by Carsen Taite
“I helped out herding witnesses during trial for a similar case,” Catherine said. “Another husband accused of killing his wife, Deke Tyson. He was convicted, but the case was overturned on appeal and sent back for a retrial.”
“I remember that case. It’s never been closed, has it?” Starr asked.
“No, and I doubt it ever will be. The prosecutor was anxious to retry Tyson right away, but then a slew of evidence came out that pretty much proved he couldn’t have committed the crime, so they dismissed the charges. By then, too much time had passed. Even if they ever do find the real killer, the momentum is gone, and it’s unlikely a jury would view the crime through the same lens as they might have when it was fresh. That experience and a few others left me feeling jaded about the process.”
“You’re saying you decided to work the other side to keep us law-and-order folks in line?”
Catherine searched Starr’s face for any sign she might be making fun with her broad summary of her intent, but all she saw were gentle eyes reflecting real concern. “Something like that. I started working for Neil Daniels right out of law school. Neil was an old family friend of my aunt and uncle. After I graduated from high school in Albuquerque, I told them I wanted to change my identity and apply to UT, so they contacted him because he was a big deal alumnus and he helped me get accepted under my new name. I moved away from New Mexico and never looked back.”
“Were your aunt and uncle upset that you left?”
“I think they were actually relieved. They never really knew what to do with me. Every time we’d meet someone new there would be this contorted explanation of how I’d come to live with them, and I never felt like part of the family. But I connected instantly with Neil. He was smart and kind and patient, and he taught me that our job as defense attorneys was to ensure the system worked. I was too young when my father left to remember what he was like, but I liked to imagine that if I’d had a dad who’d stuck around, he would be like him—the exact opposite of Russell Pratt.”
“I met Neil once. He was good people.”
“Thanks. He died without family and left me the law firm. I was surprised, but it was a godsend not to have to start from scratch in my own practice, and going to work for someone else would’ve been a nonstarter.”
“Because you didn’t want to have to explain your life story?”
“Explain, and then continue to explain. You don’t realize how much your past plays into your everyday life until you’re trying to hide it. Where did you grow up? Do your parents live nearby? Do you have any siblings? Seemingly innocuous questions that everyone else answers as a matter of routine are sharp tools chipping away at all you have left of your privacy. You can’t let anyone close because once your life has been on display twenty-four seven, everyone thinks they own a piece of you.”
“I can’t even imagine. How do you have a life at all?”
Catherine wondered if she was imagining a personal angle to Starr’s question, but pushed the thought away instead of overthinking it. “I keep to myself mostly. I’ve dated occasionally, but inevitably the background and family questions pop up around the second or third date. My evasive answers usually send the women running in the other direction.” She watched for a reaction to her coming out, and thought she detected a trace of recognition, and slight nod of approval at the admission. Why had she thrown in the detail about her sexuality? This wasn’t a date and it wasn’t important that Starr had that information for any reason having to do with the case.
Because some line had been crossed. With Starr in her house, discussing her past, they’d moved from professional to personal with no stops in between. Why wasn’t she more uncomfortable at the shift?
“Thank you for telling me all this,” Starr said. “It’s helpful to have some context. And I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate you coming forward.”
Catherine took a moment to assess Starr’s words. On the surface, nothing about them could be construed as anything other than a prosecutor talking to a witness, but she felt a simmering heat emanating from Starr, and for the first time in a long time, Catherine savored the intense thrill of a human connection. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and touched Starr’s arm. It was a light touch that could be construed as a simple pat, but she lingered a few seconds longer than necessary if she was merely trying to acknowledge Starr’s words, and as the seconds passed, the intensity of the moment became palpable. She tore her attention away from Starr’s arm and looked up into her dark and intense eyes. Something was happening between them and instinct told her to shut it down, but every cell in Catherine’s body was begging her not to break the connection. The room suddenly shrank and the space between them compressed. They were close, extremely close. On any other occasion, faced with the same set of circumstances, Catherine’s first response would’ve been to flee, but even though it was contrary to every impulse she’d had before, she didn’t want to be anywhere else but in this space with this woman.
And then Starr pulled away. “I should go,” she said, standing up and edging away from the table.
Catherine looked up at Starr, wondering how much of the spark between them had been her imagination. This feeling was so new it was hard to know what was actually real and what was conjured out of wishes. But whatever it had been, it was apparently over. At least as far as Starr was concerned. “Okay.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Starr said. “To give you an update.” She started toward the door.
Catherine searched for something to say, something that would restore the moment, take them back to allow her to slow down time and see if she could capture more detail in the replay. “Wait.”
Starr turned slightly.
