Tara stood in the lobby. They had led her out of the room and down the hall to where she first checked in. She had nowhere else to go but leave, and she was heading to the entrance of the building until her feet stopped short. She was still trying to make sense of what had just occurred. Her head was spinning. She had come for answers, but her father only refused to hear her. What did I expect? Deep down, she knew her father wouldn’t react welcoming to the memory, but she was so busy preparing herself for how to confront him that she hadn’t prepared herself for the outcome.
Now what? Her skepticism was heightened more than ever. Her drive to find the truth was now in full gear. She had touched a nerve. So much so that he couldn’t even formulate a response. She just hoped that she didn’t ruin her chances of being able to see him again, to ask him once more. She knew he could always deny her future visits, and she had a worried feeling that he might.
“Everything all right?” she heard.
Her head turned to Owen, still sitting behind the counter where he had checked her in when she arrived. He was staring at her with a concerned look, reminding her that she had been standing there, consumed by her thoughts, for a moment too long. She turned to him as it suddenly occurred to her that she had signed her name on the way in and that everyone who had come to visit an inmate had to do the same. It was an obvious thought, but it was motivated by something she knew might help her. She had come all this way, and she didn’t want to leave empty-handed. Maybe she could see the visitation records. She couldn’t think of anyone that would come visit her father, but maybe there was. It would give her a lead, if so.
Owen continued to stare at her, his bushy brows raised, confused. She moved closer.
“Sorry,” she started. She looked around her; no one was nearby. The few chairs placed in the center of the room, where visitors waited for the name to be called, were unoccupied. The room was empty except for the two of them and the armed guard by the metal detector. She lowered her voice as she reached into her pocket for her badge. She didn’t want it to be known that she was an agent, because she didn’t want her father to know, but she was desperate now, and she could only hope that he wouldn’t find out.
She flashed it in front of Owen. She wasn’t sure if he knew she was now in the FBI, and his face only confirmed that he didn’t. His eyes opened wide.
“I need to see the visitation log of Richard Mills,” she said as she leaned in closer.
“Of your father?” he asked skeptically.
“That’s correct,” she said. “I’m looking into his case.” She knew she was bending the truth. This was a private matter. She was not on a case for the FBI, and her words were misleading.
Owen sighed, and Tara realized that it was too obvious it was personal, and she could see the same pity once again surface in his eyes. Visitation logs were not something they readily handed over. He looked up at her in an endearing way, and Tara could tell he felt for her.
“Do you have a subpoena?” he asked.
She didn’t, and she shook her head, hope evaporating as she anticipated his next words.
“Tara, you know I can’t give it to you then. I’m sorry.”
She had known it would be difficult, if next to impossible to retrieve them, but desperation was pulling at her hard.
She leaned even closer, her voice now a frantic low whisper. “Owen, you don’t understand,” she said. “It’s extremely important that I know who’s been visiting him. Something is not right with this case.” She could feel emotion rising within her. She steadied herself as she pulled back from the counter. She didn’t want him to see, but it was too late; he had sensed it. He could hear the panic in her voice, and his face scrunched even more into concern. A half smile formed. He pitied her, it was obvious, and it gave Tara another spark of hope.
But then his eyes moved to the stoic officer standing by the metal detector. He was staring at them, studying Tara, as if waiting to step in.
“I’m sorry, Tara,” Owen finally said. “I can’t help you if you don’t have a subpoena.”
Her heart sank. The last bit of hope had finally gone out inside her. But she understood. He had no authority to hand over those documents unless there was an active case and she had a subpoena, but her father’s case had been closed for many years. In his eyes, she just looked like any other desperate family member. Her eyes moved to a camera in the corner of the room. He was doing his job, and Tara would never want to sacrifice that for her own benefit. She thanked him, finally giving in to defeat. Hopelessness swirled within her belly as she turned to the door and exited into the parking lot. She had no answers, nowhere to look, and now she would have to take a plane home empty-handed.
Her only option would be to try to confront her father again.
***
Tara waited as John unlocked their apartment and opened the door. As soon as they stepped inside, she dropped her bags on the floor and collapsed on the couch. It had finally hit her just how exhausting the day had actually been.
The whole plane ride home, Tara had been replaying the meeting with her father, and she still couldn’t quite make sense of it. The only thing she was certain of was that he was hiding something—he had to be.
“I just don’t get why he would be covering for someone,” she finally said. John stood in the kitchen, filling up the kettle. He nodded.
She had already told him everything that unfolded as he drove her home from the airport, and he had agreed that it was suspicious.
“I don’t know what to do if he won’t tell me,” she admitted, feeling totally defeated.
John turned on the burner and then moved toward Tara and took a seat on the couch next to her.
“Do you think your dad speaks to anyone else?”
It was something she had considered, but Tara shook her head. It was unlikely.
“He doesn’t really have anyone else,” she said. “He just had Jennie, and well, I told you what happened to her.”
The only sibling her father had was a sister who lived in California, but she didn’t live there very long before becoming addicted to drugs and overdosing. Tara’s father never spoke of her much, but from what Tara understood, they never had much of a relationship at all. Her father grew up in a family similar to the one he created—he had a drunk, abusive father and a mother who was scared for her life half the time. It was an environment that made those within it feel the need to fend for themselves. And so, when his sister was eighteen, she took a bus across the country and cut ties with everyone who reminded her of where she came from.
The kettle began to whistle, and John quickly got up to attend to it, but Tara only stared in front of her. She had to get answers. There was something being kept from her—she could feel it pulsating through her body. She had seen it on his face the moment she mentioned she wanted to ask him something. She could see the fear—a fear that he had held all along but bubbled to the surface at Tara’s words.
John placed a steaming cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her, but she only stared at it. She was searching in every corner of her mind for answers, for a lead. I can go back to where it happened, she said to herself. Maybe a neighbor saw someone leave the house that night. Maybe they saw someone lurking around the area. It was worth a shot, but she also didn’t want to waste time. She knew it was possible that her old neighbors didn’t live in the same house anymore. After all, it had been over twenty years.
John wrapped an arm around her. He pulled her in close and kissed her on the top of her head. “Maybe you should get some sleep,” he said as his lips parted on her forehead.
Tara nodded. She was exhausted, and she knew that whatever she needed to find, she wasn’t going to find it tonight. But she also knew that this wasn’t over. She had hoped that by seeing her dad, she would find answers, but now she only had more questions—more suspicion.
Her head was now resting on John’s chest, and she finally looked up, meeting his eyes.
“I’ll have to go back,” she finally said. “You understand, right?”
John looked down at her and nodded. “Yes,” he said as he stroked her head. “Do what you need to do.”
At his words, Tara relaxed slightly. She hadn’t even realized just how stiff she was. She lay down, resting her head on John’s lap. She wanted to go to sleep, but she knew her mind was still too awake.
“Let’s just watch TV for a little,” she said.
John agreed and turned it on. They watched in silence until Tara’s mind caught up with her exhaustion, and she couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer.