by Carsen Taite
* * *
The entire bleary-eyed task force was gathered in the war room, and Pearson was leading the discussion. He reviewed what they had so far, most of which Starr already knew, but she listened with rapt attention just like everyone else. White pickup truck. White satin bows. The delivery to Catherine’s office. As they’d suspected, there was no forensic evidence on the bouquet, but they were working with the florist to determine who might have placed the order.
“We have reason to believe that the suspect may be this guy.” Pearson motioned to an officer sitting nearby who pressed a few buttons on a computer, and an old driver’s license photo of Russell Pratt appeared on the screen. Starr stared at the picture of the innocuous looking man, and thought about how easy it had been for him to entice Catherine from her bed in the middle of the night. No surprise really. Catherine’s mother had often worked late nights and her father had left when she was very young. When the nice neighborhood handyman showed up and said he’d been sent by her mom, Catherine did what a lot of kids would—trusted the familiar face and obeyed what she thought was her mother’s directive. She had no way of knowing that Russell Pratt was a sick and twisted man.
Starr wished people like Pratt were a rarity, but the truth was there were tons of Russell Pratts, lurking where children gathered. Nowadays they found most of their prey online, but the electronic interface didn’t diminish their evil. She’d put lots of these guys away, but she knew for every one she sent to prison, there were dozens who would never be apprehended. Russell Pratt would not be one of those. Not on her watch.
Pearson put up a slide showing all the credible clues they’d gathered so far, many of which had come from Catherine. The task force had added more officers and widened the focus of their investigation, which meant they were looking at everyone who’d had contact with the Turners over the last few months including delivery people, contractors, neighbors, and friends. They were also searching for private plots of land relatively close to town where someone like Pratt could hide Hannah in plain sight. It was only a matter of time before Pratt made a mistake. Starr hoped Hannah had enough time for that to happen.
When the meeting was over, she pulled Pearson aside. “Murphy called me. He wants answers now, of course, and I can tell he thinks we’re taking a risk by redirecting our energy to Pratt. I need you to tell me if you think we’re on a wild goose chase.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
Starr took a moment to assess. Her gut was telling her all sorts of things, but many of them were wound up in how she felt about Catherine which caused her not to trust her usual instincts. She swiped the doubt away. Catherine may be a hard-ass, but she had a reputation for being honest and forthright. “I think we’re headed in the right direction. I mean how else do you explain the flowers that were sent to her office?”
Pearson averted his eyes for a second, but it was enough to tell her something was off. “What? You don’t believe Pratt sent her the bouquet? What about the call to the tip line?”
He raised his hands. “Don’t be mad at me because I’m simply playing devil’s advocate here. It’s possible that Pratt didn’t do either of those things. What happened to Catherine when she was a kid—that was the kind of thing that can cause a person to break, even years later. We have to consider the possibility that she might’ve seen this story about Hannah Turner, and it brought up old wounds, caused her to regress or whatever fancy term you want to call it when people act out.”
Starr heard his words, but they skittered along the surface of her brain without sinking in. Catherine Landauer was formidable, not the kind of woman who broke down and tried to draw attention to herself. Hell, she’d spent her entire adult life trying to hide who she was.
Then how did Pratt find her? She pushed away the question. “I hear what you’re saying. We can keep all our options open, but this is a strong lead and we need to follow it wherever it leads.”
“Roger that.” Pearson looked over his shoulder at the war room. “I need to get in there and start divvying up assignments. You need me for anything right now?”
“No, I’m good. I’m going to the office to check in, but I’ll be close by in case you need anything from me.” Starr strode off briskly, her confident stride a direct contrast to the swirl of emotions inside her. What if her trust in Catherine was misplaced? Once outside, she paused to let the cool air hit her in the face, and it was exactly what she needed to snap out of any conflict. The idea that Catherine had lied just didn’t ring true. She’d seen the genuine emotion on Catherine’s face in her reaction to the flowers, the bow on the tree in the woods, and the faux grave site. Catherine hadn’t faked those feelings, and while it was possible they were the side-effect of psychosis, Starr believed she’d seen enough in her career as a prosecutor to know when she was being played. She’d keep her mind open, but her focus was on Russell Pratt and keeping both Hannah Turner and Catherine Landauer safe from his clutches.
“Ms. Rio, can we have a moment?”
Starr turned at the sound of her name and was ambushed by Gloria Flynn from the local news station accompanied by a cameraman. Before she could reply, Gloria shoved a mic in her face.
“We received a tip that the police are looking into the mayor’s brother-in-law as a possible suspect. Can you confirm this?”
Starr stopped in her tracks, hoping her face didn’t reflect the oh shit feeling storming through her head. Treading carefully, she looked at Gloria instead of into the camera. “Gloria, you know me well enough to know I’m not going to comment about an ongoing investigation.”
“Should we take that as a yes? Doesn’t the public have a right to know if there is a predator who has access to the top elected official in the city?”
