Leading the Witness Page 5

  Turner shook her head like she was trying to wake up. “Certainly. Forgive my manners. Follow me.”

  Starr shot a look at Pearson who shrugged. They both followed the mayor down the hall to a large room lined with bookshelves. Starr didn’t recognize the man sitting in the room, but he had lawyer written all over him, from his expensive suit to the pompous expression with which he regarded them. He rose to greet them.

  “Linda, is everything okay?”

  “Nothing will be okay until Hannah is back,” she said, but her tone wasn’t chastising, it was forlorn. “William, this is Starr Rio from the DA’s office and Detective Pearson who is taking the lead on the investigation. William is a long time family friend. He’s also a lawyer. Perhaps you know each other,” Turner said, looking at Starr.

  Starr stuck out her hand and tried not to squirm at the half-assed handshake William delivered. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” She saw William cut his eyes toward Pearson like he wanted to wish him out of the room, but Pearson merely nodded and smiled.

  Turner motioned for them to sit down, and the moment they were settled, William launched in. “I was thinking perhaps I could act as a liaison. Understandably, the Turners are overwrought, but you could let me know what’s going on and any information you need and I’ll facilitate the communications.”

  What the hell? Starr resisted saying the words out loud, but just barely. Instead she crossed her hands in her lap and looked at him, letting silence work for her. It didn’t take long.

  “We could proceed a different way too. We want to be flexible and work with you on all aspects of the investigation.”

  Starr felt Pearson getting restless behind her. She wanted to stop this cat and mouse game and set him loose on this joker, but if there was something else going on that would help them solve this case, they weren’t going to figure it out by pushing. “We appreciate your help. I was just saying to the mayor that we thought it would be a good idea to talk when Mr. Turner returns. What do you think?”

  “That sounds like a good plan, but in the meantime, Linda could tell you what she knows in the interest of efficiency.”

  He said “interest of efficiency” like he was talking about a corporate merger, and Starr cringed inwardly, but on the outside, she maintained a steady smile. “That would be perfect. Don’t you agree, Detective Pearson?” The question was rhetorical. Mostly she just wanted to make eye contact with Pearson to make sure they were on the same page—find out what had prompted the Turners to feel like they needed to have an attorney present while they talked to the police about what had to be the most devastating thing that could happen to a parent.

  “Absolutely,” Pearson said. “I’d like to start by going over Hannah’s daily routine.”

  Turner cast a quick look at William whose nod was almost imperceptible. “My husband usually drops Hannah off at school around seven forty-five. She has private lessons with her clarinet teacher, Mr. Gordon, before band practice. But yesterday, Keith had an early meeting, so Hannah rode in with one of her friends’ parents, Rochelle Delson.”

  Starr made a note that they’d need to talk to the Delsons but didn’t interrupt the flow of the account. Pearson merely nodded. “We’ve talked to Mr. Gordon, so we know that she made it there on time. Her other teachers say that she was in all of her scheduled classes. What did she usually do for lunch?”

  “It varied. Like most kids, she hated taking a lunch even to the point she would use her own allowance to pay for lunch when we wouldn’t give in…”

  The mayor’s voice trailed off, and she coughed to cover her throat choking up. Starr could only imagine how painful it must be to rerun every interaction in her mind, knowing it might be the last conversation she’d ever have with her missing daughter.

  “How about we get a list of her friends?” Starr said. “People she hung out with at school. We can fill in details from what they remember.”

  Mayor Turner reached for a Kleenex, dabbed at her eyes, and cleared her throat. “Yes, that sounds good. We’ll do that as soon as we’re done here.”

  “Did you get the warrant?” William interjected in a complete non sequitur.

  Starr stared at him for a moment, contemplating her approach. She could feel Pearson bristling at the question, but of course the mayor’s office would have the resources to find out more about a pending investigation than the average citizen, so she wasn’t sure why they were surprised. What did surprise her was that they didn’t know what had happened. “We don’t have sufficient grounds to obtain a warrant yet. We need more information. I know you told Detective Pearson about your brother-in-law’s record, but I ran his criminal history and he’s never been accused of any crimes against people, only financial crimes. Without something to tie him to your daughter’s disappearance, no judge is going to give us a warrant to search his car or his home.”

  “Is that so? There are a lot of judges in this town.” Mayor Turner’s implication was clear, and William reached over and placed a hand on her arm.

  “What the mayor means,” he said, “is that surely you can find someone open to the possibility the child’s uncle has some knowledge of Hannah’s whereabouts?”

  Starr turned away from him and focused her attention on the mayor. “Do you think your brother-in-law took your daughter or knows where she is?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. He asked us for a loan last week. He could be trying to ransom her. I know no one has asked for a ransom yet, but maybe they are waiting for the right moment.”

  Starr wanted to brush away the hypothetical as pure speculation, but she’d seen too many other crazy things in her career to ignore the accusation completely. “I think it would be helpful to speak to your husband about this. Did he say when he’d be back?”

