the silence was probably part of the strategy. I was quiet because I
couldn't help but think of Grace and how lost I'd be if anything ever
happened to her.
"I want to believe that there's an explanation," Susan said, "but I
keep coming back to what I know is true. This is totally unlike
Clarissa. She's so ... responsible. Predictable. She'd never go off
like this without telling someone: Tara, Townsend, me, her parents.
She's surrounded by people who are close to her. She'd never let us
worry this way. Something terrible must have happened."
This time, the silence that followed wasn't enough to prod Susan into
speaking, so Johnson gave a gentle nudge. "Everything we've learned
about the case so far leads us to think that we're investigating a
crime here, not just a missing person. Part of what we're doing now is
putting together a timeline for the last few days. Maybe you can start
by telling us about the last time you talked to Clarissa."
"Sure. It was just Saturday. Townsend was working at the hospital
nothing new there so Clarissa had the whole day free. We had a late
lunch, then went to the Nordstrom anniversary sale."
"How was her mood?" Johnson asked.
"Same old Clarissa. Fun, talkative, sweet. Afraid to spend money."
Susan paused and smiled. "Sorry. If you knew Clarissa .. . well,
you'd know what I mean. Best sale of the year, and I had to talk her
into buying a couple of sweaters. She's very practical."
Susan and Clarissa clearly lived in a different world from most of us.
I'd seen Clarissa's closet, after all. I couldn't imagine what Susan's
must be packed with.
"Any financial problems that you know of?" Johnson asked.
Susan laughed. "Oh, God, no. She and Townsend do fine. It's just
Clarissa's way. We grew up in southeast Portland, you know. About
half a step up from the trailer parks. Well, she was half a step up. I
was basically right in there. She worked her way out by studying hard
and putting herself through school."
"Did you go to school together?" I asked.
She laughed again. "Sure through high school. If you're asking how I
dealt with my generational income challenge, I won't waste your time by
making it sound heroic. I was lucky enough to be the prettiest
aerobics instructor at the Multno-mah Athletic Club when my husband
Herbie decided to settle down. We were married for ten years before he
passed away. I've always felt a little guilty for having at least as
much as Clarissa when I can barely balance a checkbook."
I had to hand it to her. Susan Kerr had a hell of a personality.
There's something reassuring about a person who is so comfortable about
who and what she is.
"So when exactly was she with you on Saturday?" Walker asked.
"I picked her up at her house around one. We had a long lunch,
probably until three, then shopped at Lloyd Center until I dropped her
off around seven."
"Can you think of anything unusual that came up?" Walker was quicker
to move to narrow questions than I would have been.
"Like what?" she asked.
"Anything," he said. "Someone following her, a run-in with someone,
something she seemed worried about. Things like that."
"Anything at all that you think possibly could be helpful," I added.
She shook her head. "No. We certainly didn't notice it if someone was
following us. I mean, who would follow us?" Susan's comment seemed to
trigger her own memory. "Well, actually, about a month ago, she did
mention some guy in her caseload who was getting a little creepy. She
usually writes off the stuff people say to her as nothing, but this guy
had her a bit unnerved. I told her to call the police if she was
really worried, but I don't think she ever did. She told me a few days
ago that she hadn't heard anything else from him; I forgot to ask her
about it on Saturday." She was no doubt wondering whether she'd ever
have another chance.
"Her assistant at the office mentioned something similar to me, but she
couldn't give me the file. Do you remember anything else about the
case?" I asked.
"I don't recall whether she ever used his name. The irony is that
Clarissa actually felt sorry for the guy, but there wasn't anything she
could do for him. He was getting evicted from public housing under
some policy that lets them kick you out if someone visits you with
drugs?"
I could tell she wasn't sure if she had it right, so I nodded to let
her know that I was familiar with the policy.
"Anyway, it was a big mess. Clarissa didn't think she could stop the
city from doing it, but the guy said he'd lose custody of his kids if
he didn't have a place for them to live. She was worried that if she
called the police about the letters and it turned out that he was only
blowing off some steam, she'd make it even harder for him to keep his
kids."
"Do you know what he did that had her on edge?" I asked.
"Just a couple of letters, I think. Ranting and raving the way a lot
of people do, but something about how she should have to know his pain
someday. I know I agreed with her at the time that it sounded a little
threatening."
