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