“Your coat.” She stood and hurried down the hall to her bedroom. A small delay, but it would give her a moment to think. A moment to compose her emotions. Starr’s abrupt exit was for the best. Starr had a job to do, and she could do more good out there than sitting in here, no matter how much Catherine wished she would stay. She took Starr’s coat from the hanger and pulled it to her face, drinking in the soft scent of lavender. The sense memory would have to be enough. It was better this way, leaving her less vulnerable, less exposed. Once Starr left, Catherine could find a way back to the safety her private, solitary self had worked a lifetime to build.
* * *
Starr resisted the urge to look back on the way to her vehicle. She spotted a patrol car at the end of the block and hoped it was the one she’d asked Pearson to send to keep watch over Catherine until Russell Pratt was in custody.
If you really cared about her safety, why did you leave? The internal voice baited her, but she wasn’t about to play that game. Perhaps she’d imagined the heat in the room when Catherine had looked deeply into her eyes, touched her arm, and shared details about her personal life that she’d likely not divulged to anyone else, but even if the spark between them was something she’d conjured out of thin air, it was no less dangerous. Catherine was a witness in this case, and more than that, she was a victim of a horrible crime at the hands of the suspect. Starr had no business engaging with her on any level that wasn’t purely professional.
She probably thinks I’m crazy for running out on her. Before she drove away, Starr reached for her phone, thinking a quick text could smooth things over, but she changed her mind before she could send the message. Best not to blur the lines any further. She’d communicate with Catherine only if she had something specific to report about the case and nothing more. She did see a text from Pearson asking her to call him. Relieved for the distraction, she dialed his number and waited through the rings, about to give up before he finally answered.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Why?” she hedged. “Did you find anything?”
“No body, but forensics is still combing through stuff just in case there’s anything there we can use.”
“I don’t get it,” she said. “What was the point of the grave? Is he l
etting us know he plans to kill Hannah?” Or Catherine? She shook the thought away, unwilling and unable to go there. “I’m headed back to the station now.”
“No point really. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll call you if anything turns up. Chief called a meeting for first thing tomorrow morning. Did you get the message?”
Starr scrolled through her messages and spotted two crucial texts she’d missed while she was having a leisurely dinner with Catherine. One from Murphy letting her know about the meeting and the other from Nelson asking if she wanted him to attend the meeting in her place if she had other things to do. “Sorry, my phone must be acting up.” She offered a silent apology for the lie. “Murphy’s asking for an update, so I better give him a call. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She clicked off before he could ask her anything else and texted Nelson that she wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but she would absolutely be at the task force meeting. Next she called Murphy and brought him up to speed on the flower delivery to Catherine Landauer’s office, and their new working theory that Russell Pratt had emerged from wherever he’d been hiding out the last twenty years. “The lab has the bouquet, but I doubt this guy was dumb enough to leave any useful evidence that will tie it to him.”
“But you think he’s involved in Hannah Turner’s disappearance?”
“I do. I’m not sure how everything is connected yet, but after that call to the tip line that led us to a bow exactly like the ones Catherine received in her office, it’s clear the kidnapper is dropping hints, and they point toward Pratt.”
“All right. I trust your judgment on this, but watch your step. The mayor called and said that you brought Landauer to her house. That was a pretty risky move.”
“I know,” Starr said. He didn’t immediately respond, and she knew he was waiting for her to explain her actions, but she had a feeling he wasn’t going to be too impressed with “I’ve become really attracted to Catherine Landauer, and she must’ve cast a spell over me.” She let a few seconds pass while she came up with something else to say. “Respectfully, sir, I think we’re at the point where we’re going to have to take some risks. For what it’s worth, Mayor Turner didn’t object. In fact, I think having Catherine meet her actually allayed her fears that we don’t have anything to go on yet.”
He grunted. “And that could backfire if this connection doesn’t pan out. I trust you, but be careful. Whenever this thing busts wide open, it will be all over the news, and neither one of us needs bad press right now. I’ll talk to you later.”
He hung up before she could get in another word, leaving her to stew over the implication that her actions should be directed by her political ambition. She cared about only one thing, and that was finding Hannah Turner, alive and well, and putting away the man who had robbed Catherine of a huge chunk of her life, not to mention killing her mother. Sure, the decision to take Catherine to the mayor’s house had been reckless, but she’d do it again in a heartbeat if it led to clues they could use to find Hannah. And free Catherine from living under the shadow of Russell Pratt’s looming presence.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the patrol car again, and she wondered if Catherine had seen her sitting outside on the phone after she’d left so abruptly. Apparently, she was willing to take risks, but not when it came to crossing lines with witnesses. Starr started the car and pulled away from the curb. In order to help Catherine, she needed to put some distance between them.
