Leading the Witness Page 16

  “We’re not sure yet. I’ll get someone to take you back to your office, and we’ll call you when we know more.”

  Catherine nodded. Being here was taking its toll and her presence wasn’t helping. Hell, she couldn’t even keep track of whether things were happening in the past or present. “Okay.”

  “Wait here,” Starr said, her voice comforting and calm. “I’ll be right back.”

  Catherine watched her walk back toward the huddle of people. She couldn’t see what they were gathered around, but she assumed it was the grave. Was Hannah buried a mere few feet away? How many steps would it take to find out?

  She shook her head. No. She couldn’t think about that. She glanced around, seeking something, anything to focus on instead of the possibility they’d been too late. She stared again at the bright white bow fixed halfway up the trunk of a large cedar tree. All she could think was that it was placed too tall for Hannah to have put it there. Unable to stop herself, she started walking toward the tree, ignoring the call of one of the techs for her to stop. She stood beneath the bow, staring upward. Her rational attorney brain told her it was evidence and would wind up in a sealed and labeled plastic bag to be produced in court, but her base level emotion told her to grab a stick from the ground, knock the bow down, and crush it beneath her heel. It had been years since she’d succumbed to these violent thoughts, but now that they were back, they flooded her entire body, filling her with a bristling rage.

  “Take it down.”

  The tech moved toward her, but Starr pushed him aside. “Catherine, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “He could be watching.”

  Starr nodded slowly, the kind of placating gesture you offer a toddler whose imagination has conjured the unbelievable. “He’s not. They’ve searched the area.” She held out her hand. “Let’s go back to the car.”

  “I’m not leaving until you take it down.” Catherine couldn’t articulate the why and hoped Starr wouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t abide the bow displayed in plain sight like a mocking laugh designed directly for her. You can’t catch me. I’ve come for you. Her adult self wasn’t the least bit scared of Pratt, but the little person inside had never truly healed, and no amount of therapy and medication could possibly have prepared her for his return. “It has to come down.” She hated the begging tone, but she had no choice. She locked eyes with Starr until Starr signaled for the tech to take it down. She watched his gloved hand reach high above her head and slowly extract the bow from the surface of the tree. She watched as he slipped the bow and the pin that had held it in place into a plastic bag and tucked it into the box that held all the other bits of evidence they’d gathered so far. Her ears filled with a dull roar partly masking the conversation happening behind her, but she could sort of make out the words.

  “You have to get her out of here.”

  “I know.”

  “If you want to stay, one of the patrol guys can run her back.”

  “No, I’ve got it.”

  “I’ll call you when we…I’ll call you after.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  A hand pressed lightly against her back, and she knew without looking it was Starr. When had she developed such an awareness of her rival, and when had the balance of power shifted between them? She wanted to fight it, but she couldn’t muster the energy it would take to resist. Not right now. She turned to face her. “What now?”

  “We have to go.”

  “I know.” Catherine didn’t wait for Starr to respond before taking off back in the direction she’d come. She felt like a fool for her indecision—a moment ago she refused to leave and now she couldn’t wait to get out of here. Her emotions were scattered like fallen leaves in a swirl of wind, and she had no more control of her reactions than she did over the forces of nature. She could hear Starr’s footsteps behind hers and she rushed to stay ahead. The ride would be painful enough, and she prayed Starr would be insightful enough to realize she didn’t want to talk or otherwise deconstruct what had just happened. She came out here to be of help, but she was nothing more than a shivering mess of emotion, full of fear and dread. Pratt might have tread this very ground. Would the path he’d chosen to take forever define her?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Starr pulled onto the road and turned back in the direction they’d come, uncertain about what to do or say. Catherine hadn’t spoken a word since she’d led her out of the woods, and she was currently staring out the side window. They rode along in silence for a few moments before Starr ventured into innocuous conversation. “I can drop you at your house if you want,” Starr said.