  Again the subtle exchange of looks between the mayor and William. Starr was about to call them on it when they were interrupted by a man’s voice from the doorway.

  “I’m here.”

  Starr had never met the mayor’s husband. Professor Keith Turner rarely appeared with his wife at public functions, and generally kept a low profile. She watched him carefully as he rushed across the room to his wife’s side. He was trim, athletic, and good-looking. He taught economics at the University of Texas and, based on what Starr had found on the internet the night before, he was well liked by his students, especially the female ones. Bookish wasn’t her thing, so she didn’t get it, but she could imagine how the handsome professor might make the coeds swoon.

  “Do you have an update?”

  Pearson responded quickly, likely to dispel the look of hopefulness on his face. “Not yet.”

  Starr watched his face fall, and he reached for his wife’s hand. The pause lasted a second too long before she clasped his outstretched hand, and Starr seized on the obvious discord between them. “Your wife just told us about your brother. Would you like to fill us in about his record?”

  Chapter Four

  Catherine pressed the buzzer and stared at the door, willing it to open. She was already annoyed that she’d had to wait all day for this appointment. She’d barely been able to concentrate on any of her work and had finally abandoned all pretense at productive activity, choosing to spend the balance of the day buried in the internet, hungrily devouring every bit of information she could find about Mayor Turner’s missing daughter. The details were scarce. The day she’d gone missing, Hannah Turner had gone to school. According to her teachers and classmates, it had been a normal day. She’d walked home in the company of one of her friends. When they’d arrived at the friend’s house, Hannah had continued on her own, but her friend spotted her talking to someone in a white pickup, and she hadn’t been seen since. The police were circulating photos of Hannah, and as much information as they had, but it wasn’t much. Search and rescue teams were forming to hunt for her, starting with the wooded area a few blocks from the school, but Catherine knew more intimately than any of them that she could be anywhere, and she might very well b
e missing for a very long time.

  Her gut clenched and she reached for the buzzer again, her finger wavering while she fought for control. Keep it together. She lowered her hand and paced the room, silently repeating the mantra until she thought she’d calmed down, but when the door finally opened, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Dr. Wanda Marsh stood in the doorway wearing a purple dress that billowed around her tall, willowy frame.

  “You’re late,” Catherine said. “I almost left,” she lied.

  Dr. M looked at her watch. “I’m exactly on time, but I’m glad you didn’t leave. Would you like to come in?”

  Catherine hesitated, the familiar push and pull tearing her apart. Staying was necessary, but she longed to be far away from this office and the reason why she was here in the first place. But the truth was she didn’t have a choice. She never would. “I’ll stay.”

  “Excellent. Come on in.”

  Catherine followed her into the room. She hadn’t been back here in over six months, but nothing about the office had changed, from the homey collection of outdated furniture to the funky collection of folk art adorning the walls and every available surface. Catherine spotted her favorite brown corduroy chair but lingered in the middle of the room until Dr. M said, “have a seat,” before settling in, telling herself it would be impolite not to. Once she was seated, Dr. M plunked into the chair across from her, her legs tucked up into the cushion and her hands outstretched and welcoming. Her casualness had bothered Catherine at first. She’d taken the unprofessional clothing and the mismatched furnishings as a sign of disrespect, minimizing her issues, but at some point, Catherine had started to realize Dr. M’s approach was a subtle way of breaking down any barriers between them. If she’d shown up in a suit and ushered Catherine into a sterile office atmosphere, there would have always been a wall between them—two professionals vying for who could be the smartest person in the room. Dr. M’s laid-back demeanor caused Catherine to stand down. These meetings weren’t a contest; they were a fight for survival, and she took deep comfort in knowing they were on the same side.

  “It’s good to see you,” Dr. M said with genuine warmth. “Is there something particular on your mind today?”

  Catherine wanted to yell “Of course there is. This is the first time I’ve been here in months,” but she knew that just because she’d been slammed by the news of Hannah Turner’s disappearance didn’t mean it was on everyone else’s radar. Instead she focused on clearing up unsettled business. “Thanks for seeing me. I know it’s been a while.”

  “You’re always welcome here.”

  Catherine felt a tinge of annoyance that Dr. M wasn’t angrier that she’d stopped these sessions, against her advice, only to abruptly insist on being seen at once months later. Catherine knew her anger wasn’t rational, but she didn’t care. “Why am I always welcome? Are you so desperate for clients, you’d take back one that ran out before she was done?”

  Dr. M’s facial expression didn’t change, but Catherine caught a flicker in her eyes that signaled sympathy, and she struggled to keep that from sending her into a rage.

  “If you want to talk about why you left, we can do that, but I got the impression on the phone that something new had become an urgent matter. We can start with whichever subject you’d like.”

  Catherine had a choice. She could keep trying to push Dr. M away or she could tell her the reason she’d come in the first place. She took a deep breath and took the plunge. “Have you seen the news?”

  “I read the paper this morning.”

  “Then you must know about the mayor’s daughter.”

