girls shouldn’t be without their bows.’ He gave the address and hung up.”
“He?”
“We can listen to the tape ourselves, but the operator said it sounded like a male voice.”
“‘Good girls shouldn’t be without their bows’?” Starr repeated the words, letting them rock around in her head. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but it’s a clue. Whoever called wanted us to come out here, and they wanted us to find this bow and make something of it. I think after these guys are finished, we should take it to the Turners and see what they make of it.”
Starr sighed. She’d been hoping a few more hours would go by before she had to face the Turners again. At least this time they had something to show for their efforts, and she hoped it would be fruitful. “Okay.” She glanced back up the trail. “We’ve got to keep this under wraps until we know if it’s a real clue or some kook sending us on a wild goose chase. How long has that van been parked there?”
“Too long. I’ll get the guys to move it. They’re almost done here.”
“And we need the 911 call log and swear the operator to silence. Let’s get a check on dear uncle’s cell phone records and get the cell tower info for the time of the call. Even if he didn’t make the call from his own phone, the records should be able to tell us where he was when the call came through. And we’ll need to pin him down on what he says he was doing this morning.”
“You’re pretty focused on him, are you?”
Starr remembered her conversation with Catherine from earlier and wondered if she was jumping to conclusions. “He’s all we’ve got right now. If something comes up to point us in another direction, I’m happy to follow any reliable leads, but I don’t want to be the person who ignores a clue right in front of her for the sake of keeping an open mind. Do you?”
Pearson shook his head. “You’re right. But after meeting Ricky Turner, I’m just not feeling it. I’ve been wrong before, though, so we’ll do this your way.”
No pressure there. Starr checked her phone while they waited for the crime scene guys to finish up, relieved to see that Murphy hadn’t called yet this morning. A call from him meant he was getting pressure from the mayor, and pressure was going to cause them to make mistakes. And jump to conclusions if Catherine Landauer was to be believed.
The thought of Catherine led her mind back to before Pearson’s call. For a few rare moments, as she and Catherine had walked along South Congress, Starr had managed to pretend she led a normal, carefree life where weekend brunches and leisurely strolls with a pretty woman by her side were the norm rather than the exception. She’d liked that feeling, and she found she liked Catherine, or at least her passion for her work, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual. Driving here to meet Pearson, Starr had allowed herself to hope that this strange clue would be a quick fuse to blow the case wide open and that Hannah would be found and safely returned to her parents soon, leaving her with the opportunity to have more than a glimpse at a personal life before she entered a campaign that was certain to eat up all her time.
An hour later, they were at the Turners’ house. This time, instead of just the patrol car out front, two large black SUVs blocked the drive, accompanied by several armed security guards. The press was camped out across the street, but Starr avoided looking at them as she accompanied Pearson to the door, not wanting to get trapped into answering questions about the status of the investigation. Pearson pulled the patrol cop aside at the door and whispered to him for a second, and then they entered the house. The mayor was waiting in the entry, her eyes frantic.
“You found her? Is she alive?”
Starr took the mayor’s arm and led her back toward the study where they’d met yesterday. She hated this part of any case, where the victim’s loved ones vacillated between hope and despair, but fortunately she didn’t have to deal with it often since she usually didn’t meet the family this early in a case. But from the time a defendant was arrested and the case file landed on her desk, part of her job was to shepherd the victim, if they were alive, and their family through the criminal justice system and deal with their reactions to the uncertainty of the process. Recognizing the worry that came with not knowing, she didn’t wait to deliver the biggest blow. “We didn’t find her, but we have something to show you.” She pulled out her phone and held up a photo of the bow, purposefully set against an objectively plain background, because the bow lying in the dirt had looked so forlorn and foreboding. “Do you recognize this?”
Mayor Turner grabbed the phone and pinched the screen to enlarge the photo, taking time to examine it from all angles. Pearson, who was standing behind her, scrunched his forehead as the seconds ticked by. Starr resisted the urge to push for a response and pondered instead what the mayor’s silence was telling them. After what seemed like forever, the mayor handed the phone back to her.
“Hannah doesn’t wear bows.”
Starr nodded, choosing her next words carefully. “I didn’t think so. Is it possible she had this bow for some other reason? Maybe it was something she carried around to remind her of something?”
“Why do you think this belongs to her?”
Fair question. “We set up a tip line, and one of the calls this morning directed us to this. They were specific about the location and that we would find a clue there.”
“The caller was the kidnapper, right?”
“It’s possible.” Starr knew she sounded cagey, but she didn’t want to share anything more at this time, not when they had no idea who was involved in Hannah’s disappearance. For all they knew this bow was the result of a cruel prank. Tip lines had a tendency to bring out the worst in human behavior even as they were a valuable tool to gather potential clues. “Is your husband home?”
“I haven’t seen him this morning.” Turner twisted her hands in her lap. “Things between us are even worse than I led you to believe yesterday. Keith moved into the guest room several weeks ago, and we don’t really keep track of each other’s comings and goings. William advised me not to share that information with you, but I think you deserve to know in case it affects your investigation.”
Starr took the revelation with a grain of salt. More likely William had proposed that the mayor share the information in the event it helped her divorce case. If the mayor could be d
irect, then so could she. “Is there a custody dispute?”
“Keith loves his daughter.”
Starr ignored the non sequitur. “I’m sure you both do love your daughter very much, but I imagine it’s hard to sort out how to handle things in such a unique power dynamic.” She folded her arms. “Here’s the big question. Does your daughter know about your marital troubles?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, she may have sensed we haven’t been getting along, but I doubt she thinks it’s serious. Hannah is a very optimistic girl. Why?”
“Because it wouldn’t be the first time a kid ran away when there’s trouble brewing at home.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Mayor Turner gestured at the ceiling. “You’ve seen this place. We’ve worked hard to make sure she has everything she could ever want. Private school, a pool, horseback riding lessons, you name it.”
Starr wanted to point out that material things didn’t always cut it, but she figured the mayor already knew that on some level, and her driving home the point would be cruel. “We have to explore every angle. If she were to go somewhere to get away from it all, where would she go?”
“We’ve been asked that a thousand times,” Mayor Turner said. “I gave Detective Pearson a list of her friends, and as far as I know they’ve all been contacted.”
“I know, but I’m asking you to dig a little deeper for me. Is there a particular place that Hannah likes to go? A park, the library, anything you can think of?”
Turner looked annoyed at being asked to try harder, but she could hardly deny the request, so Starr was surprised when she stood up and walked across the room. “I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important.”
Turner stopped at the bookshelf closest to the door and pulled a five-by-seven frame from the shelf. She handed it to Starr. “Besides the zoo, that’s her favorite place in Austin. She’s fascinated with the bats. Can’t get enough of them. Even when they aren’t in season, she likes to stop at the bridge, convinced she can connect with them. Says she wants to be a chiropterologist when she grows up. Of course, kids say stuff like that all the time.”