  “Just take me to my office,” Catherine said.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Starr had told the crime scene techs to take the bouquet, but the memory of it was likely to linger. After the way Catherine had behaved in the woods, she didn’t need any more triggers.

  “Are you seriously patronizing me?”

  “I’m not patronizing you at all.” Starr stopped for a light and turned in her seat. “You’ve had a couple of really traumatic events today, both of them digging up a past you’ve apparently worked really hard to keep buried. If I’d had the day you’ve had, I’d want to be as far away from work as possible and huddled up in the comfort of my home.”

  “Maybe my home isn’t all that comfortable.”

  “That’s an easy fix. Some bubble bath and a bottle of wine can be transformative. Why don’t I take you home and you take the rest of the day for some pampering?”

  Catherine’s eye’s widened and Starr played back her words through an objective lens. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I mean you do deserve a day off, and wine and a bubble bath come highly recommended, but I wasn’t implying—” She shut up abruptly for fear she was digging a bigger hole. She really hadn’t meant to imply that she wanted to share in the comfort making. Or did she?

  She could concede that Catherine was an extremely attractive woman. She was smart and highly accomplished, but totally not her type. She could almost hear her mother telling her that in order to have a type, she would have to actually be dating. Mom was right, but that didn’t change the fact that even if Catherine were her type, by virtue of her connection to this case, she was off limits. If the police managed to catch Pratt, Catherine would be a witness at his trial—a good reason to stay on her good side but keep things professional, which meant no sharing wine or a bubble bath or anything else for that matter.

  “The office is fine,” Catherine said. “I need to check in, although Doris has probably already gone for the day.”

  “Office it is.” Starr could tell by Catherine’s tone there was no point in pushing. She didn’t make eye contact for fear Catherine might read the disappointment she felt. The rest of the ride went by in silence, and it seemed like forever before they pulled up in front of Catherine’s office building. There was only one car in the lot.

  “Is that you?” Starr asked, pointing at the vehicle.

  “Yes. Doris must have left.” Catherine sighed. “Probably not a bad idea. I may do the same.” She pulled the door handle but paused before getting out of the car. “Thanks for letting me come with you today. Tell your mother thanks for the soup.”

  “I will.” Starr searched for something to say that would keep her there longer, but nothing came to mind that didn’t sound silly in her head. “I’ll call you if there’s anything to report.”

  “Thanks.”

  Catherine held her gaze for a moment longer and the air was full of portent, but a moment later, she pushed open the door. Starr watched her go with the nagging sensation that something was off. She glanced around the empty parking lot for a moment before it hit her. Pratt knew where Catherine worked. Did he also know where she lived? Starr pressed the button on her car phone and tapped her hand against the steering wheel until the call connected and Pearson’s gruff voice said hello. “Why don’t we have someone assigned to C
atherine Landauer? I mean Pratt knows where she works. Who’s to say he won’t have her house staked out. She needs protection, and if we have someone watching her, they might be able to get a lead on Hannah.”

  “Good point,” Pearson said. “I’ll see if we can get someone assigned.” He cleared his throat. “They’re about to start digging. Are you going to come back out here?”

  Starr started to answer, but a high-pitched whine from across the parking lot startled her. “Hang on a sec.” She moved the phone away from her ear and watched Catherine slam her steering wheel with both fists. Car trouble? She pulled the phone back toward her. “Don’t wait for me, but call me later when you know something. And let me know about the protective detail. Thanks.” She hung up quickly, climbed out of the car, and strode toward Catherine’s car. She rapped on the window, instantly sorry when Catherine jumped at the sound. When Catherine lowered the window, she leaned in. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It won’t start.”

  “Not sounding like that, it won’t.” Starr motioned for her to try again and winced when it made the same screeching sound. “Sounds like a loose belt. You’re going to need a ride.”

  Catherine sighed. “I’ll call the auto club.”

