Leading the Witness

by Carsen Taite

  She opened her eyes to see them all staring at her, their expressions a mixture of surprise and sympathy. Her skin started to crawl, and an anxious heat burned under the surface. She stood, desperate to break the spell. “I have to go.”

  The mayor reached out to pull her back, and Catherine stepped away, desperate to get away from the intensity of her need. “I have to go,” she repeated. She pointed at Starr and Pearson. “They have to find her. It’s up to them.” She strode out of the room, careful not to stumble, intent on escape. What had she been thinking? She’d lived this pain once. She wasn’t going to live it again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Starr rushed down the stairs after Catherine, but Catherine was already out of sight before she reached the landing. The officer in the foyer pointed to the front door and Starr pushed through to find her only to be met with the pounding force of a spring rainstorm.

  Crap. She held a hand up to block the rain, a futile gesture, and scoured the front yard for signs of Catherine. She spotted her pacing out front, punching at her phone. Starr looked back toward the warm dry house, but she knew she didn’t have a choice. She tugged her blazer up over the back of her head and plunged out into the rain.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled as she approached Catherine.

  “Leave me alone.” Catherine kept moving, her head still bent toward the phone in her hand.

  Starr ignored her admonition and continued her approach. “You’re soaked. Come back inside. If you want to leave, I’ll find a ride for you.”

  “I can find my own ride with a stranger. Leave me alone.”

  Starr pulled out her keys. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll take you back to your office. Pearson can get a ride back with one of the guys.” She watched Catherine ponder her offer while the rain soaked them both to the skin. What she really wanted to do was grill Catherine about every last detail of her captivity and escape from Pratt in case the retelling held clues that might lead them to Hannah, but she felt like she was dealing with a skittish animal who’d be spooked away at an abrupt approach. A little bit of alone time might be exactly what she needed to get Catherine to open up. “Let’s at least get out of the rain.”

  Catherine jabbed at her phone and then shoved it in her pocket. “Fine.”

  Unsure what Catherine had agreed to, Starr decided to assume she was on board with a ride back to her office which would give her about thirty minutes to gain her confidence. She sent a quick text to Pearson, and then led the way to her car, relieved she’d driven her own vehicle to the mayor’s house.

  Catherine slid into the front passenger’s seat and buckled her seat belt. She stared straight ahead. It was going to be a long, quiet drive.

  Starr tried a couple of softball questions when they were a few blocks away, but Catherine wasn’t warming to any subject she broached, and she finally gave in to the silence. They were ten minutes into the drive when Starr’s cell phone rang through the speakers of the car. The dash display announced the call was from her mother. She fumbled for the button to answer and send the call to her phone, but the sound of her mother’s voice boomed through the car speakers.

  “Starr, honey, are you there? That crazy dog got out and I chased it and now I’m locked out of the house in the rain. I know you’re busy, but your father’s out of town and your brother isn’t answering either. Can you come by earlier than you planned? Are you there?”

  Starr caught a slight grin on Catherine’s face, and she shook her head. “I’m here, Mom. Hold on for just a second.” She pushed the button to transfer the call to her phone and muted it. “Sorry about this. I’ll only be a moment.” She unmuted the call. “Mom, what about the key you have hidden under the rock by the shed?”

  “I used it last week and left it in the house. I hope that dog is okay. He’s been skittish ever since he showed up. I’m trying to get your brother to adopt him, but so far he’s holding out. I saw some lightning off in the distance.”

  “I’m sure the dog is fine. I can help you out, but it’s going to be a little while. I have to run across town, but I should be able to be there in an hour or so. Is there a place you can hunker down until I get there?” Starr looked up at the touch of Catherine’s hand on her arm. “Hang on.” She put her hand over the phone. “I’ll be done in a sec.”

  “You should help your mother.”

  “I will, as soon as I get you back to your office.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Out near Georgetown.”

  “It’ll take you forever in this storm to get back across town.” Catherine pointed to a gas station up ahead on the right. “Drop me there and I’ll get an Uber back to the office.”

  Starr looked through the windshield wipers at the shady gas and convenience store up ahead. “Uh, not likely.”

  “Then I’ll ride with you and then you can take me back.”

  Starr held back her surprise at the suggestion. It was the perfect solution since it would save her from zigzagging across town, plus more time in the car with Catherine might lead her to open up. A slight twinge of guilt at taking advantage gripped her. “That’s okay.”

  “Seriously, I don’t mind.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “To be perfectly honest,” Catherine said. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  “Okay.” She got it and she appreciated the vulnerability of the revelation, and wished she’d been more sensitive during this entire process. Catherine had just spent the past few hours having to relive what had to have been a horrific experience that had transformed her entire life from that point. She’d lost her mother, been held by a madman, and basically rescued herself only to be cast in the role of celebrity victim. That she was even walking around, let alone that she’d achieved the success she had over the years, was a huge accomplishment.

  “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Understood.” Starr steered the car back in the direction they’d come from. “We have two choices. Total silence or radio. Or make that three choices. We could talk about something else.”

  “I fear our choices in radio may differ vastly.”

