Page 69 of Last Seen
That makes her feel better, and she adjusts herself as comfortably as she can. The ride isn’t long. She spots the sign to the hamlet of Somer, and the practicalities of town living start showing themselves. The Montessori school, the mechanic, an architect’s office, the hair salon, a huge fire station, and next to it, a state-of-the-art, modern black-and-cedar police station. It looks like something out of a design magazine, elegantly lurching into the hill.
The sheriff pulls in, drives around to the back, and parks in the spot closest to the back door. He hauls her out and marches her inside, still wordless.
The station is spotless. And somewhat deserted. He takes her to a booking station and, thankfully, past it. She breathes another little sigh of relief. There’s a glass door to a fully equipped crime lab down the hall, which is surprising considering the size of the place. She would assume any samples they have would go straight to the state lab, but no, they have a whole setup here. The bullpen is full of brand-new desks with monitors and printers that look like they’ve gotten almost no use. As if the entire station were built for a whole crew of cops but no one ever came but the cleaning people.
They are clearly well funded.
Sound and fury,she thinks.How much crime can there really be around here to justify this setup?
The sheriff’s office is as pristine as the rest of the station. His desk is free of papers, holding only a sleek black phone, an iMac, and a leather blotter with a gold pen lined up like a smart soldier. He sits her in a chair facing him, finally takes the cuff off her left wrist, and attaches her right to a small ring on the chair she’s in. It looks custom made,like it should be in some killer’s basement instead of out in the open in the sheriff’s office. There’s something almost worse about having one hand free and one chained to the chair. He takes his seat, which is slightly higher than hers so he can look down at her, pulls out a brand-new legal notepad from the drawer, and unposts his pen, a clearly expensive masterpiece of black and gold. He looks at it, buffs the edge as if removing a fingerprint, then trains his gaze on her.
Anal-retentive sheriff, she thinks, imagining him on aSaturday Night Liveskit, and has to bite back the laugh.
She doesn’t feel any merriment when he starts to speak.
“You’re being held until we clear up some things.”
“Then, again ... I need a lawyer.”
He huffs an impatient sigh.
“You know a woman named Chowdhury?”
She shrugs. “Lawyer.”
“Stop being an idiot. I’m trying to protect you.”
His imperious tone pisses her off. She puts up her chin. She will not be intimidated by this man, even if she’s chained like a dog to a stake.
“Prove it. Take off the handcuff.”
He moves so quickly she almost flinches, and then she’s free. She leaps to her feet and goes to the opposite side of the office. Watching her, he sits behind the desk and picks up the pen again.
“Now. Dr. Chowdhury?”
“She was my sister’s therapist in Boston. She came to my house yesterday morning and ...”Gave me a letter from my sister, which you’re going to find when you dig through my bag again,but she decides to hold this back for now.
“And?”
“Told me she thought my sister’s disappearance from Brockville wasn’t taken as seriously as she would have liked. A theme I’ve now heard from several people.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. Her name is Catriona Handon. People called her Cat. She was a student at the retreat here, studying writing under Tammy Boone, and went missing fifteen years ago. As I understand it, you were well aware of her disappearance. Investigated briefly and found nothing. I was actually going to come talk to you in the morning about the case.”
He visibly relaxes. She comes back to the chair, ignoring the metal rings and the handcuffs dangling from the side like props in some bizarre bondage game. He is like an eagle on a branch scanning for a snack; no move she makes goes unnoticed.
Finally, he drops the pen and leans back in the chair. “Hmm.Missingis an interesting word.”
“You don’t think she went missing?”
“Let’s stick with Chowdhury. She’s the one I’m concerned about now.”
“Why?”
“I’m asking the questions here, Miss James. Don’t make me regret letting you loose.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t make me regret not having counsel present for this chat.”
