call. This time, I was expecting Johnson to pick up, but the voice
that answered "MCT" belonged to someone I'd known for fifteen years:
Chuck Forbes.
The first time I saw Chuck screech his yellow Karmann Ghia into the lot
at Grant High and then step out in his washed-out 501s, I was hooked.
As much as I didn't want to be, I had to admit I still was.
I hesitated a moment too long. "Hi, it's Samantha Kincaid. I think
Detective Johnson might have paged me?"
"You need to shake the salt water out of your ears, Kincaid. It's
Chuck."
"Oh, hey. What's going on?"
"Two weeks in Hawaii, and that's all I get? What's going on? Bad news
is going on, but Raymond's standing over my shoulder waiting to break
it to you. Everything all right?"
"Sure," I said. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Ray's glaring at me," he said, "so I'm going to hand you off. But
call me later, OK? I want to hear about your trip."
I had tried to play it cool, but Chuck and I were way past
new-relationship head games. "And I want to tell you all about it. I
missed you, Chuck."
"Yeah. Me too," he said sweetly, before handing the phone to
Johnson.
"They found a body in Glenville. I'm heading out there now."
"Is it Clarissa?" I asked.
"We don't have an official ID yet, but, yeah, looks like it's going to
be her."
What I felt at the moment couldn't have been about any meaningful
personal attachment to Clarissa Easterbrook. But I nevertheless felt
myself go empty at the confirmation of what I'd already been
suspecting, and I wondered how I was going to handle a job that would
make this feeling routine.
"Kincaid, you still there? I got to bounce."
"Sorry, yeah, I'm here. Tell me where it is, and I'll meet you there,"
I said, fishing a legal pad from my bag. The lead detectives needed to
arrive at the crime scene as soon as possible, so it was mutually
understood that I'd have to fend for myself. I scribbled down a street
address that Johnson told me corresponded to a construction site at the
outer edge of the suburb of Glenville.
"I need to take care of a couple things and pick up a county car, but
I'll meet you guys out there as soon as I can. Call me if you need
anything."
I walked out of Coakley's office, telling his assistant that something
had come up and I needed to leave.
"He went down to Judge Easterbrook's office, if you want to try to
catch him," she offered.
Dennis Coakley was leaving Clarissa Easterbrook's chambers as I was
walking down the hall. He carried a legal-sized manila file folder and
a small stack of documents.
"You really crack the whip, don't you? Here I thought I'd worked
pretty fast."
I tried to muster a smile. "I'm sorry. Something came up at the
office and I need to head back. I thought I'd try to catch you on my
way out."
"Good timing, because I think I found what you were looking for. Looks
like this is it," he said, holding up a file labeled Housing Authority
of Portland v. Melvin Jackson. "No privileged information there, so I
had Clarissa's assistant make copies if you want to just take them with
you."
He handed me about twenty pages of paper that had been clipped
together.
"I'm sorry I can't do more for you right now, but, like I said, I'll do
the review as fast as I can."
I let him think I was satisfied leaving it at that. For now.
I started to head directly to the county lot by the Morrison Bridge to
pick up a car, then remembered Russell Frist's admonition not to run
the case solo if it turned into a murder.
I stopped in the office, hoping Frist would be in an afternoon court
appearance. My plan was to leave him an e-mail so he'd know how hard I
tried to follow his advice. Unfortunately, he was at his desk shooting
the shit with Jessica Walters. I rapped on the door to interrupt.
"Good to see you, Kincaid. I was beginning to wonder whether this
morning's screening duty was enough to chase you out of here," he
said.
"I'm not so easily chased."
"There you go. Don't let this guy push you around." Jessica was
getting up from her chair. "I'm out of here. VQ after work?"
The Veritable Quandary was a veritable institution of downtown drinking
and a longtime hangout for the big boys at the DA's office. Russ told
Jessica he'd stop by for a quick beer, then asked me if I wanted to
join them.
"I doubt I can make it. Something's come up and I'm actually on my way
out to Glenville."
"Anything having to do with Glenville is my cue to leave," Jessica
said. "Russ, I'll catch you later. Sam, if I can't get you a beer
tonight, we'll do it next time."
"So," Russ asked, "what in suburbia could possibly be more important
than a Monday-night drink?"
"Ray Johnson just called. I don't have the details, but someone found
a body near a construction site out there. The unofficial ID suggests
it's Easterbrook."
To my surprise, Russ made the sign of the cross. "Damn it. Just once,
I'd like to see a happy ending on one of these cases."
I was tempted to ask whether he was sure what ending was happier:
closure for the living left behind or the hope that remained in a
missing person's absence? I kept the thought to myself.
"I told the MCT guys I'd meet them out there," I said. "Are you coming
with me?"
"You think you're ready for this, Kincaid?"
"Look, Russ, I appreciate the concern, but if I didn't think I was
ready, I wouldn't have accepted the rotation. You told me this morning
you thought I was in over my head, so I'm asking if you want to go.
Make up your mind, because I'm leaving."
"You've been on a call-out before?"
I flashed my best sarcastic smile. "You know I have, Dad." All new
DDAs tag along on a homicide call-out when they first start in the
office. If you counted the scene at my house a few weeks ago, I guess
I'd been to two.
"Fine, then. I'm switching into good-boss mode. If you don't think
you need me, go on your own. But page me if you need me, promise?"
I gave him my most earnest assurances while he wrote down his pager
number.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," I said.
"I'll limit myself to two beers at VQ just in case. Call me later,
just to let me know what's up?"
It was fair enough, so I told him I would.
I made a brief computer stop to check out Melvin Jackson and get
directions to the address Johnson had given me.