by Carsen Taite
She ducked behind a tree, closed her eyes, and practiced the same ritual she’d employed every day she’d been his captive. She visualized the apartment she shared with her mother as if she could will her way back there. Her mother was probably worried sick and she had enough things in life to be worried about. The apartment would never be the same—it would always be the place where she’d been taken, but they could move, get a new start. They would be more careful and be on guard.
But she couldn’t do any of these things unless she returned to her previous life. She dug deep for courage, and although she knew her future life would never be the same after what had happened to her, she vowed to make it the best it could be.
She’d had no idea how difficult that would be.
“I guess the best place to start is, do you have any idea where he might be holding Hannah?” Pearson asked.
Catherine looked up at Pearson and Starr, disconcerted by their intense scrutiny. Sitting here, facing them, she felt hemmed in and she itched for freedom. She pushed back from her desk and stood. “I need some coffee,” she said, knowing coffee was actually the last thing she needed in her current state. When she reached the doorway of her office, she looked back at them. “You can come with if you want.” She headed to the kitchenette, not caring if they followed.
They did, practically falling over themselves to catch up, and Catherine wished she’d had a moment longer to be alone. To process. To call Dr. M and tell her she’d finally followed her advice and now what? But all she had instead was a cop and a lawyer, neither of whom cared a lick about her except for what she could do for them. And what could she do really? She knew Hannah’s abductor was Pratt, but she didn’t know much else. All she could relay was her own experience which was distant and dated. Pratt might have developed different techniques, different needs. Hannah might not be in any danger at all.
But she knew none of that was true. He wouldn’t have bothered to send the bouquet if he wasn’t following the same regimen. Bouquet. She repeated the word in her mind, substituting bow for bou, and stifled a laugh at the cruelty of the joke. She needed to get a grip. If she didn’t Starr and Pearson were going to think she was crazy, and that wouldn’t help find Hannah. And they needed to find her. Soon.
Suddenly, she knew exactly what she needed to be able to help them. She stopped abruptly and turned. “I want to see Mayor Turner. Right now.”
Chapter Eleven
Starr cast a surreptitious glance at Catherine in the rearview mirror. To the casual observer, nothing appeared out of place. Catherine sat ramrod straight with her hands in her lap, staring out the window, her face a mask of nonchalance. But Starr detected the slight quiver of her lips, the pinched lines around her eyes. Catherine was seriously stressed, and Starr wanted to take her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay, but she sensed she would be rebuffed. Someone as buttoned up as Catherine Landauer didn’t let her guard down easy, and Catherine already had her reasons, however unjustified, not to trust her.
Thankfully, Mayor Turner hadn’t answered the phone when they’d called. Starr had spoken with the family attorney, William, and let him know they were coming by because they needed information not because they had any. Not exactly true, but she wanted to avoid getting anyone’s hopes up. Pearson had been dead set against this little meeting, but Starr figured they didn’t have much else to go on, and any harm would be worth the risk. Catherine’s newly revealed identity was a big piece of information, but Starr wasn’t exactly sure yet how it played out in this scenario.
She wasn’t sure about a lot of things, and many of them were centered around Catherine’s past. When had Catherine changed her name? Probably right before college since the last records of Jill Winfield were from her high school. Starr had asked about her aunt, but Catherine’s only response had been she’d lived with her aunt until she left for college and hadn’t spoken to her since. How had she gotten accepted into the prestigious undergrad and law school programs at UT without anyone knowing who she really was?
Starr filed her questions away, hoping patience would reward her with information. She’d need to know the answers before she placed Catherine on the witness stand in the case against Pratt, but first they had to find him, and bring Hannah home safe and sound. She wasn’t sure how Catherine being here at Hannah’s house was going to help, but at this point she’d do anything to facilitate a rescue.
When they arrived, Pearson signaled for them to wait in the car while he spoke to the officer posted at the front door. Starr watched him for a moment before turning to Catherine. “Have you met Mayor Turner before?”
“I’ve seen her speak, shaken hands, but not a real meeting, no.”
“I’ll be interested in your assessment.”
Catherine cocked her head. “Why?”
Starr wished she could take back the words. She was still operating on dual tracks. Her gut told her Catherine’s theory that Pratt was back and responsible for Hannah’s disappearance was spot-on, but she couldn’t afford to completely abandon her working theory that Ricky might be a suspect. The two ideas weren’t mutually exclusive, after all. Far-fetched as it might be, Ricky could be copying some of the clues from the first crime.
But how would he have known about Catherine?
Untangling the twin theories would take some work, but for now she didn’t need Catherine thinking they were doubting her story or she might clam up, and the one thing she was certain of was that they needed Catherine’s help. “No particular reason. Just getting an overall picture of the case.”