"And you don't know whether she did anything in response?"
"No. It alarmed her at first, which was why I suggested she call the
police. I asked her about it a few times after that, but she seemed to
have gotten over it."
I'd had similar experiences. A defendant gets in your face,
and it feels like a conflict that could rip your guts out. By the end
of the week, it's just another story to share at a cocktail party to
distinguish yourself from all the other boring lawyers.
"Is that enough for you to be able to find the file?" she asked.
"Should be," Johnson said. "We'll be sure to follow up on it. What
about Clarissa's personal life? She seem happy in her marriage?"
Susan Kerr leaned back in her chair, took in a deep breath, and smiled
politely. "I was wondering when you'd get to that. Classic, right?
Whenever something goes wrong, it's got to be the spouse. Hell, poor
Herbie died of a heart attack, but don't think I didn't know what some
of his friends were whispering behind my back."
Johnson had clearly dealt with this kind of response before, because he
handled it like a pro. "I know this is upsetting for you, but, as
Clarissa's best friend, you're the one who can be most helpful in
pointing us in the right direction."
"Well, thank you for that, but whatever the right direction is, that
ain't it. If I thought for a second that Townsend had anything to do
with this, I'd be leading the charge. Shit, I love the man, but I'd
probably kill him myself."
"This early in the case, we have to consider every scenario."
"Well, you're on the wrong track. Townsend and Clarissa are a great
team. To the extent she ever complains, it's the stuff every couple
deals with finding enough time for each other, who does the dishes,
boring shit like that. I doubt Townsend's ever raised his voice to
her, let
alone what you're thinking. It's just not in him."
Johnson and Walker were polite enough not to roll their eyes. They'd
been around long enough to know what ordinary citizens don't want to
believe you can never tell who has it in them to kill.
It was almost two by the time Johnson and Walker dropped me off
downtown, and I was starving. The rain had finally stopped, so I
walked the two blocks to Pioneer Courthouse Square, got a small
radiatore with pesto from the pasta cart on Sixth and Yamhill, and
headed back to eat at my desk. When I went to erase my sign-out on the
white board I found that anonymous coworkers had written, Shoe
shopping, Back to Hawaii, and Does Kincaid still work here? next to my
original out. The graffiti made me laugh, but I went ahead and erased
it while I was at it.
I hit the speakerphone to check my voice mail but was interrupted by
the rap of fingers against my open door. I swung my chair around to
find Jessica Walters, the only female supervisor in the office and
someone who I was pretty sure had never spoken a word to me during my
tenure as a DDA. As usual, she wore a tailored pantsuit and
oxford-cloth shirt, her trademark pencil tucked neatly behind her
ear.
"Jessica. Hi." My surprise to see her, combined with the more than
mild intimidation she inspired in me, ruined any chance I might have
had at witty repartee. Walters had been a prosecutor for nearly two
decades, put more men on death row than any other DA in the state, and,
as far as I could tell, never had cause to doubt that she was smarter
and quicker than anyone else in a room. She was currently in charge of
the gang unit.
"Welcome to the club, Kincaid. You're the first of your kind up here.
Congratulations."
"Thanks, but I thought you were the first. Weren't you in MCU before
you got your own unit?"
"Yep, was up here for almost ten years. So was Sally Her-ring ton
before she jumped ship to join the dark side. But you're the first
hetero a role model for all the straight women in the office who said
it couldn't be done."
There was a crowd of paranoid younger women in the office who were
convinced that the boss created the appearance of gender fairness in
the office by promoting lesbians who were perceived to be less likely
to rock the cultural boat captained by his buddies. The truth was
sadder. The atmosphere here was so rough, both for women and for
dedicated parents, that the lawyers who were (or intended someday to
be) both of those things requested other "opportunities" in the office.
So-called voluntary transfers to nontrial units like appeals, child
support, and parental terminations became their own kind of
self-imposed mommy track.
If anything was going to kill the conspiracy theory and the office
culture, it was the increasingly rampant rumor that Jessica and her
drop-dead gorgeous partner of nine years were trying to get pregnant. I
couldn't wait to watch a tough guy like Frist wiggle in his seat while
"Nail Them to the Wall" Walters breast-fed her kid during a homicide
call-out. Payback for every time I've had to listen to colleagues
bemoan uniquely masculine complaints like jock itch and beer-goggle
bangs.