  Dr. M nodded. “There weren’t a lot of details in the story I saw, but I gather everyone is really worried.”

  “And they should be. They should be way more worried than they are. They have absolutely no idea what they’re dealing with.”

  “And you do?”

  “She was taken.”

  “Maybe. I heard the police are looking into several possibilities.”

  “That’s what they tell the press to keep it from becoming a feeding frenzy. She’s been taken. I know from a very reliable source that the police know this, and they are following up on leads.”

  “That’s good that the police are on it. Right?”

  Catherine shook her head. “Please.”

  “You disagree?”

  “I absolutely disagree. All they are likely to do is fuck things up.” Catherine’s voice rose with the declaration and she saw Dr. M’s face scrunch slightly, but she didn’t care. She was paying her, after all, and if she wanted to shout to get her point across, that was her prerogative.

  “And you know this?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “Because of what happened to you.”

  Catherine bit back a sarcastic response and sat silent, wondering why she had come here today. Yesterday, in the panic of hearing about Hannah’s disappearance, she had been desperate for the familiar comfort of Dr. M’s office, but it had been too long since she’d been here and now everything was awkward and unfamiliar. “I think I should go.”

  “That’s one choice.”

  “You act like I have a choice about anything,” Catherine snapped as the powerlessness of her past nipped at her present. Intellectually, she knew she wasn’t without power. She’d spent years working to make sure she had choices, that her past would not confine her to living her life in the shadow of what had happened to her, letting it define everything about her. But right now it felt like all her hard work had been in vain. All the money, all the time, all the angst of regurgitating every sordid detail, every rotten feeling, every memory that for years had jarred her from sleep, screaming in the night, and here she was, weak and vulnerable because of a news story about a little girl she didn’t even know. “I just can’t.”

  “Give me two minutes, and if you decide you want to leave after that, I won’t try to stop you.”

  Catherine suspected the two-minute promise was a trick, but she let herself fall for it. She sat back down but stayed on the edge of her seat. “Time starts now.”

  “You say you can’t, but you underestimate your abilities. You heard about Hannah Turner and you called me. How long did you wait? Not even a day?”

  “For all the good it did. You made me wait a day to see you.”

  “You assured me on the phone you weren’t in immediate danger. Another choice. You make choices all the time, and most of them are about surviving. You changed your name. You put yourself through law school. You run a successful practice. For five years, you came to see me every week. These are choices you have made. Important choices. Choices that say you care about taking care of yourself, but the truth is you will probably have to keep making these choices the rest of your life because what happened to you was horrible and traumatic, and while we can give you tools to cope with it, I can’t make it go away. So, the question is, are you going to choose to deal with how this is affecting you or are you going to choose to bury your feelings so that they can resurface in some random way that will likely bite you in the ass when you least expect it?”

  Catherine smiled and shook her head. “You sounded all professional until you said ‘ass.’”

  Dr. M grinned. “Well, none of us is perfect.”

  Catherine wanted to tell her that what she said was perfect. It was exactly what she needed to hear to shake her out of her head, and she needed to get out of her head because her brain was conjuring up all kinds of crazy nightmares right now. But instead she settled on a simple, “I’ll stay.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s start with how you heard.”

  “At the courthouse. Everyone was talking about it.”

  “Did you join in?”

  “No. I mean not generally. I talked to a friend of mine who’s a judge, and she told me a little more detail and the name of the prosecutor working the case.” Catherine’s voice shook as she said the last words and she struggled to steady her voice. “She didn’t tell me anyt
hing that’s not public.”

  “Okay, but she did tell you something that triggered your reaction.”

  “What are you implying? Don’t you think it’s natural for me to react this way, simply based on the facts?”

  “Sure, but there’s something else going on. Surely you can feel it too. Why is this particular case affecting you so strongly?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “I know why in general, but I guess I mean as compared to other cases. You’re at the courthouse all the time. I imagine you hear about all kinds of missing children cases, and perhaps much worse.”

  Catherine knew the answer, so why was it so hard to admit it? Especially here in this safe place. Nothing she said here would ever be repeated, but the act of saying something out loud had a power she wasn’t sure she wanted to unleash, especially here where the next step was to examine her feelings around it. She struggled with her emotions for a few minutes before blurting out the reason for her angst. “The prosecutor they assigned to the case is a fraud. She’s going to blow the whole thing, and even if they make an arrest, they will never bring the defendant to justice.”

  Dr. M set her notebook down and nodded. “That sounds horrible.”

  “It is.”

  “What do you think motivates her?”

  “What?”

  “This prosecutor, what’s her name?”

  “Starr. Starr Rio.”

  “It sounds like you’ve had experience with her before.”

  “I have.”

  “In the courtroom?”

  “Yes, recently.”

  “And she screwed you over?”

  “Tried to.”

  “Back to my original question. What motivates her?”

  Catherine knew what motivated people like Starr—the desire to win, power—but that didn’t justify their behavior. “It doesn’t matter. If she’s not following the law, if she’s cutting corners, then she shouldn’t be working this case.”