Leading the Witness Page 21

  Nelson started shaking his head, but Murphy motioned for him to leave the room. When Nelson was finally gone, Starr rushed to explain. “Whatever my personal feelings for Catherine Landauer, I would never let them get in the way of how I handled this case.”

  Murphy sighed. “That may be true, but you know as well as I do that it’s the appearance of impropriety that matters, not whether you actually did anything wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  She wanted to face him, to give him some rational explanation, but the plain truth was she hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d given in to feelings of attraction and lust without any regard for how her actions might impact this case. Not just her own role in it, but the case overall. A good defense attorney would have a heyday if they knew she’d been sleeping with the key witness within hours of Pratt’s arrest. They would play it like Starr had brought home a trophy to gain a lover. “It just happened. I wish it hadn’t.”

  Even as she spoke the last words, she wasn’t sure if they were true. Did she really regret her night with Catherine or only the fallout? She didn’t know the answer, but this wasn’t the time to ruminate on her mistakes. It was time to face the consequences. “What happens now?”

  “I’m pulling you from the case. Pearson can work with Nelson. The task force will dig in and do their best to find out who kidnapped Hannah Turner before the mayor fires the chief of police and makes this office look incompetent.”

  Starr cycled through his words, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “But what about Pratt?”

  “You mean the guy you think is Russell Pratt? Pearson will keep an eye on Albert Stevens. If he really is Russell Pratt, we’ll notify Albuquerque so they can come get him, but your decision to have him arrested last night was premature. We don’t have anything to tie him to Hannah Turner or the Winfield case, and Albert Stevens has no criminal record.”

  “But Catherine ID’d him as her kidnapper.” Starr tried hard to keep the desperation out of her voice, but she couldn’t quell her rising fear.

  “When? During pillow talk with the lead prosecutor on the case?”

  “You could put him in a lineup and let her ID him there.”

  He waved his hand to indicate he was done discussing the matter. “That’s Albuquerque’s decision, not ours, but I’ll be damned if we’re going to taint their case any further. We need to get out of it and fast. Besides, for all you know, Hannah Turner’s abduction is a copycat crime. We’ll keep a close eye on Stevens or whoever he is, and if Albuquerque wants to send someone out to question him about the Winfield case, we’ll assist in any way we can. If we turn up credible evidence he was involved in Hannah’s case, we can rearrest him. Right now, we’re focused on damage control. He was released this morning.”

  Starr’s knees buckled and she braced a hand on the chair. “What?”

  “It’s not your problem anymore. I’m not going to take any disciplinary action against you, and I’ll make sure Nelson keeps his mouth shut, but you’re off this case. Understood?”

  Starr nodded slowly, but the only thing she completely understood was that she’d let Catherine down and she may very well have tanked her career at the same time.

  * * *

  Catherine was just pulling into the parking lot of her office when Starr called. She answered on the first ring, not caring if she appeared too eager. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left this morning. I wish I could’ve stayed in bed.”

  Catherine’s heart skipped at the idea Starr had been thinking about her and the time they’d shared, but she thought she also heard some reservation in Starr’s voice. “Is everything okay?”

  “We should talk. Where are you?”

  And just like that, Catherine’s heart went from skipping beats in a good way to thudding into the quick pattern she associated with the desire for flight. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Are you at home?”

  Starr was lying. Catherine was certain, and she wasn’t about to wait for answers. “I need to know what’s wrong. Tell me now.” She heard Starr sigh and counted the seconds until Starr replied, wishing she could reach through the phone and claw the words from her throat.

  “Pratt’s been released.”

  “On bond?” Catherine asked, sure she must’ve misunderstood the meaning.

  “No. He’s been released free and clear. Murphy isn’t going to charge him. Not now anyway.”

  Starr’s words echoed in her head like booming thunder, and like thunder, they warned of a storm to come. Catherine braced against the torrent of thoughts Starr’s revelation had unleashed. She started to ask Starr to repeat what she’d said, because surely she’d misheard, but she couldn’t bear hearing the words again if they were true. “You have to fix it. You’re the prosecutor assigned to the case. He’ll listen to you.”

  “He won’t. I’m no longer on the case. Apparently, someone told Murphy I spent the night at your house and now they think I have a conflict. He tossed me off the case, and since Nelson knows all about it, any chance I had at election is probably doomed.”

  The dull roar subsided and now all Catherine felt was anger. “Russell Pratt is free and on the loose and all you care about is your electability?”

  “No, of course not. You’re the first person I called because I care about you. I wanted you to hear about Pratt from me. I promise I’ll do whatever I can.”

  Catherine wanted to shout that whatever Starr could do it wouldn’t be enough. They’d arrested Russell Pratt and let him go. It was like her childhood all over again, except this time she should’ve known better than to trust the authorities, but she’d done it anyway. And now the press would get wind that Jill Winfield was alive and well in Austin, Texas, and they’d start knocking on her door, ready to mine for reader gold, deep in the pages of her life.

  “Catherine, are you still there?”

