by Carsen Taite
“Since when do you care what a defense attorney says about you?” Starr considered all angles, but she ultimately decided to stick with her gut. “I can get someone else to do it if you’re not comfortable.”
“Nice try. You can’t manipulate me. I’ll do it for you, but if someone asks about it, I’m going to send them your way. You better be prepared to answer why.”
Starr nodded, but her mind was whirring. She wasn’t at all sure what she’d say about the why, but she had no choice but to follow her gut and her gut told her Catherine Landauer had something to hide.
Chapter Ten
Catherine heard a noise and looked up from her desk to see Doris standing in the doorway, a frown on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Clive Burson called to say they hired someone else.”
It took Catherine a moment to remember who Clive Burson was, but she hid her memory loss behind a nonchalant hand wave. “It happens.”
“Not to you. I can’t believe he would be so quick to hire someone else after you came in on a Saturday night to meet with him and his wife.”
Ah, the potential client. It had only been two days since she’d had a blackout during her meeting with the Bursons, and she barely remembered it. She was going to have to get control of her thoughts if she wanted to stay in business. Thankfully, Doris didn’t seem to have the whole story about how she’d run out of the meeting without any plausible explanation. “It’s okay. I don’t think we were a good fit.”
Doris pursed her lips like she was mulling over the assessment. Catherine knew her well enough to know that Doris didn’t believe her, but loyalty would prevent her from asking more questions. “Anything else?”
“No, your afternoon is clear. I’ll let you know if anything new comes in, but I left the Paulson case file on your desk in case you want to get caught up on trial prep.”
“Thanks,” Catherine called out as Doris retreated back to her desk. She pulled the Paulson file toward her. She hadn’t noticed it sitting there, a fact that should be surprising, but wasn’t. The list of things that had fallen off her radar since Hannah had gone missing were long, and they were stacking up to be a huge impediment to her normally ordered life. She had two big trials coming up in the next couple of months, and it was time to focus. She turned back to her computer and dove into the files of electronic discovery she needed to review. She was deep into a set of dense financial statements when she heard a knock on the door. Damn. Just when she’d found her rhythm. She kept her eyes on the computer and called out, “Come in.”
The door opened and she heard footsteps behind her. “I’m really focused here,” Catherine said. “If it can wait, I’d really appreciate it.”
“I’m not sure.” Doris cleared her throat. “I know you said you didn’t want to be bothered, but it’s kind of strange and I thought you’d want to see it right away.”
“It?” Catherine reluctantly pushed away her keyboard and turned around to see Doris standing in front of her desk holding a large flower arrangement away from her body. Carnations. Loads of white carnations. A sour tinge filled Catherine’s mouth and it went dry. It couldn’t be. No. It was just flowers. They didn’t mean anything.
“Ugly, right?” Doris said. As she spoke, she twirled the arrangement in her hand, letting it rest on the edge of Catherine’s desk. Catherine stared, transfixed at the sickening garden of white flowers, but it wasn’t the flowers that captured her attention now. It was the half dozen large white satin bows protruding from the flowers. They looked exactly like the one Starr had displayed at the press conference.
Catherine gripped the edge of her desk. “Where did you get those?”
Doris flinched at the growl in her voice. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“Where. Did. Those. Come. From.” Catherine enunciated each word carefully, hoping the edge of authority in her voice would convey exactly how strongly she felt about getting an answer.
“A delivery guy brought them. Like three minutes ago. If I hurry, I might be able to catch him.”
Catherine was out of her chair and running toward the door before Doris finished speaking. She burst into the lobby, and finding it empty, rushed out the door. She scanned the parking lot while she tried to catch her breath. Her burst of energy had been in vain. No strange vehicles, no strange people. Everything she saw was a regular component of her usual everyday life, but with every cell in her body, she knew her everyday life was on the verge of drastic change. When she returned to her office, her mind was whirring with possibilities.
“There’s a note.” Doris pointed at the envelope protruding from the gross array of bows and flowers. Doris started to grasp the edges, but Catherine shouted, “Don’t.” At Doris’s surprised look, she softened her voice. “I’ll open it later. Can I have a moment alone, please?”
She waited until she heard the door click shut before digging through her desk for a pair of tweezers she often used to pop the stubborn lock on her file cabinet. Using the tweezers, she carefully pulled the envelope from the bouquet and shook out the card inside. It landed faceup on her desk, and the broad strokes of the block letters glared back up at her.
SHE’S NOT YOU, BUT SHE’LL HAVE TO DO.
Catherine dropped the tweezers and the metal clanged against the hard surface of her desk, echoing in the silence of the room. She wanted to wail, to bang her fists against the desk, to kick the walls—anything to stave off the agony coursing through her body, but she’d spent a lifetime tamping down her emotions, and now was no different. She opened her office door in time to catch Doris spying. Who could blame her? She’d been acting like a crazy person lately, but it was time for all of this to stop. “Call Starr Rio on her cell and tell her to get over here right now. Don’t take no for an answer.”
Catherine didn’t wait for a response. She stalked back into her office and sat in one of the chairs across from her desk. No point working now. Her life was about to be turned completely upside down, and she didn’t have a clue what the future would hold, but the thing she’d feared the most had happened. Her past had come back to haunt her.