  “Really?” Starr was intrigued. “Tell me what you think I listen to.”

  “I picture you for a talk radio junkie, mostly news.” Catherine cocked her head. “Or eighties.”

  “I get it. You think I like strong opinions or the tunes of our childhood.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Starr grinned. “Not exactly. I can definitely rock some Bowie or Hall and Oates, but when it comes to news, I’m more of a NPR kind of gal. What about you? I’m thinking classical.”

  “Ha. Not even. I too like the eighties, but my go-to artist is Brandi Carlisle. Or the Indigo Girls. Or Shawn Colvin. You know, music with a side of angst.”

  Catherine smiled as she spoke the words, but her voice held a trace of bitterness that compelled Starr to say, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I need to tell you how much I appreciate you coming forward and that I understand how difficult it must’ve been for you.”

  “Don’t.”

  “That’s all I plan to say. I promise.”

  Silence fell between them and with it came an awkwardness Starr regretted causing. She leaned over and found the local indie station and turned it up just high enough to cover the quiet. Still, it was a long thirty minutes before she turned into the drive that led to her parents’ house.

  “We’re almost there,” she announced.

  “Okay.”

  Starr drove carefully on the gravel road, slippery from the rain, grateful to see her mother waiting on the porch. She’d barely turned the car off before she told Catherine she’d be right back, jumped out, and headed to the front door.

  “Starr, thank goodness you’re here.” Her mother waved her arms toward the house. “Hurry out of the rain, you’re getting soaked.” She leaned forward with a hand on her brow. “Is there someone with you?”

  “It’s okay, Mom.
We’re headed back into town.”

  “Don’t be silly. Anything you have to do, you can do on your phone from here. I have a pot of soup in the slow cooker. Get your friend, come in, and have a hot meal. Maybe this storm will die down while you’re eating.”

  Starr placed her key in the lock and released the door. “Seriously, Mom, we’re good.” She pointed at the open door. “You’re all set.”

  “Wait right there.” Her mother charged into the house, leaving the door open behind her. Starr looked back at Catherine, and raised her hands to signal she wasn’t sure what was going on. A moment later, her mother appeared with an umbrella and brushed past her on her way to the car.

  “Mom,” Starr called out, but there was no deterring Mrs. Rio when she was on a mission. She watched, helpless, as her worlds collided.

  * * *

  Catherine jumped at the sharp rap on the window. The woman standing on the other side was motioning for her to lower the window, and she cracked it a bit, leaning back as the rain pelted its way inside the window.

  “Come inside,” the woman, who looked the spitting image of Starr, said.

  “Mrs. Rio?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I’ll just wait here. Thank you.”

  “You girls aren’t going anywhere in this storm.”

  Mrs. Rio stepped back and waved her hand up at the biggest umbrella Catherine had ever seen. “There’s hot soup and fresh bread inside. Come on.”

  Catherine paused for a few seconds, but the stern expression on Mrs. Rio’s face made it clear she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car, ducking under the umbrella while Mrs. Rio led her to the house. When they reached the porch, she shook out the umbrella. “Lose the Mrs. I’m Stella. Do you work with Starr?”

  “Uh…” Catherine’s brain searched for a suitable reply while she scanned the room, searching for signs of Starr to save her from idle conversation. And instantly she appeared with a ladle in her hand.

  “Mom, leave Catherine alone. She’s helping me out with a project.” Starr placed a finger across her lips. “That’s all I can say.”

  Stella shook her head and wagged a finger at Catherine. “She uses that excuse every time she doesn’t want to tell me something. I read the papers. I know you’re working on that missing girl case. If Catherine here is helping you then she deserves a good meal as a reward.”

  “I’m fine,” Catherine said.

  “You’re on the skinny side, if you ask me.”

  “Mom!” Starr flushed crimson. “See, this is why you can’t come to any campaign events. Filter, please.”

  Stella shook her head. “The voters will appreciate that you come from a family of honest people. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” She scurried out of the room, leaving Starr and Catherine standing in uncomfortable silence.

  “Sorry about that,” Starr said. “My mother has never mastered the art of keeping her opinion to herself.”

  “It’s okay,” Catherine said. Despite her protest, she was hungry and the soup smelled divine. As much as she’d rather be back in her familiar surroundings, she knew they’d made the smart decision staying put until the storm passed. Besides, Starr’s mother was oddly charming with her straight talk and no-nonsense attitude. “Soup sounds good.” She watched Starr’s surprised expression and glanced away. All this vulnerability was wearing her down, and after a lifetime of building walls to keep out other people, she was too tired to resist the simple gesture of a hot meal on a day when she’d had to overshare.

  But she’d barely shared at all—only enough to pique their interest before she broke down like a silly little girl and ran away. She could hear Dr. M’s voice echo in her head, asking what triggered the response, and she barely resisted putting her hands over her ears to keep her out. She’d spent years in therapy, but apparently the counseling had done nothing to actually cure her, but merely served as a way to keep the rest of the world at bay. She shook out of her jacket and handed it to Starr while she cast about for something to say. “This is a nice house. Did you grow up here?”