  She stared at the phone in her hand. She was here and she wasn’t. She was Catherine and she was Jill. She’d tried so hard to separate the two, but despite all her efforts, here she was, forced to confront her past no better armed now than she had been then.

  “Catherine, please say something. Tell me where you are. I need to see you, make sure you are okay.”

  She wasn’t okay, and that was something no one else could fix, not Dr. M, not Starr. She’d been foolish to believe she could have a life outside of the past that framed her. All she wanted was to be alone, which was what she’d done effortlessly for years. Why was it so difficult now? She braced for the strength to do the only thing that would protect her from any more harm. “I’m hanging up. Please leave me alone.”

  She heard Starr protest, but didn’t keep the call connected long enough to make out the words. It was for the best. She turned her phone off, slipped it in her pocket, got out of the car, and made her way into the office, thankful she’d given Doris time off. Solitude was exactly what she needed to sort out where she’d go from here, both literally and figuratively. Maybe it was time for a move. Time to find a place where no one knew her past and where Russell Pratt could no longer taunt her.

  She’d barely reached for the light switch in her office when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone racking the slide of a gun. She froze in place, certain she knew what was about to happen and powerless to stop it. The next sound she heard confirmed her deepest fears.

  “Little Jill Winfield is all grown up now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pearson picked up on the first ring. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

  “I know,” Starr said as she left Murphy’s office and headed to her own. “Believe me, I know. I had to meet with Murphy, and I’m pretty sure you know why.”

  He sighed into the phone. “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

  “I appreciate the attempt.” Starr paused, unsure exactly how to broach the re
al reason for her call. She’d been going nuts since Catherine had hung up on her. She contemplated driving to Catherine’s house or office, but she didn’t need the patrol unit watching either to report back to Murphy that she was ignoring his orders. Still, she needed to know where Catherine was, if only so she could rest assured she was being watched over now that Pratt was a free man. She had to trust Pearson if she wanted the information, and she plunged in. “I need to know where Catherine is.”

  “Don’t you think it’s best if you stayed away for a while?”

  She appreciated the gentle way he admonished her. “Yes, but this isn’t about that.”

  “I think I know what it’s about, and I get it, but you need to lay low for a bit.”

  “I just want to know that she’s safe,” she spoke the half-truth with as much strength as she could muster. “If I knew where she was, I could stop worrying.”

  “I’m guessing she’s probably at home.”

  “Can you check with the patrol unit?”

  “What?” A pause, then, “Oh, they were pulled this morning. Chief’s orders.”

  “What?” It was Starr’s turn to be surprised. “But what about Pratt? He knows where she works, probably knows where she lives. What’s to stop him from going after her, especially now that he thinks he’s in the clear?”

  “We’re going to keep tabs on Stevens for a while.”

  Starr heard the equivocation in his phrasing, and she barely resisted screaming into the phone that Stevens’s real name was Pratt. “Do you know where he is right this second?”

  “Last thing he said when he left was that he was going to his attorney’s office. Chief had us stand down for now. Don’t need a lawsuit claiming we harassed him by following him to his lawyer’s office after the charges were dropped. But I promise you we’ll keep an eye out.”

  Starr barely heard most of what he’d said after he said the words “attorney’s office,” and dread swept through her. Could it be so simple? She had to know. She started to ask Pearson to join her, but hesitated. No sense getting both of them in trouble, and she’d rather see Catherine for the first time alone. She’d check out her hunch and maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to get Catherine to listen to her, forgive her for the way she’d botched the case and whatever had happened between them.

  A few minutes later, she started her car and while it was warming up, she sent one more text to Catherine. I know I’m the last person you want to talk to right now, but I need to know you’re okay. She hit send and managed not to look at the screen again until she pulled up outside Catherine’s office. She parked beside Catherine’s car, pleased her instincts had been correct and hoping that because the rest of the parking lot was empty, she would be able to talk to Catherine alone. The first thing she did when she shut off the ignition was check her phone, but Catherine hadn’t responded to any of her texts. She could hear Murphy’s and Pearson’s voices in her head, telling her to drive away, but she was already committed. She’d go in and say her piece. What happened next would be entirely up to Catherine.

  * * *

  Catherine stared at Pratt, marveling at how much he had changed, but how familiar he seemed. His hair was gray now and his skin was weathered, but the familiar smile was present—the one she’d found engaging when she’d first met him, but later learned was a mask designed to trick her into submission.

  “Come in. Have a seat.”

  The gun in his hand made it clear his words weren’t a request, but a command. Her gun. The one she kept in her desk for emergencies. The irony almost made her laugh. “What do you want?” she asked, pushing as much strength into her voice as she could muster.

  “I want you to sit down and talk to me. It’s been a long time, and I’d like to get reacquainted with you.”

  Standing felt like the only advantage she had, and she was loath to give it up, but her few seconds of hesitation had him waving the barrel of her gun, and she reluctantly complied, selecting the chair farthest from him and closest to the door. Her mind started spinning with possibilities. No one knew where she was, and the circle of people who might care was so small it was unlikely anyone would notice her missing for days. She’d canceled meetings and postponed court appearances for the rest of the week, and just this morning she’d told Doris not to come in until next Monday. Her next appointment with Dr. M wasn’t until late next week. Starr had been persistently texting her, but she’d made it crystal clear she wanted to be left alone.