* * *
Starr pointed at the last piece of pizza in the box on the conference room table. “Dibs.”
Pearson, who’d just slid into the seat next to her, shook his head. “How do you eat like that?”
“First rule of litigation and politics. Eat what you can, when you can. If I waited until it was convenient and nutritious, I would starve to death.”
Pearson pointed as she jammed a slice of pepperoni in her mouth. “No danger of that. Seriously, Starr. It wouldn’t kill you to have a real meal.”
“Don’t worry about me. I promised my mother I’d come by tonight, which she’ll take for an excuse to fatten me up so I have the energy to do God’s work.”
“Is she still teaching cooking classes?”
“Yes, but she’s taken on a million other projects too. When the election goes full swing, she and Dad will be my number one volunteers.”
“You’re lucky.”
“I know.” Starr did know. Her mother’s constant reminders that she didn’t visit enough notwithstanding, she was well aware she was fortunate to have a large family that actually loved and liked each other. “You’re welcome to come with me. Mom loves you.”
“And I love your mother, but my wife is going to disown me if I don’t show my face at home one night this week.”
Neither of them would say it, but both of them knew that the case was getting bleak. With every hour that went by without new clues, the chances Hannah would ever show up were growing thin.
Pearson shoved a folder at her. “Here’s that stuff you wanted. I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but I don’t think this is going to be helpful.”
Starr glanced around to make sure no one else was around, before she twisted the clasp and pulled out the few papers inside. She held them up. “Is this it?”
Pearson nodded. “I couldn’t find much
about Landauer before college, and there’s not a lot even after that. She keeps a really low profile.”
Starr skimmed the pages and found nothing she wasn’t able to access via the web. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but she was disappointed nonetheless. She zoomed to the last page. “Don’t these usually have some info about birth date and place? Why are those fields blank?”
Pearson looked over her shoulder. “They aren’t blank.” He pointed. “See that code. It means findings inconclusive.”
“How can a person’s date of birth and birthplace be inconclusive?”
He hunched his shoulders. “Never seen that on a report before.” He rocked back on his heels. “Wait, I did see that once, but it was a different kind of deal.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was for a guy that was in WITSEC.”
“Witness protection?” Starr felt a sense of urgency torquing up inside her.
“Yeah, they don’t always bother making up stuff that goes all the way back into a person’s past unless it’s absolutely necessary. Most folks don’t look back before college, and especially not before high school.”
“Are you suggesting that Catherine Landauer is in the witness protection program?”
Pearson raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not suggesting anything. You’re the one who wanted me to run a background check.” He pointed at the papers in her hands. “That’s it. I make no promises about what it contains.”
Starr took a deep breath. He was right of course. She’d just expected to find something definitive to connect Catherine to Jill Winfield or Russell Pratt or anything related to the case Catherine seemed obsessed about. Her mind ran through the possibilities. Based on her appearance and when she’d graduated from law school, she and Catherine were probably around the same age, which meant Catherine would’ve been around the same age as Jill when Pratt had kidnapped her. Maybe Catherine had known Jill, or maybe she was a relative. Maybe something similar had happened to someone she knew and it had affected her to this day.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. The conjecture was wearing her out. Thankfully, one of the patrol officers stuck his head in the door.
“Sorry to bother you, but a call just came in, and it sounds important.”
Starr pointed at Pearson. “You take it.” She held up the papers. “I’m going to read through this again.”
The cop cleared his throat. “Actually, ma’am, it was for you, and I didn’t know you were still here so they left a message. It was Catherine Landauer’s office. They want you to head over there now.” He paused and looked at Pearson. “And they asked us to send a CSI unit.”
Starr dropped the papers she was holding onto the desk. Whatever was in Catherine’s past paled in comparison to whatever the hell was happening right now.
“What do you want to do?” asked Pearson.
“I want to get over there right now.”
“I’ll go get my car and pull around front.”
“New plan—I’m parked right by the front door. Are you going to vouch for me if we get stopped for speeding?”
“Count on it.” Pearson barked at the officer while striding toward the door. “Call CSU. Give them the address and tell them to meet us there.” The officer ducked back out and sprinted away, leaving Pearson to hold the door. “You coming?” he said.
Starr nodded. She looked around the room at the evidence they’d compiled so far, wondering if she should bring anything, but she knew in her gut nothing in this room was as important as what they were about to see. A few minutes later as she and Pearson were speeding across town, it occurred to her for the first time that the officer had been vague when he referenced who had wanted them to come out there. Not “Catherine wants you to head over there now,” but they. And send a crime scene unit. Was Catherine okay?
The drive was indeed fast. It wasn’t long until they turned onto the quiet block where Catherine’s office building was located. From the outside everything looked perfectly normal. A quaint house with a large porch. Based on the location, this piece of real estate would command a lot of cash, and again Starr wondered how Catherine had come to own it.
She was out of the car before Pearson, ignoring his call for her to wait. She rushed up the steps and had her hand on the door handle when he ran up behind her and slipped between her and the door.
