Missing Justice (5 page)

“Yeah, guilty of being a rich muckety-muck. I did a little recon on our girl. She makes the Easterbrooks look like Jerry Springer trailer trash.”

“Careful, Ray. Not all of us can afford those Hugo Boss suits you strut around in.”

“The point is, she’s loaded. I thought we might cut through some of the predictable bullshit if you talked to her.”

“No problem. It’s my first day cooped up in the office, so the sooner the better.” As usual, Johnson was right: Lots of rich people find speaking to the police beneath them. Depending on who Susan Kerr turned out to be, she might expect a personal call from District Attorney Duncan Griffith or even from the mayor herself.

I hung up, pleased that I hadn’t given in to the urge to ask Ray if he’d seen Chuck this morning. I was surprised I hadn’t heard from him yet.

I’d managed to reject only another three cases before my thoughts drifted back to Clarissa Easterbrook. If she was still alive, what was she doing right now?

I paged Johnson, and he returned the call right away. “Didn’t I just talk to you?” he asked.

“Have you thought about searching Easterbrook’s office?”

“I thought you wanted to play things cool with him for now,” he said.

I realized that he thought I was talking about Townsend. “No, Clarissa’s office. Maybe there’s something there that would at least give us some leads.”

“It’s looking like she was snatched from the neighborhood, so we’ve been working from that area out. The office has been less of a priority, but, yeah, you’re right, we should at least check it out. I’ll get someone on it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it and call you when it’s okay to go in.”

“Really, Kincaid, it’s all right. I know you’re new to this, but DAs don’t usually do any of the runaround work. One of the perks of the job, right? Bossing cops around?”

“Trust me, there will come a time when you rue the day you encouraged me to be bossier. I’m not doing this to take the load off you; I’m doing it because I’m going stir crazy in this new rotation. Plus, I have a feeling that if you guys storm into a judge’s office with a search warrant, the chief judge will be on the phone to Duncan demanding my head.”

“We’re talking about me, Kincaid. I don’t storm. I slide.” He dragged out the vowel in his last word.

“You get the drift.”

“That I do. Go to it, then. Call me when you need me.”

I buzzed through the rest of my screens, the promise of doing some real work motivating me like a creme briilee waiting at the end of a bad meal.

When I was done, I called the mayor’s office. Although Clarissa’s position entitled her to be called Judge, hearings officers are actually part of city administration. Anyone who disagrees with a city agency’s decision has to take an administrative appeal to a city hearings officer before he can sue before a “real” judge. In short, when it comes to city bureaucracy, a judge like Clarissa Easterbrook is the last stop before the courthouse.

I explained the situation to the mayor’s administrative assistant, who referred me to Clarence Loutrell, the chief administrative hearings officer.

Hanging up the phone, I swiveled my chair around to look out the window. Okay, it was more of a cranking than a swivel with this particular chair, but it was enough for me to see that there wasn’t a break from the rain yet. I generally prefer to handle this kind of thing face-to-face. It’s harder for someone to reject a request in person than to say no to a faceless voice on the telephone.

Fuck it. The walk in the humidity was sure to leave me with a puffy head of cotton-ball hair for the rest of the day, but four hours at a desk after two weeks on the beach had me yearning to get out. Besides, I could put my hair through a wind tunnel, and it wouldn’t matter. Clean clothes and a lack of BOis about all you need to meet minimum standards for the courthouse crowd.

I signed myself out on the MCU white board without explanation, following my practice of staking out ground early in a new job the way Vinnie pees everywhere he goes to mark territory. No way was I going to join the kiss-ups who leave notes on the board detailing their precise location. That’s what pagers were for.

I kicked off my black Ferragamo sling backs and threw them in my briefcase while I shoved my stockinged feet into my New Balances. I’d lost enough of my good shoes to Portland’s damp streets.

On my way out, I swung by my old office in DVD. Kirsten

Holloway, newly promoted from the misdemeanor unit, had already covered the place with her wedding photos and stuffed animals. She would learn her lesson quickly. By the end of the week, anonymous pranksters would be sure to have her cute little animals posed in backbreaking positions violating the laws of thirty-six states. I didn’t even want to think about the Post-it notes she’d find stuck around the bride and groom. In the meantime, no sign of my beloved chair.

I entered City Hall from its new Fourth Avenue entrance. The city had completed what seemed like endless remodeling about a year ago. What used to be a dingy back entrance through a metal door was now the main entrance, hugged by pink pillars and a rose garden.

The refurbished City Hall beat the hell out of my rundown courthouse. The renovation had exposed the building’s original marble tile and woodwork. To the extent that there was any natural light on this crummy day, it flooded into the lobby through the atrium skylights. The tiled staircases that had once been enclosed in a stairwell were now open, exposing five floors of original copper handrails and plating.

I took the stairs to the third floor, then ducked into the corner to switch my shoes. Judge Loutrell’s office was in the suite at the end of the hall.

I was in luck, or so it seemed. After a short call, Loutrell’s secretary told me he was in and willing to see me. Even though I should have made an appointment, of course.

Loutrell rose from his desk to greet me. He was tall and thin, balding but trying hard to conceal it with his last few wisps of white hair. I shook his hand and introduced myself as a Deputy District Attorney. “I’m sure you already know that Clarissa Easterbrook has been reported missing.”

“Yes. I was shocked when I heard it on the news this morning. It’s just not like Clarissa to be gone like this.”

“That’s what others have been telling us as well, so the police are investigating every possibility. For now, they’re focusing primarily on Judge Easterbrook’s neighborhood, but since I work at the courthouse and was in the area, I thought I’d see if anyone she works with might have any theories about where she could be or people the police should be talking to.”

“Gosh, not offhand. I wish I could help, but I didn’t talk to Clarissa much and I don’t know much about her personal life.”

“What about her professional life? Has there been anything unusual lately for her at work?”

“Not that I can think of. Like I said, we didn’t talk much, and all of us work pretty independently. I’m the chief administrative officer, but that doesn’t mean much other than filling out some forms and whatnot.”

Now came the tricky part. “I’m sure it’s a long shot that her disappearance would have anything to do with work, but we want to make sure we cover all the bases early on. What would be really helpful to the investigation is to take a look in Judge Easterbrook’s office. You know, just to make sure nothing seems out of the ordinary.”

I was about halfway through the request when Loutrell began to finger the pen resting on his leather desk pad. By the time I was finished, he had picked it up and was twisting the cap around in circles.

“Well, yes, I can see why that would be an important part of what you’re trying to do. But I’m sure you understand that I can’t just open up one of our hearing officers’ offices for you.”

“Judge Loutrell, one of your coworkers is missing. From everything I’ve heard, including what you just told me, this is not a woman who would run off without some explanation. One of her shoes was found in a gutter. All I’m asking for is the chance to rule out the possibility that this had anything to do with her work so the police can focus on more likely possibilities.”

“I understand all that, Ms. Kincaid, but I’m sure you understand that there are privacy issues at stake.”

“Clarissa Easterbrook is not a private attorney. She doesn’t have any clients, so we’re not talking about privileged material. The only privacy rights at issue are Clarissa Easterbrook’s, and I think it’s safe to say that she’d want us to take a look under these circumstances.”

“I just don’t know.” He was still twisting the pen cap.

“I can have the police apply for a search warrant if you think that’s a more appropriate procedure.” I managed to make it sound like an offer to be helpful instead of a threat.

“I just don’t think this is something I should be handling.”

“The mayor’s office pointed me to you. You’re the chief administrative hearings officer.”

“And I told you that title means little in this context. I think you should talk to the City Attorney’s Office.”

I thought about arguing but decided it was a waste of time. Loutrell was a timid bureaucrat who was more concerned about straying beyond his authority than finding Clarissa Easterbrook. He had also said the magic attorney word: The City Attorney represented all city agencies, including the hearings officers. If Loutrell told me to go to his attorney, I didn’t have much choice.