Starr barely resisted the urge to choke her. She’d had plenty of experience dealing with the press, and most were measured in their questions, but Gloria’s schtick was surprising her prey on camera and going for the gotcha moment. She’d rarely been caught in her net, and never at a more critical moment in time. All she could hope to do would be to extricate herself as quickly as possible. “We’re doing our best to keep everyone informed about the status of the case, but we have a duty to make sure that we guard against releasing information that could affect our ability to conduct a thorough investigation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go.”
Gloria wasn’t so easily deterred. “Are you following up on a lead?”
“I have nothing further to say at this time.” Starr rushed off before Gloria could ask another stupid question, mindful of the fact she had her back to the camera—never a good thing—but she didn’t know how else to shut her down. She only hoped that she’d been boring enough not to make the cut for the evening news because that definitely hadn’t been her best moment.
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday evening, Catherine stared at the television screen, wishing she’d taped the news so she could replay what she’d just seen. Gloria Flynn was annoying as hell with her gotcha techniques, but even she wouldn’t make an allegation that the mayor’s brother-in-law was involved in Hannah Turner’s kidnapping without some evidence to back it up.
What was going on? She hadn’t heard from Starr since last night and there’d been no news from the police or DA’s office as to the status of the investigation. Had Starr abandoned the search for Russell Pratt in favor of this new theory? And on what basis?
Catherine picked up her phone to call Starr and confront her about the abrupt turn of events, but she couldn’t quite figure out what to say. At the root of her anger was fear she hadn’t been believed and that Russell Pratt would never be caught. It was like she was reliving her childhood all over again, except it was almost worse this time because she had a voice and still no one heard her.
When the doorbell rang, she considered ignoring it, but a quick check of the video doorbell revealed Starr standing on her doorstep. She should leave her standing there. Starr had betrayed her. She’d shared deep, dark
secrets with Starr, and Starr had cast aside the relevance for the more salacious angle. She watched as Starr paced on the doormat and raised her hand to ring the bell again. Finally, she decided to confront her and get it over with.
She cracked the door open, barely wide enough to see Starr. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing for us to talk about.”
Starr leaned in and her face filled the small space between the door and the doorjamb. “I’m guessing you watched the news.”
Catherine heard a contrite undertone, but she wasn’t interested in Starr’s excuses. “Good thing I did or I would’ve missed the latest update on the case.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear. Gloria caught me off guard. I was only trying to deflect her, and I didn’t want to say anything that might cause her to show up on your doorstep with a herd of other reporters looking for Jill Winfield. I’m here now and I want to talk to you. Please.”
Catherine considered the plea. Starr certainly sounded earnest, and she supposed it was possible Starr was telling the truth, but she suspected there was more to it. The only way to find out was to hear what Starr had to say, and having this conversation on her front door step wasn’t ideal. She eased the door wider. “Come in, but you can’t stay long. I have work to do.”
“Thanks.” Starr stepped into the room. “It’s nice and warm in here.”
“You’re not wearing a coat.” That explained why Starr had been shivering on the porch. “That’s crazy.”
“I was in a hurry to get over here and I forgot it.”
Catherine wanted to believe Starr’s story, but she couldn’t afford to feel sympathy or anything else where Starr was concerned. She’d already exposed too much too fast, and for what? Apparently, Starr and her task force hadn’t believed what she’d told them about Pratt and were searching elsewhere for suspects. Well, they could search all they wanted but she knew without a doubt Russell Pratt had Hannah Turner, and the more time the task force wasted, the more danger Hannah faced. She’d been a fool to let Starr get close to her, but she wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
“Can we sit down?” Starr asked.
“I suppose.” Catherine led the way to the living room and motioned for Starr to sit in one of the chairs across from the couch, while she perched on the edge of one of the couch cushions. “Say what you have to say.”
Starr fiddled with her hands in her lap, apparently struggling for words. Finally, she met Catherine’s eyes. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but I feel like you need to know.” Again with the restless hands.
“What is it?”
“Ricky Turner, the mayor’s brother-in-law, was our first suspect. He drives a white pickup like the one Hannah was last spotted near, and he has a record. Nothing violent, but he’s been in prison. We didn’t make any of that information public for several reasons, one of which was it was the very early stages in the investigation.”
“And the other being politics. Wouldn’t want to taint the mayor.”
“Sure, that factored in,” Starr admitted, to Catherine’s surprise. “But it wasn’t the sole factor. You’re savvy enough to know how these things work.”
“With a suspect that juicy, I’m surprised you were willing to listen to my theory.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“And what I told you wasn’t just a theory,” Catherine said, her voice rising. “Tell me you’re still looking for Pratt.”
Starr wore a pained expression. “We are, but we have to keep all our options open. Didn’t you tell me before that one of the reasons you were so frustrated with the way your case was handled was that the cops focused on one suspect and didn’t look at anyone else. You don’t want that to happen here, do you?”