  Whatever Pratt chose to do to her, no one would know about it until it was too late to help, and for once the isolation she used to embrace felt more like a restraint than a comfort. She was on her own, and if she wanted to survive this encounter, she would have to do the rescuing all on her own.

  But the past weighted her down, and she sunk farther into the chair as if she were the girl she’d once been, trying desperately to keep from drawing Pratt’s prurient attention.

  “Tell me how you’ve been,” he asked. “I want to hear all about your life since you decided to walk out on me and the plans that I had for us.”

  Catherine struggled to hide her shudder, but he was watching her so intently, she feared he would pick up on her revulsion for him. Her younger self had survived by being compliant. Never raising her voice, never crossing him. Biding her time until the opportunity to escape presented itself and she could slip away. But as she stared down the barrel of her own gun, she realized there would be no such opportunity now. She didn’t know exactly what Pratt wanted, but she suspected he wasn’t here to take her as his bride. No, now that the cops had released him, he was here to get rid of any evidence of the crime he’d committed so many years ago. The tactics she’d once employed would be of no use to her now, and she reached deep to summon every bit of strength she’d gained back over the years.

  “I’ve been great. Never better than since I escaped your filthy den. What do you care anyway? You moved on, or was Hannah Turner not what you were looking for?”

  His grin was feral, no longer reminiscent of the friendly handyman who’d lured her from her bed in the middle of the night. “Little Hannah was exactly what I was looking for. High profile, guaranteed to arouse your curiosity. It was a bit of a challenge finding the exact same bows, but I managed.”

  “You expect me to believe you’ve been lying in wait all these years for the perfect opportunity to bust back into my life? How did you even find me?” She asked the question to goad him, but she really did want to know how he’d managed to track her down. At some point, years ago, she’d stopped furtively looking over her shoulder, but she’d kept her circle small not only to keep her privacy, but as a protective measure. Had her efforts been completely in vain?

  “At first, I had to hide because of the lies you told the police, but that was simply a test of my patience and faith. Your defiance robbed me of my promised life. I never married. God said I wasn’t worthy after I’d let the pure gift he’d sent to me escape. I wandered the country, lost and desolate, but then I came across that interview where you got so angry with that reporter, and I knew then that God had led me back to you.”

  Catherine racked her brain, and then it came to her. She’d always been careful about avoiding the press, using Doris to fend them off, but the week before Peter Knoll’s trial started, she’d been accosted by Gloria Flynn as she left the courthouse. In Gloria’s usual style, she fired off incendiary questions designed to provoke, and that day, after a particularly grueling day hashing out pretrial motions, Catherine had lost her cool. Her responses had been terse and temperamental—the exact kind of sensationalist sound bites pseudo journalists like Gloria loved to air on the evening news. She recalled her dismay that the clip of her interview was picked up by one of the cable news channels featuring stories of domestic abuse, but she’d simply been annoyed at the fact she’d lost her cool, when apparently, she should’ve been worried about the fact she’d be recognized. “I can’t believe you could tell that was me.”

  H
e stood and walked toward her. Catherine braced against his approach, wanting to run, but knowing she couldn’t outdistance a bullet. She counted his steps while her eyes swept the room, searching for something, anything she could use to defend herself, finally landing on a heavy crystal paperweight, a gift from Doris, on the far edge of her desk. She glanced away to keep Pratt from noticing, but she mentally calculated how many of her own steps it would take to reach the paperweight. As he drew closer, she feigned a stumble and clutched the edge of the desk to right her balance, her hand almost within reach of her potential weapon.

  He was right next to her now and she could feel his warm, jagged breath on her neck as he reached up and touched the skin just to the left of her eye, caressing it with his thumb. “You still do that thing when you get angry, where you can’t stop blinking. You were so angry when we first started to live together until you realized it was meant to be. I thought you would’ve outgrown that little tic, but I’m glad you didn’t since that was what led me back to you.”

  Catherine flinched at his touch and her first instinct was to shut down, to let whatever was about to happen unfold outside her body, while she curled inward, the same way she’d done time after time when she was Jill Winfield, small and powerless. She felt her eyes drift shut and a dull roar drowned out her thoughts.

  He ran his thumb down the side of her face. “Your voice, your eyes. I memorized everything about you. It wasn’t chance that I saw that interview. It was divine intervention that lead me back to you.”

  His words were like sharp tacks, piercing through her defenses, stabbing her awake. Jill would’ve burrowed deeper, resisting the urge to inflame the monster, but she wasn’t a small, helpless little girl anymore. She was a strong, fierce, independent woman who’d fought to keep her past from defining her. Jill had managed to escape her captor, but she’d never been free. Catherine had to finish the job, and this was her chance, her moment. With a quick glance at the gun hanging at Pratt’s side, she lunged for the paperweight and in a perfect arc of motion, swung it against his head.