Pearson waved at them. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Catherine pushed open the door and started walking ahead of her. Starr scrambled out of the car to catch up. She needed to carefully control this interaction since she had no idea what Catherine had in mind, and even though the element of surprise was her idea, Starr didn’t want the mayor to feel ambushed, a move likely to have bad implications for her professional future as well as this case. When they reached the door, Starr stepped in front of Catherine. “I’ll introduce you. She doesn’t know why you’re here, and we need to give her some space to process all of this.”
“Okay.”
Starr had expected more of a protest, considering how Catherine had been controlling their interaction so far, so she was pleasantly surprised by the neutral response. She nodded to the officer who answered the door and followed Pearson to the study where they’d met with the family each time they’d been there before. Like the last time, William was there at her side, ever the doting partner, and her husband was noticeably absent. She watched the mayor’s eyes light up as she entered into the room, and she realized William hadn’t warned her they had nothing to report because it was clear she expected some news.
“Have you found her?” Mayor Turner said, rising from her chair.
“No.”
“Then why aren’t you out there looking?”
Starr heard the edge in her voice, but she resisted responding in kind. What she wanted to say was that while she was investigating clues in the case, not a single member of the mayor’s family was out looking for their daughter, a fact that the news outlets hadn’t mentioned yet. It was only a matter of time before some reporter pointed out that in most missing children cases the family was the first to join the search and rescue teams, and the Turners had been noticeably absent. Starr had worked with crime victims enough to know that everyone reacted differently, and Mayor Turner’s decision to hole up here at her palatial house didn’t mean she wasn’t grieving—everyone reacted to pain in their own way—but it didn’t look good. Still she modulated her response to keep the peace. “We have lots of people out physically looking for your daughter. Detective Pearson and I are contributing in other ways.”
“Who is this?” Turner pointed at Catherine. Starr started to answer, but Catherine stepped in front of her and thrust out her hand.
“My name is Catherine Landauer. Ms. Rio and Detect
ive Pearson have asked for my help. Can I see her room?”
Starr touched her brow to hide her frustration. She shot a look at Pearson who shrugged as if to say, “Hey, it was your idea to bring her here.” She cleared her throat. “How about we talk for a minute first?”
But it was too late. The mayor latched on to Catherine like a beacon in a storm. Why wouldn’t she? By showing up here with the lead detective and prosecutor on the case, Catherine appeared to have their tacit approval to be involved. “Her room is upstairs,” Mayor Turner said to Catherine. She turned to Starr. “We can talk after.”
Starr trudged up the stairs after them, annoyed that the mayor was willing to show such deference to Catherine who she didn’t know at all, when she barely gave the law enforcement team assigned to the case the time of day. Before they crossed the threshold of Hannah’s room, she said, “Please be careful not to touch any of the contents.”
Catherine stopped and slowly turned, her eyes piercing and dark. “Why? Surely, you’ve processed this room and its contents by now.”
Starr smiled to cover her anger. Catherine was right of course, but that didn’t mean she wanted her riffling around in what might possibly wind up being evidence. She cast about for a tactful response but, thankfully, Pearson stepped in.
“We have processed this room, but as I’m sure you can respect, we’d like to leave everything as is in the event something new comes to light that gives new importance to the way the room was arranged when Hannah was last here.”
Catherine nodded curtly. “Will you open the closet for me, then?”
Pearson’s glowering face said he didn’t want to, but he did anyway. He’d barely stepped back before Catherine was in his place, scanning the contents. “Tell me about her,” she said.
Mayor Turner stepped up next to her, her eyes trained on the hanging clothes. “She’s a friendly girl, secure. No one was a stranger. People used to joke that she would someday follow in my footsteps and run for office.”
Catherine nodded slowly. “He would like that. It would frustrate him because he thinks he wants someone who is obedient and shy, but he prefers someone he can talk to and who isn’t afraid of him on sight.”
The mayor touched Catherine’s arm. “Who is it? Who has my daughter?”
“Russell Pratt. Do you remember the Jill Winfield case? He had her once.” Catherine paused for a moment, her expression now distant. “He was gone for a long time, but he’s back now.”
Turner gasped. “I do remember that case.” She turned to Starr. “Wasn’t she rescued? Wasn’t he arrested? Does he have my daughter? Why isn’t he in prison?”
Catherine scowled. “Actually, she escaped. On her own. He was never arrested, never did any time. The task force that investigated that case was incompetent and they let him get away.”
She turned as she delivered her assessment and locked eyes with Starr, and Starr felt the look like a punch in the face. Catherine was angry. More than angry, she was fiery mad, and she’d been carrying that anger for many, many years. Starr wished she’d read more about the case. She’d been focused on Jill Winfield’s miraculous escape, but there was a lot more there. Starr could hardly blame her, but she wondered—was the adult woman that Jill Winfield had become too angry to help them find this little girl’s captor?
* * *
Catherine turned back to the mayor, who was clutching her arm. Normally, having a stranger touch her like this would be disconcerting, but she knew the connection was necessary to build trust. Both ways.
Everything about this experience was foreign. She’d agreed to ride here with Starr and Pearson, with barely any protest about leaving her car behind. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten in a vehicle with people who were practically strangers, let alone one that was headed to an address she didn’t know.