  It was going to be dark soon, and Starr tensed at the thought of Catherine waiting here in the parking lot by herself for some stranger to come to her aid. “They won’t be able to jump the car. They’re going to have to tow it in. Let me give you a ride home, and you can call them from there.”

  Catherine’s brow furrowed and Starr was certain she was going to say no, but when she finally spoke, she said, “Okay.”

  Starr held the door open, secretly pleased Catherine had acquiesced. It solved the problem of leaving her without a guard, and she looked forward to seeing where Catherine lived, hoping it would give her some insight into what made her tick. But she held in her enthusiasm for fear she would spook Catherine back into her shell.

  * * *

  Catherine stared out the window, hoping Starr wouldn’t notice she was practicing her breathing exercises as an effort to avoid the panic threatening to overwhelm her. No one came to her house. Ever. She knew that fact was strange, but it was what it was, and up until now she’d been perfectly content to wall off her personal life so completely. She should’ve called a car service, walked, anything to avoid this situation, but she’d been caught off guard by Starr’s kind gesture. Lots about Starr had taken her by surprise.

  Seeing Starr interact with the mayor, with Pearson, with her mother had given Catherine several different perspectives. Starr treated colleagues with respect, victims with compassion, and her mother with the good-natured ribbing of an affectionate relationship. The only version of Starr she’d ever known was the one who would do anything to win, even if it meant breaking the rules that ensured everyone got a fair shot. Now Catherine was beginning to question her assumptions.

  “Are you hungry?” Starr asked. “Mom’s soup is good, but I usually eat seconds and there wasn’t time.”

  “I am actually,” Catherine said. “But after this day, I don’t feel like going out.”

  Starr nodded knowingly. “I’m starving. How about I swing through a drive-thru and get us both something since until your car gets fixed, you’re going to be in for the night?”

  “That would be nice. Thanks.”

  Starr named a couple of places, but although she was hungry, making a decision seemed overwhelming and Catherine told Starr to choose. Starr drove to Flyrite Chicken, placed both their orders, and insisted on paying. A short while later, they pulled up in front of Catherine’s house. Starr put the car in park. “I’ll walk you to the door”

  Catherine paused for a moment, the prospect of coming home to an empty house disturbing her for the first time in as long as she could remember. Impulse seized her. “Why don’t you bring your food and have dinner with me?”

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “Nonsense. By the time you get to the police station, your food will be cold. They’ll call you if they find anything, won’t they?” Catherine looked down at her lap. “Besides, I could use the company while we wait.” She looked back up and found Starr staring intently at her. The long silence that followed should’ve been uncomfortable, but instead it was electric with anticipation. Catherine put her hand on the door handle. She’d ask one more time, and then she was done. “Are you coming?”

  “Sure.”

  Catherine led the way up the walk, immediately having second thoughts. She did a mental rundown of the interior of the house, but she knew for a fact it was perfectly clean and everything was in its place. That wasn’t the issue at all, and she knew it. This house was her sanctuary, the place she was able to retreat from the rest of the world, away from the fears of her past that still crept up despite the time and distance since they’d held her in their grip.

  She turned the key in the deadbolt, opened the door, and punched her code in the keypad inside. Starr followed her in and Catherine noted her approving glance at the high tech security system, complete with a video screen displaying a wide-angle view of the entire front porch. “Can I take your coat?” she asked.

  Starr shrugged out of the black wool coat. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  Catherine motioned down the hall. “The kitchen’s over there. I’ll be right back.” She hurried down the hall ahead of Starr and hung both of their coats in the hall closet before ducking into her bedroom. Now that Starr was in her house, her anxiety rose. She considered calling Dr. M, but she already knew what she would say.

  “We’ve talked about you taking the step of inviting people to your house. It’s a big step, but an important one.”

  “Yes, but we’ve talked about ‘people.’ This is different.”

  “How so?”

  Catherine didn’t have an answer for that question. Well, she did, but not one she wanted to admit. Starr wasn’t anything like what she’d thought she would be. She was kind and compassionate and protective in a way that wasn’t smothering. It was almost enough to make her lower her guard. Almost.