"To tell you the truth, I was beginning to wonder what was going on
with you in that department. Now all the support staff can talk about
is you and Forbes. After all the ninnies in this office that guy has
bagged, he's stepping up in the world."
Given my general anxiety about dating a cop, the last thing I needed
was a reminder of the many brief relationships this particular one has
had over the years. If ours turned out to be as fleeting, I might be
known as yet another Forbes conquest.
Jessica must have realized that I didn't take the comment as she
intended it. "I was saying you're a good catch, Kincaid, but I should
probably keep my mouth shut and stick to work. It's a well-deserved
shot you've got here. You're gonna be great."
"Thanks, Jessica. That's really nice of you to say."
"No problem. Just remember, don't let these fuckers give you too much
shit. You'll need to pay your dues at first, but then it's about
carrying your fair share of the load. Don't be afraid to get in their
faces if you need to."
I thanked her for her advice before she left, mentally crossing my
fingers that there wouldn't be a need for me to demonstrate that I
already knew how to push at least as hard as she did.
Among my many waiting voice mails was one from the City Attorney,
Dennis Coakley. He'd chosen to leave me a message at my desk even
though I'd given the receptionist my cell phone number. I'd
intentionally phone-tagged people before and knew there was only one
I called the number he'd left for me, which, of course, led to his
assistant. She told me he was in a meeting but assured me she'd tell
him I called.
"He is back in the office?" I asked. "I just want to make sure he's
going to get the message."
"Yes, he's back. I'll let him know you called just as soon as he's out
of his meeting."
With that, I threw my running shoes back on, signed out, and trekked
over to City Hall. I gave the receptionist at the City Attorney's
Office my name and explained that I wanted to see Dennis Coakley.
She seemed confused. "Didn't we just speak on the phone?"
"Yep, that was me."
"Um did he call you back or something? I haven't given him the
message, because he's still occupied."
"That's OK, I'll wait," I said, as I settled into a chair near the
front door. Nonresponsive answers might be objectionable in court, but
they work wonders in the real world. Ten minutes later, Dennis Coakley
himself came to the front desk and called my name. Faster than a
doctor's office.
Coakley's office was conservative but well furnished, and I took a seat
at the small conference table he led me to. I'd seen him around town
before, and he looked no different now than he always did:
wheat-colored bowl cut, glasses thick as microwave doors, bad suit.
Before I had a chance to say anything, he took the lead. "Given your
presence here, Ms. Kincaid, I feel I need to say something that I
shouldn't have to. I know your line of work requires you to deal with
some people who well, let's just call them uncooperative. But I hope
you didn't feel you needed to come over here personally to exert
pressure on me. Frankly, I find it a little insulting. I happen to
know Clarissa Easterbrook and would like to do whatever I can to help
find her."
"It's nothing like that. In fact, I appreciate your calling me back so
quickly. It's just that this is my first day back in the office for a
while, and I needed the air. Your assistant mentioned you were in, so
..." A lie, to be sure, but much better than admitting my tendencies
to be an untrusting freak.
If Coakley sensed the fib, he was kind enough to gloss over it. "Good.
No misunderstandi
ngs, then. Tell me what you need from us to help."
"At this point, we don't know. Officially, it's still a missing person
case, but so far nothing suggests that Clarissa took off on her own,
and the police don't have any leads. You probably heard that they
found her dog and her shoe by Taylor's Ferry Road." He nodded sadly.
"You can imagine the scenario that brings to mind. But we haven't
ruled out the chance that this could have something to do with her
work. We just want to go through her office to see if anything there
leaps out at us."
He scratched his chin as if I had just asked him to calculate the
circumference of his coffee cup using only the diameter. "This has
never come up before. I'm not sure I can let you do that. Let me look
into it, and I'll get back to you tomorrow. As long as there are no
legal hurdles, it shouldn't be a problem." He started to get up to
walk me out.
I stayed in my seat. "I assumed we'd be able to get in today. The
sooner the better."
"I'd like to be able to do that, but I don't see how I can."
"Unlock the door, and I can have an officer here within the hour."
"I can't just let the police roam through a judge's files, Ms.
Kincaid."
"Call me Samantha. And of course you can. She's not an actual judge;
she's a hearings officer. I assume if any other city employee was
missing, this wouldn't be an issue."