Catherine hated having her own words tossed back at her, but Starr was right. The task force should explore all potential suspects, but she also knew that Russell Pratt was the one who had taken Hannah, and she worried that spreading their resources would allow him to get away.
“I promise you, if he’s out there, we won’t let him get away.”
Starr’s words, delivered with quiet conviction, were exactly what she needed to hear, and Catherine nodded. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Thanks for hearing me out.” Starr half rose from the chair. “I should go and let you get back to your evening.”
The idea of Starr leaving again so suddenly tore a hole in the comfort Catherine had drawn from her promise. “You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Dashing out.” They locked glances for a few seconds and the air between them became thick and heavy. “I know you’re probably busy, but if you can stay for a little bit, I could use the company.”
A slow smile slid across Starr’s lips. “I guess I do owe you.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Probably because you’ve been working around the clock,” Catherine said. She led the way to the kitchen and Starr followed.
“I could let you believe that, but it wouldn’t be true. Ask my mother, I’m always hungry. She used to complain that it was me, not my brothers, who ate her out of house and home.”
Catherine reached into the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, some cheese, and a bell pepper. “Was she right?”
“Mostly. I do have an appetite.”
“Is an omelet going to fill you up or should we add in some pancakes?”
“Omelets are perfect.”
Catherine whipped the eggs in a bowl and set it aside and started cutting the vegetables. She could feel Starr’s intense observation of her every move, and it was both disconcerting and oddly inviting. “You act like you’ve never seen someone cook before.”
“It’s possible I didn’t take you for a chef.”
“Well, I’m no Iron Chef, but I do know my way around a kitchen. I’ve been on my own for a while, and eating out alone gets old. It was either learn to cook or starve. I might be a spinster, but at least I won’t be hungry.”
“Any woman would be lucky to have you.”
Catherine looked up and met Starr’s eyes again. “For my mad omelet skills? Yes, but once they find out the whiz in the kitchen is damaged goods, they run as fast as possible in the other direction.”
“Not everyone is that shallow.”
“I suppose, but I have yet to meet anyone I thought would stick around after the big reveal. Oh, they’d probably stay for a while at first, enjoying the novelty of sleeping with the girl who escaped her captor, but after a few times of waking up to the sound of my nightmares, the newness would wear off and they’d go in search of someone who didn’t have that kind of baggage.”
“Everyone has baggage. It’s how you carry it that counts.”
“A nice platitude, but everybody doesn’t see things that way.”
“Not everyone is worthy of being with someone as strong as you are, who has gone through as much as you have.”
Catherine paused, her knife midway through one of the peppers. “You don’t know me that well.”
“I’d like to, if you’d let me.”
For all her lack of relationship skills, Catherine knew flirting when she heard it, and there was definitely a hint of flirtatiousness in Starr’s voice. But there was a serious edge to it, like Starr was truly attracted to her, like she respected her, and Catherine basked in the warmth of the feeling. She’d been wrong about Starr. Starr was a passionate, caring person who’d thought enough about her feelings to come here tonight to mend the harm done by the newscast. That Starr even realized the broadcast would bother her was huge. Perhaps letting Starr get close wasn’t that risky after all. She decided to venture a small step toward bridging the gap between them.
“Here,” Catherine said, handing Starr the knife. “You chop while I grate the cheese. And you get three questions about anything you want as long as they don’t have anything to do
with this case.”
“Sound’s fair.” Starr took the knife and dutifully started chopping. “Although three isn’t a lot.”
“Quit trying to get more than you’re offered. This isn’t a negotiation. Take off your lawyer hat.”
“That’s like asking me to cut off one of my arms.”
“Are you going to ask or not?”
“Yes. Question number one: name two of your heroes.”
Catherine was impressed. “That’s a good one. Hard to narrow down to two, but I accept the challenge.” She sifted through the many examples that sprang to mind and settled on a couple of Texans Starr was sure to know, Barbara Jordan and Ann Richards.
“Good choices. Not predictable, but definitely solid.”
“What about you? Who would you pick?” Catherine asked.
“This isn’t about me.”
“Come on, I want to know,” Catherine said, surprised at how much she really did want to know about Starr. “Tell me.”
“The first one’s definitely obvious, RBG, but don’t dis my choice because it’s a worthy one and you know it.”
“Fair enough,” Catherine said, enjoying their playful banter. “Who’s the second?”
A loud ring pierced the air, and Starr reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She stared at the screen for a moment. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
Catherine watched, transfixed, as Starr had a cryptic exchange with whoever was on the other end of the line. By the time Starr hung up, Catherine was certain she was going to come unglued. “Who was it? Have they found her? What’s going on?”
Starr stood. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll contact you as soon as I know more.”
Catherine was on her feet. “Please don’t leave without telling me what’s going on, even if it’s just a hint. I won’t be able to stand waiting here, not knowing.” She watched the conflict play out in Starr’s expression, surprised at her own admission of weakness, but it was too late to take it back. As if she could sense her need for reassurance, Starr stepped toward her, clutched her hand, and pulled her close.