  Dinner, a bit of conversation, and then she’d send Starr on her way. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She could do this. The alternative was being alone, and after the day she’d had, the solitary blanket she’d wrapped around her life felt more suffocating than comforting.

  Starr was sitting on one of the barstools by the kitchen counter when Catherine entered the room. She’d half expected her to be snooping through her stuff because who wouldn’t be curious to meet celebrity survival girl Jill Winfield?

  “I probably should’ve grabbed some plates and silverware,” Starr said, “but I didn’t want to go through your cabinets without permission.”

  Mind reader. “No worries.” Catherine was surprised to find that the idea of Starr rummaging around in her kitchen wasn’t an unwelcome thought. She reached for some plates and pointed to a drawer. “Grab whatever you want and I’ll get us something to drink.” She opened the fridge. “I have iced-tea, water.” She pushed aside a few items. “A nice Pinot Grigio.”

  “The wine sounds great, but I probably shouldn’t since I need to go back to the station after we eat.”

  Catherine heard the wistful tone in Starr’s voice. “A tiny glass won’t hurt. Besides, I need a drink, and it’s not nice to make a girl drink alone.” She winced the moment the words left her lips—a cross between desperate and flirty. “But no pressure.”

  “You’re right. A drink is in order.” Starr pointed to the cabinet. “Glasses up here?”

  Catherine remembered the Balcones single malt ordered at Guero’s after the Knoll trial. “I have something stronger if you’d like.”

  Starr cocked her head like she was considering the idea. “Rain check on a whiskey? I think if I have one now, I might curl up in a ball and fall asleep on your couch.”

  The image of Starr lying on the couch sent a flood of warmth through Catherine, and she ducked her
head to hide the blush warming her face. She picked up the plates and carried them over to the kitchen table, having decided the living room was now off limits. Starr joined her with the wine and the bags of food, and they dug in. Catherine was surprised at how hungry she was, but she took the time to savor the taste of the food, curious about the insight it would give her into what Starr liked. The sandwich was delicious, not at all what she would have expected from a drive-thru. Left to her own devices, she would have been sitting in front of the television, scraping a spoon against the bottom of a yogurt container. Another reason she was glad she’d invited Starr in. When they were done eating, she gathered their plates and motioned for Starr to stay seated while she took the dishes to the kitchen.

  “I’m curious about something,” Starr called out after her. “And if it’s impolite to ask, just tell me to mind my own business.”

  Catherine braced for an onslaught of voyeuristic questions, glad Starr couldn’t see her expression from the other room. “Shoot.”

  “Why criminal defense? I mean, considering everything you’ve been through, it seems like you’d be a shoo-in for a prosecutor.”

  It was a fair question, considering Catherine had asked a version of it to Starr earlier. Dr. M had asked the same question years ago, so she should be prepared with an answer. She was, kind of, but she’d rarely had a chance to test it out loud. She set the plates in the sink and returned to the dining room, mulling over potential responses. She sat back down at the table and proceeded carefully. “I actually interned with the Williamson County DA’s office after my second year in law school as part of the clinic program at UT. You know how it was back then, way before the Michael Morton case was catching headlines, and the motto of the day was do whatever it takes to win, defendants have no rights.” She paused and Starr nodded. Everyone in this part of the country knew the story of the murder case. Michael Morton’s wife had disappeared only to show up dead and the former DA and police department that focused all their attention on the husband, certain he had committed the crime. In their quest to shore up the foregone conclusions, they not only ignored evidence that might lead them to other suspects, but they actively hid exculpatory evidence from Morton’s defense attorney. Michael served years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. When he was finally exonerated, instead of crawling away and licking his wounds, he lobbied tirelessly for reform, and just a few years ago the Texas legislature had passed laws to ensure that prosecutors would share evidence with defense attorneys.