“Uh, crime scene? Let’s go in slow in case there’s a reason to protect evidence. What’s your hurry?”
Starr looked down at the ground like the answer would be in the wood planks of the porch. She was anxious, but she couldn’t tell if it was the prospect of getting a clue about Hannah or if it was something more personal. She shook away the anxiety and focused. “Sorry.” She stepped back. “You go first.”
Pearson gently turned the knob and eased the door open. After a moment of looking around, he walked through and held the door open behind him. Starr waited a second and then followed close behind. They were only a few steps in before a tall, striking, silver-haired woman stepped out from behind a desk in what served as the lobby. She held out her hand to Starr.
“You must be Ms. Rio. I’m Doris Beechum, Catherine Landauer’s assistant. Ms. Landauer is waiting in her office for you.”
Starr shook the well-manicured hand and introduced Pearson, brushing over the niceties in her hurry to see Catherine. She followed Doris closely down the hall, their footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. The wall was lined with the usual lawyer stuff, diplomas, framed certificates of admission. Doris stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall and rapped on the wood frame.
“Come in.”
When the door swung wide, Starr took in every detail quickly and methodically. Other than the bookshelves, there was lots of open wall space—no knickknacks or artwork, nothing personal except the enormous and tacky-looking bouquet of flowers centered in the middle of her desk. Her gaze settled on Catherine who was pale and drawn, and then flicked back to the flower arrangement. And then she saw them. Bows. Giant, white satin bows dotted throughout the crowd of ugly carnations. The room was sick with the smell of the flowers, but the bows were the star of the show, a bright white message and Starr got it full-on. She met Catherine’s eyes, and the deep pain and fear she saw reflected reminded her of a picture of a little girl she’d been staring at less than an hour ago. Instantly she knew exactly what was going on. Careful to keep her voice calm, lest she spook Catherine back into her shell, she said, “You’re Jill Winfield.”
* * *
Catherine knew the moment she’d instructed Doris to make the call that she wouldn’t be able to keep her identity hidden any longer, but she hadn’t expected Starr to reach the conclusion on her own. But should she really be surprised? She’d been dropping hints like crazy. She could almost hear Dr. M saying, “You wanted her to know.”
Was she right? She’d gone to such lengths to prevent anyone in her life from knowing her past, and the isolation was sometimes paralyzing. Relationships, whether friendships or more, were always cut short when they reached the point of reciprocal sharing. Sometimes she was the one to sever the ties, but often it was the other person who believed she was keeping secrets. And she was. She’d always imagined that someday she’d find someone with whom she felt like she could share the story of her past, but as time passed the probability faded, and she’d learned to embrace her career as her only refuge. But the moment this wretched bouquet showed up in her office, she knew that part of her world was no longer safe either. When Starr blurted out her question, she had no choice but to tell the truth.
“Yes, I am.”
Starr sank into the chair across from the desk, and for the first time, Catherine realized she was not alone. The detective working on the case, Pearson, was standing in the doorway, looking at the two of them like he was watching a suspense flick and he wasn’t sure if he should be there. Catherine waved toward him. “You may as well join us. Is the crime scene unit on the way?”
Pearson pointed at
the bouquet. “Do you mind if I take a closer look?” he asked.
“Be my guest. I haven’t touched it other than to read the card and I used tweezers.” She pointed to the tweezers still sitting on her desk. “I took a photo of the message.” She handed him her phone.
Starr leaned over to look, and they both scanned the image. Starr looked up at her. “So it is him.”
“It appears so.” It was easiest to keep the conversation short to avoid betraying the level of anxiety coursing through her.
“Are you okay?” Starr asked, and Catherine was surprised to see genuine concern reflected in her eyes. But she couldn’t afford to dwell on it or she’d break down right there.
“Yes,” she said.
Pearson cleared his throat and they both looked in his direction. “Sorry, ladies, but I’m just catching up. Would someone mind filling me in?”
Starr started to speak, but Catherine held up a hand to stop her. This was her story to tell and she’d rehearsed exactly what she wanted to say when she’d told Doris to make the call. “When I was young, my name was Jill Winfield. I lived in Albuquerque with my mother. My father left us when I was eight years old. When I was twelve, my mother was killed and I was abducted from our home by a man named Russell Pratt who used to do handyman work in the neighborhood. He kept me captive for a month before I was able to escape. He was never apprehended. I believe,” she paused and took a deep breath. “No, I know, that he is the same person who has taken Hannah, and he sent me these flowers to let me know he’s back.”
“Whoa.” Pearson pointed at the other chair. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Go ahead.” Catherine folded her hands on her desktop. “I don’t want to have to repeat this more than once, so ask me whatever you want to know.” While she assessed their incredulous expressions, her mind flashed back to the day after she’d escaped from Pratt.
The road had to be a highway. Cars were driving fast and there were no shops or restaurants along the wooded area bordering either side. She should be relieved to have escaped, but her thoughts were completely occupied by two things: what if his truck appeared on the road, and why hadn’t she taken the time to find her shoes? Her bare feet were bruised and bloody from her trek through the woods, and she was torn between hopefulness about the possibility of being rescued and resignation to her fate as a lost soul.
