Loves Me Not

SIXTY

AFTER
DETECTIVE BRETT PORTER

It's not the most convenient task in the world, but I manage to track down the junkies who robbed Catalaina. Their names are Cathy and Peter Larson. I find them living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment on the west side, although living wouldn't be the right word. More like surviving.

I knock on the door and wait for someone to answer. A moment or so later, a woman comes to the door who I presume is Cathy. Her dark hair looks matted and unkempt. She wears a white t-shirt and shorts. She looks me up and down, taking in my appearance.

"Cathy Larson?" I say.
"Who's asking?"
"Detective Brett Porter, Bridgeport PD," I flash my badge and she visibly pales. "Do you mind if I come inside?"
"Why do you need to come inside?"
"I just want to talk," I tell her, trying to sound approachable. The last thing I need is her taking off. "We could go outside if you're more comfortable?"
"What do you need to talk about?"
I reach into my pocket and pull out the photo of Catalaina. "Do you know this woman?"
She looks at the photo and I see her facial muscles twitch, but she tries not to give anything away. "No. Why do you ask?"
"You haven't seen her on the news?"
"I think I might have seen her face before. She looks a bit familiar."
"Listen, Cathy," I say as gently as I can. "I know about what happened at the end of May. The little stunt you and Peter pulled. So will you let me come inside, or should I come back with a warrant?"
"Why would you need a warrant?"
"I don't know," I say innocuously. "You've already lied to me once so far. Who knows what else you could potentially lie about? Perhaps the murder of Catalaina Kittridge?"
"Murder?" she gapes. "What are you talking about? You think I'm capable of murder?"
"Who knows what you're capable of. You sure had no problem pulling a gun on her."
"It was just a bit of money," she says quickly, and then all of a sudden, I hear movement from behind her. She turns her head to look and inadvertently closes the door a bit. I stick my foot in at the bottom.
A man appears, asking who's at the door.
"It's the police," she tells him. Then the door opens wider and he stands there, staring at me.
"What do you want?" he asks me. This must be Peter.
"I was just having a little chat with Cathy here about Catalaina," I hold up the photo again.
"We don't know her," he says.
"He already knows," Cathy says quietly.
He turns to her. "What?"
"Can I come inside?" I ask for what feels like the hundredth time. This time, she lets me.
We stand in the small kitchen and I observe the place. It's ratty and run-down and there's not much to it. I understand why they felt the need to rob Catalaina at gun-point – they didn't have many other options.
"So," I begin, looking at the two of them. "When was the last time you saw Catalaina?"
"Are we under arrest?" Cathy asks.
"You're not under arrest, no. We're just talking."
They both stare at me, hesitant to say anything that might incriminate them. I repeat myself. "When did you last see her?"
"In her car that day," Peter says. "After that, we never saw her again."
"Why's that?"
"Well, partially because we got what we needed. Second, we found other sources."
"How long was she your source for?"
"Only about a month," Cathy says. "We had only met with her twice before that last time."
"How much money did you take from her?" I ask.
They stare at me but don't respond.
"I'm not here to bust you for drug possession or armed robbery, though both are indeed crimes that warrant an arrest. I'm here for one thing and one thing only. To find out what happened to Catalaina."
"And we're telling you," Cathy pleads. "We don't know anything. We didn't do anything. We took her money and left. We never saw her again."
I stare at them, contemplating whether I believe them or not. "Okay," I say. "If for some reason you remember something else or obtain some information that pertains to this investigation, do not hesitate to call me, alright?" I hand her my business card. "Please. All I want is justice for Catalaina."