The Chart House sat just a couple of steep miles down from the
Easterbrook home. The elegant restaurant was located on the winding,
wooded section of Taylor's Ferry Road that ran from the modest
Burlingame neighborhood in southwest Portland, up about two miles to
OHSU, and then back down again into downtown Portland. Spectacular
views of the city made the route one of the most popular spots in the
area for walks, runs, and bike rides.
It was not, however, the safest place for a woman alone at night. About
a year earlier, two guys from the DA's office were taking a run there
after work. They heard what they thought was a couple goofing around
behind the bushes, a man wrestling his squealing girlfriend to the
grass. Fortunately, the woman heard them talking as they ran past and
yelled, 'Help, I don't know him.'
The bad guy got away, but the ensuing publicity had called the city's
attention to the potential dangers of the area. It was no longer
common to find women alone on the path after dark.
The Fletchers' discovery of Griffey there was not a good sign.
Johnson must've been thinking the same thing, because he decided to
revisit what I thought had been our mutual decision not to search the
Easterbrook/Jetson home. He pulled me aside while Townsend continued
the conversation with the Fletchers.
'I know we're playing it safe, but finding the dog changes the picture.
We need to go through the place now while he's still playing victim. If
we wait until a body shows, he might lawyer up.'
I shook my head. 'I still don't like it,' I said. 'Look at him he's a
basket case. Later on, his state of mind might kill any consent we get
from him. If, God forbid, her body does surface, we can easily get a
warrant, since this is her house. We won't need to have probable cause
against the husband.'
'And what do we do about the fact that our doctor can move whatever he
wants and start dumping evidence the minute we're out of here?'
Johnson's point was well taken, but it wasn't enough to justify a
thorough search this early in the case. Not only could Townsend try to
throw out the search down the road, we'd pretty much be killing any
chance we had of continued cooperation from him. In any event, if
Townsend was involved in his wife's disappearance, he certainly could
have disposed of any incriminating evidence before calling the
police.
I explained my thinking to Johnson and proposed a compromise. 'Why
don't you offer to take a look around to make sure there's no sign of a
break-in? I don't have a problem with you doing a general
walk-through; I just don't want a detailed search yet. If you check
for broken windows and the like, we can at least look for the obvious
and avoid any major fuckups.'
'Okay with you if I ask him about it in front of his buddies?'
I gave a quick nod. If Townsend felt pressured to consent to a search
because his friends were around, so be it. Courts only care about
claims of involuntariness if the supposed coercion comes from law
enforcement.
Before Johnson walked away, I added, 'We should also get people
searching up on Taylor's Ferry. Hopefully, by the time the department
has a search plan together, Walker can tell us what she might have been
wearing.'
Griffey perked up when Tara came down the stairs, apparently satisfied
that nothing helpful was going to come from foraging through her
sister's closet. I'd already been positively disposed toward her based
on her obvious concern for her sister, and I warmed to her even more
when she found the energy to get down on the floor with her sister's
dog and comfort him with a bear hug.
After a few minutes spent on introductions to the Fletchers and the
inevitable words of comfort, Tara grew antsy again. 'Griffey, up,' she
commanded, pointing him toward the stairs. 'Sorry, I can't sit still.
You mind if I throw him into the tub real quick, Town? He's a little
crunchy, and it'll give me something to do.'
It was clear that Tara's nervous energy was grating on her
brother-in-law; he seemed more at ease once she'd followed Griffey to
the second floor and he could turn his attention back to the
Fletchers.
'I keep expecting the phone to ring, but I'm not sure exactly what kind
of call it would be; maybe a ransom demand or something. Obviously, I
want it to be Clarissa explaining that this is all a misunderstanding,
that she went with a friend somewhere and forgot to leave a note, and
Griffey just happened to get out.. .' He was just rambling. I didn't
point out that the leash suggested Griffey had not simply escaped from
the yard, but that someone had been walking him. Townsend would come
to the realization in his own time.
I was beginning to think that a ransom demand would be good news at
this point. At least it might indicate that Clarissa was alive.
'This lifestyle of ours,' Townsend said, looking around. 'Why does any
of it really matter? Maybe it just invites problems.'
Johnson used the moment as his in to ask permission for the
walk-through. Consistent with everything else about the man, his
transition was smooth.
He started by asking Dr. Easterbrook if he'd ever noticed anything
that might suggest that someone was scoping out the house or following
them, perhaps planning a way to get to Clarissa by herself.
'No, nothing at all like that,' Easterbrook replied. 'This
neighborhood is so isolated up here. We hardly see anyone on our
street who doesn't live here.'
'Can you think of anyone who has a conflict with you of some kind?
Someone who might be motivated to do something to scare you or
retaliate against you?'
'Why would someone hurt Clarissa to get to me, detective?'
'Just exploring all possibilities, doctor. Maybe a disgruntled patient
from the hospital? A former employee?'
'No,' Townsend said, slowly shaking his head. 'Clarissa would
occasionally get some threats about her cases, but she always assumed
they were only blowing off steam. Never anything we considered
seriously. No one would want to hurt her. She's such a good