Luckily, the City Attorney’s Office was just one floor up. When I explained to the receptionist what I needed, however, she told me I’d need to talk to the City Attorney himself, Dennis Coakley, who wasn’t going to be back until the end of the day. I left my name and number and did my best to encourage her to get the message to him as soon as possible.

On my way back down, I noticed the listing for Clarissa

Easterbrook’s office on a sign at the third-floor landing. I followed the arrow to the left, away from Loutrell’s office, and found the suite number I was looking for.

A receptionist with a pierced nose and red pixie haircut was busy juggling calls, repeating, “City hearings department, please hold.” After three times she exhaled loudly and looked up. “Welcome to my world. How can I help you?”

At least she had a sense of humor about it. I gave her my best empathetic smile and introduced myself. She made the connection to Clarissa’s disappearance on her own. “Oh my God. I have been going crazy in here this morning. I didn’t listen to the news this morning and came in early, before anyone else was around. The calls started around seven-thirty, and I was, like, What do you mean she’s missing? I had to go out to my car and listen to the news on the radio. Finally, someone came in this morning at nine to explain the situation to me. The phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

“What kind of calls?” I asked.

“Reporters, mostly. I don’t know what they expect me to tell them. I’ve been reading the prepared statement I was given. Hold on a sec, okay?” She jumped back to juggle the phones, telling each caller, “Clarissa Easterbrook is an important member of the city community. We hope for her speedy return, and our thoughts and prayers are with her family at this critical time.” As she repeated the line, she handed me a memo from Clarence Loutrell with the typed-out statement.

Once she’d gotten through the on-hold callers, she let the phone ring unanswered while we spoke.

“Seems like a small office. You must be pretty close to her.”

“I guess. I started here last fall. I work for her and one of the other hearings officers, Dave Olick. I’m pretty much their entire staff. I do the phones, the secretarial work, any legal research that comes up. I graduated last spring from Lewis and Clark.

It wasn’t exactly my dream job after law school, but it’s a job, at least. I’m Nelly by the way. Nelly Giacoma.”

The Portland legal market, like legal markets everywhere, was getting tight. I wasn’t surprised that a recent law graduate might have to clerk for an administrative law judge for a while. This one’s nose ring, lollipop hair, and what I now saw was a yin-yang symbol tattooed on her ankle probably didn’t help.

“Since I’m across the street at the courthouse, I just dropped by to see if the people who worked with Clarissa had any thoughts on where she might be, that kind of thing.”

Nelly shook her head slowly while she spoke. “No, I just have no idea. Everything was fine last week. She was working when I left at five Friday, and she said she’d see me on Monday.”

“You can’t think of anything unusual that’s happened lately? Something that might be connected somehow?”

“Well, about a month ago, some guy on one of her cases sort of blew up at her.”

“Do you know anything about the case?” I asked.

“Not really. The guy was getting evicted, but I don’t know what the issue was.”

“If you could pull the file, I can go through it while you get some of those calls.” I tilted my head toward her phone, which was still ringing.

“Gee, I don’t think I can just let you go through the file.”

“At least parts of it are public record.”

“But I don’t think the whole thing is, especially when the case is still pending. Besides, I don’t even know what case it is. I’d have to go through all the files and try to find it. I better check with Judge Loutrell and get back to you.”

I picked her brain for more about the ticked-off evicted guy or for any other cases of note, but didn’t get any further. “What about stuff outside of work? Did you talk to Clarissa enough to know anything about her personal life?”

“Well, I know she’s married.”

Oh, yeah, they were best friends, all right.

“And how did that seem to be going?” I asked.

“Good, I guess. Clarissa’s pretty private, though. Or she is with me, at least. We’re pretty much employer-employee. But she’s really, really nice. I hope she’s all right. I’m sure she is, isn’t she?”

I nodded and smiled, doing my best to appear unworried. When I said goodbye, Nelly apologized that she couldn’t be more helpful but assured me she’d talk to Loutrell about going through the files. I handed her my card, but I knew she wouldn’t get back to me. Loutrell would forward the request to Dennis Coakley, leaving me in the same spot I was already in.