But Starr wasn’t exactly a stranger. She’d gotten to know Starr well enough to best her at trial, and it wasn’t like she expected a future candidate for district attorney to suddenly morph into a nefarious character, but Catherine had spent her life guarding against a repeat of her abduction, and lowering that guard wasn’t something she took lightly.
Catherine walked into the room and could instantly tell it belonged to a young person. Unlike the somber earth tones of the rest of the house, this room was decorated in bright colors, the walls a live version of a Pinterest board that could only be created by a preadolescent girl. Catherine hoped Hannah would get to come back here someday, but she knew that when she did, the carefree charm of this place would never be the same for her.
Catherine had never returned home. The police and her aunt waited a couple of days before telling her the grim truth, that Pratt had killed her mother before he’d taken her captive in the dead of night. The house they’d called home had become a crime scene, and her aunt wouldn’t let her return, even to collect her things, telling her there was nothing left for her there. She knew her aunt thought she was doing the right thing, but by never letting her return, by forcing her to leave behind the trappings of her former life, she’d been robbed again, left adrift with only vague memories of the life that had been stolen from her.
Her cousins had never understood why she didn’t adapt to her new life. Why would they when it had taken years of therapy for her to understand? She had no anchor, no history. Everything was either before the abduction or after. Even now, after years had passed and she’d changed her life completely, she still thought in those terms. Jill Winfield and Catherine Landauer. The two had everything in common and nothing at all.
“She had free rein to decorate however she wanted,” Mayor Turner said. “As you can see, she took full advantage.”
“Has,” Catherine said. “She has free rein. Don’t give up on her.”
The mayor grimaced. “I didn’t mean to.” She wiped at a corner of her eye. “It’s hard not to imagine the worst.”
“Hard is being held by a madman. That’s what she’s going through right now. Your job is to stand strong and make sure no stone is left unturned until she is found. You’re the mayor for crying out loud. If anyone has the power to make sure she’s found, it’s you.” She felt a hand on her back and turned to see Starr shaking her head, clearly telling her to back off. She shrugged her off and stepped away.
“I think we should go,” Starr said.
“No,” Mayor Turner said. “She’s right. I haven’t been doing enough. We should be out looking for her instead of staying holed up here, hiding from the press, and hoping for good news.” Her voice faltered. “I can’t even imagine what she must be going through.”
Catherine softened at the first display of sincere feeling she’d witnessed since she’d arrived. “Forgive me for being harsh. The truth is, if he has taken her for the reason I believe he has, then she’s being well cared for and she hasn’t been harmed. Yet.”
“How do you know?”
The moment of truth. Catherine had hoped it would be easier to say it the second time, but the words caught in her throat, and she found it harder to spit them out than when she’d told Starr and Pearson less than an hour ago. She spotted a picture of a young girl across the room and pointed toward it. “Is this Hannah?”
“Yes. It was taken at her birthday party a week ago. She turned twelve.”
Catherine picked up the photo and tilted it toward her. Hannah was a cute kid. She had an ice cream cone in one hand and one of those new instant print cameras that reminded her of a Polaroid. Hannah was dressed in dark blue jeans, and a Columbia shirt with tons of pockets, and Catherine imagined she was an explorer, picking up things to store in her pockets to be examined later. She glanced around and spotted a scattering of granite stones. “She collects these, doesn’t she?”
“Yes. She spends a lot of time outdoors. The original nature lover. I predict she’ll be a biologist someday.” Turner met her eyes. “When she comes home.”
Catherine nodded at the reference to the future. She set the photo back down on th
e dresser and pointed at the bed. “Let’s sit.” She joined Mayor Turner on the edge of the bed, purposely excluding Starr and Pearson from the conversation. “He’s not going to harm her.” She held back a wince as she said the word “harm,” hoping the mayor didn’t notice.
“How do you know?”
“Because when I was her age, he took me too.” Catherine rushed the words to keep her from commenting. “He took me from my house. He’d watched me for a while, spent time selecting me, or so he said. My name used to be Jill Winfield.”
Turner gasped and reached for her hand. She squeezed tight, and Catherine was unsure if she meant to be comforting or if she was just hanging on to something concrete for dear life. “I remember.”
Of course she did. Everyone did, which was precisely why Catherine had clung to her anonymity as tightly as she had. But her secret was out now, and she braced for the onslaught of questions. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Tell me everything you know. I need to know what she’s going through.”
Catherine turned to invite Starr and Pearson back into the conversation. “He’ll have a place. Something permanent. It might only be a trailer, but it has to be private because he likes to be self-sufficient. It’ll be on a piece of land, with a garden where he can grow his own food. Likely near a wooded area, and near water. Whatever he drives will be nondescript.” She pressed her eyes shut, summoning the exact words. “It doesn’t do in the eyes of the Lord to show wealth. True prosperity is the riches of the soul.”