  “I did. Along with my sister and two brothers. It was a great place to grow up. Lots of land to explore and great places for hide-and-seek.”

  Catherine nodded like she understood, but she had no idea what it would’ve been like to have this kind of place. “I lived with my aunt after…but her place was fairly small, barely any yard.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “I keep bringing up things that are insensitive.”

  “You keep bringing up things that are normal for people to discuss. You can’t help it that my childhood wasn’t normal.”

  “And neither can you, but I could be more sensitive.”

  “Not a trait you’re known for.” Catherine smiled to soften the blow of her remark. “At least not in the courtroom.”

  Starr laughed. “Truth, but it takes one hard-ass adversary to know one.” She pointed down the hall. “Ready for soup?”

  “Sure.” Catherine followed Starr down the hall, taking note of the stream of family photos hung along the wall, documenting major milestones in the lives of the Rios. Sporting events, graduations, weddings were all represented in a mix of color and black-and-white photos showcasing a happy, healthy family. Catherine couldn’t relate, but she wanted to—a longing she thought she’d suppressed forever.

  The soup did smell amazing and she said so again to Mrs. Rio when they entered the kitchen.

  “Secret family recipe. Chicken tortilla. Tastes like an enchilada in a spoon.” Stella pointed to an array of small bowls next to the soup pot. “I’ll dish up your bowl and you can pick your toppings here.” She leaned close. “I recommend a pinch of cilantro, tortilla strips, cheese, and avocado.”

  “Who am I to argue with the pro,” Catherine said, holding out her bowl. “Soup is my favorite meal.” She choked out the words, straining against the emotion that swept through her along with the memory of her mother fixing a pot of soup for the weekend. She called it kitchen sink soup, and it was supposed to last all weekend, so neither one of them would have to cook, but instead of being a throwaway meal, it had become her favorite and something she looked forward to every Friday. Soup wasn’t the kind of meal you ate on the fly, it was a sit down experience, meant to be shared over conversation. She would tell her mother all about her day and her mother would do the same.

  Catherine felt a hand on her arm, and she looked up to see Stella looking intently at her. “Food is powerful stuff,” Stella said. “It carries strong memories.”

  “It does,” Catherine replied, surprised she didn’t feel a familiar urge to shake off the physical contact from this woman who was virtually a stranger. She drew her hand back with the now full bowl of soup and added all of the toppings Stella had recommended, and then followed Starr to the rustic table in the center of the kitchen.

  Starr handed her a large spoon. “I see you wisely followed Mama’s recommendation about toppings,” she said.

  “And you didn’t?”

  “I add sour cream. She thinks I’m a heathen, but then she raised me so she’s partly responsible.”

  Stella swatted her on the head with a rolled napkin before joining them at the table. “You see what I put up with?”

  “Who saved you from being locked out of the house for the rest of the night?”

  Catherine’s head switched back and forth at their playful banter. She missed this kind of close affection. She’d had some limited exposure to real friendship in her adult life—a casual outing with acquaintances and the occasional personal interaction she shared with Doris, but those were only glimpses of what she could have had if she’d been willing to open up, a risk she’d never deemed worth taking. Could she have more now that the risk had been taken for her?

  “You don’t like the soup?” Stella asked.

  “Sorry,” Catherine said. “I was daydreaming.” She plunged the large spoon into the bowl, caref
ul to skim up a helping that included all of the requisite ingredients. When the spicy, warm mixture with its deep flavors and variety of textures hit her tongue, she moaned with pleasure. “This might be the best soup I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Might be?”

  Catherine grinned and plunged her spoon back into the bowl. “I’ll keep eating and let you know.”

  Stella patted her arm again, and this time it didn’t faze her at all. “Enjoy. Now what can you two tell me about this case you’re working on?”

  Starr’s soupspoon clattered against the table. “Mom, you know we can’t talk about the case.”

  “You can surely tell me if you’re close to finding that poor girl.” Stella shuddered. “I can’t imagine what the mayor is going through, wondering if she will ever see Hannah again. What is it they say on those shows? If they don’t find her in the first forty-eight hours, the chances go down severely.”

  “Mom!”

  Catherine set her spoon down. “It’s okay.” She turned to Stella. “That statistic is true in most cases, but we have reason to believe this case is different. She’s out there and she’s alive. We just have to find her, and everyone is working to get that done.” She deliberately didn’t look at Starr as she spoke the words but put all her energy into hoping what she said was true. She’d come close to saying why she knew this to be true. This soup, this cozy kitchen, the memories all these things evoked were almost enough to make her forget she should always be on guard and careful. She took another bite of soup, hoping her full mouth would keep her from having to answer any questions, but it was the buzzing of Starr’s phone that saved her.

  “Crap. I have to go.” Starr pushed back the bowl while she read the screen on her phone. “Sorry, Mom.”

  “But you just started eating.”

  “I know, but I really have to go.”

  Catherine’s gut clenched at the realization there probably had been a break in the case. She set down her spoon and stood. “Let’s go.” Starr motioned for her to sit down.

  “I’ll get someone to come get you and take you back to your office.”