Chapter Fifteen
Early the next morning, Catherine left a message for Doris that she was closing the office for the day and that she shouldn’t come in. She still hadn’t heard anything from Starr or Detective Pearson about the bouquet Pratt had sent her, but she wasn’t about to put Doris’s life in danger by putting her in proximity to the problems from her past. Maybe she could convince Doris to finally take a vacation. For her part, a late-night call to Dr. M had secured her an appointment for this morning, after which she’d do her best to resume life as usual, whatever that meant.
She wondered what Starr was doing this morning. She wanted to text her, but after no communication from her since she’d rushed out the door last night, Catherine wasn’t sure how to navigate the space between them which had seemed to be getting closer, but now seemed more distant. What she did know was that the simple takeout dinner with Starr last night had been the first normal interaction she’d had with another woman in a very long time, which either meant her regular life was very sad or there was something very special about Starr she’d overlooked up until now.
Catherine stopped at Jo’s on the way to Dr. M’s, telling herself the break with her routine had nothing to do with the anticipation that she might run into Starr now that she knew she frequented the popular spot too. She took a moment to sip her coffee while watching the crowd of people mill around, all of them going about their day as if everything was normal, but her life was completely upended. Her worst nightmare might be anywhere right now, watching her, waiting for an opportunity to swoop in and…She had no idea why Pratt would revisit her. Yes, she’d run from him, but she had a feeling that the trusting little girl she’d once been was more to his liking than the strong and powerful adult woman that she’d become. What possible reason would he have for coming out of hiding after all these years?
And the nightmare was balanced by the strange feelings she was having for Starr, though she acknowledged they were really only strange because she was stunted when it came to romantic relationships. After a hit and miss, mostly miss, few years of dating when she’d graduated from law school, it had gotten to the point that she’d stopped trying, resigned to the fact her plagued past meant she would never be decent relationship material.
She repeated the thought in Dr. M’s office an hour later and braced for the response.
“Maybe you’re right.” Dr. M said.
Catherine felt her jaw drop. It was so unlike Dr. M to respond definitely to anything she said. Besides, she’d expected a dreaded pep talk in response to the depressing admission she was doomed to never have a normal romantic relationship. She supposed she should be grateful for the honesty, but all she felt was stunned. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“It’s not about how I feel. It’s about how you feel.”
“What does that even mean?”
“You’ve had a really hard week, so I’m going to shortcut this for you. Maybe you aren’t relationship material in the way that you think relationships should be.”
“That’s clear as mud. I feel like I should get a discount for this session.”
“Work with me here. Why don’t you describe a perfect relationship to me.”
“No such thing.”
“Okay, how about as close as you believe one can be.”
Catherine sighed. “Two people in love. Commitment. Happily ever after, and all that sweet, sappy, perfect stuff that comes with it.”
Dr. M nodded. “Let’s work with that. Love, commitment, sweet, sappy, perfect stuff. Are all of those things necessary?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
Catherine fiddled with her coffee cup. She’d been coming here long enough that Dr. M should know the answer to pretty much any questions she posed, so she was certain the good doctor was only asking for some didactic reason. She should be used to this method by now, but it never failed to make her want to stick out her bottom lip and stubbornly refuse to answer. But for once she really, really wanted to get past this. Catherine shifted in her chair. “Because I’ve never had any of those things.”
“Fair enough. Do any of them sound appealing to you?”
“Maybe.”
“Can I get something more definitive?”
Catherine rolled her neck, willing away the tension. “I could go for the love part. And I guess the commitment too, but the rest seems unrealistic.”
Dr. M feigned a shocked look. “No sappy for you?”
“As if. But seriously, what’s
your point?”
“My point is that you get to define what a relationship is to you. If you can’t see ever fitting into the definition you’ve heard all your life, then you get to change it to fit you. Does that make sense?”
“What if her definition is different than mine?” Catherine quickly caught the slip and added, “I’m talking global ‘her’ in case you start thinking I have someone specific in mind.”
“It’s just like negotiating a plea deal for one of your clients. If her definition is different, you get to either work it out or walk away.”
“Except I have no personal stake when I’m advocating for a client.”
“True, but without risk there’s no reward. The thing to remember is that your reward gets to be whatever you want it to be. Doesn’t have to have a sappy moment involved.”
Catherine laughed. She hadn’t meant for this session to turn into an hour long dating advice, but now that it had, she was calmer and more at ease than she had been when she arrived. Could it be that the feelings Starr was stirring had her more off kilter than the threat of Pratt? She shook her head. No, it had to be the combination of everything at once. Too many sensations, too many feelings to process. What she thought she was feeling for Starr was likely just a symptom of the loneliness in her life that was being magnified by the visit from her past. Dr. M’s advice was useful and she hoped that one day she would get to apply it, but nothing was going to happen between her and Starr Rio. Not now, not ever.
