Tara stared down at the case files splayed across the table. She felt like she had been staring at them for hours. It was now ten thirty in the evening. They had arrived at the headquarters an hour ago and had been trying to come up with theories since their arrival, but so far they had made little progress.
“It has to be someone with knowledge of forensics,” Tara said as she stared down at Reese’s forensics report. It was something they had already mentioned, but Tara had a strong feeling that the theory was true, and she couldn’t ignore it. But who? She couldn’t get the thought out of her head, nor did she want to until an answer was found.
The killer was careful enough not to leave DNA behind. He had cleaned the victim’s fingernails. He had strangled her, strategically, with something he knew wouldn’t trace easily back to him. He was aware of cameras and made sure he wasn’t seen by the gas station. And Tara was sure he used gloves.
“Maybe law enforcement?” she questioned.
Warren sat beside her, his arm resting on the table with his hand on his forehead as he stared over Alyssa’s report. “It’s crossed my mind too,” he replied, his eyes not moving from the folder in front of him. “That could also explain why no one heard them get abducted.” He then looked up, his eyes moving to Tara. “Like we said before, it seems the victims may have gone willingly. If the killer’s a respected cop, that could be why.”
Tara nodded. A cop as the killer could explain a lot. It could even be someone who worked close on the case. She got up out of her chair, moving to a computer on the other side of the room. She wanted to run background checks on the sheriff and detective they had interacted with earlier. If she was right, the killer might have had an incident in the past that may not have seemed too alarming. Maybe an angry outburst or even a suspension.
She told Warren what she was doing, and he pulled a chair closer. They looked up Sheriff Patel first. He had been in law enforcement for twenty years. He had no record, only gleaming reviews. They then looked up Detective Wade. He had been with the department for a much shorter time, only ten years, but so far there was nothing on his background check that seemed alarming.
Tara sighed. “I think we should get a list of all cops in the area and get a background check.”
Warren agreed. “We can’t ask the cops to do it. Maybe Grace?”
Grace was the secretary in their division. She was usually in the office late, and Tara was certain she was probably still in the building. They had passed her on the way in. Tara agreed, and Warren was soon out of his chair, in the doorway, calling to her. Her desk was not far from the office they stood in. She hurried over. She wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, her hair in a short bob framing her face. Her eyes looked red and tired, and Tara suddenly felt bad about adding something more to her plate, but they needed it. Warren explained the task.
“Yeah, I can do that,” she agreed without hesitation. She had her bags already strapped over her shoulder. She was clearly heading out. “It just might take me until midmorning to get back to you.”
“That’s fine,” Warren replied. They both thanked her, and she hurried back to her desk.
Tara’s phone beeped in front of her. She looked down. It was a text from John.
Late night?
Tara looked at the time; it was now almost eleven.
Warren looked up at the clock as well. “I say we call it a night. There’s not much more we can do tonight.”
Tara agreed, but there was one thought that kept returning to her mind—the motive. Why would a cop want to kill innocent girls? She had her own conclusions, but she wanted to see what Warren thought. She turned and asked him.
Warren leaned back in his chair. “I think they’d want to see how much they can get away with. Young girls getting murdered stirs quite the circus. It could all be a game.”
Tara agreed; it was her exact conclusion.
***
Tara entered her apartment and was immediately met by John. She had called him on the way home to let him know she was on her way, and now he was in the kitchen pouring a kettle that had just boiled.
“How was your day?” he asked. He placed a plate of food in the microwave
Tara tossed her bag on a table next to the door and then sank onto a barstool, letting out an exhausted sigh. “Tiring,” she admitted. She didn’t want to go into detail. It pained her that the killer could still be at large, and speaking about it to John would only dig at the wound more.
“How was yours?” she asked, trying to remove the attention from herself.
He shrugged. “Not too bad,” he replied as he pulled the plate out the microwave and walked over to give Tara a kiss. He placed a plate of leftover lasagna in front of her. “I figured you’d be hungry.”
He took a seat next to her as Tara began to eat. “Since you were getting home late, I decided to go practice with the band after work,” he continued. “We got our first gig in two days.” He smiled proudly. “Playing some Rush covers.”
“That’s awesome!” Tara replied excitedly. She was happy for him. Not only was he a huge Rush fan and idolized Neil Peart, but for the first time John seemed to be enjoying his life fully, and she completely supported it. She asked where they were playing.
“Right in town,” he replied before naming a local bar. “I really hope you can make it,” he added as he stood up to grab the tea that had now finished brewing. He slid a cup across the island counter to Tara “I think it’ll be good for you, too, to have a little fun.”
It had been a long time since Tara stepped into a bar, and she had to admit a couple drinks and a little fun did sound like it might be good for her. She had been so preoccupied with her job and her past that she had almost forgotten what it was like to let loose and enjoy herself. Plus, she wanted to support John. It was his first gig, and she certainly wanted to be there for him. But she also knew that she couldn’t promise anything, especially while in the middle of a case. “I will try my best. I really do want to be there,” she replied.
John nodded before giving her another peck on the cheek. He forced a smile as his attention moved back to the cup of tea in his hand, but Tara could still see the disappointment hiding behind it, and it pained her.
In the corner of Tara’s eye, a blinking light suddenly caught her attention. She looked up. It was the answering machine of their home phone, signaling they had a message. It was unusual for anyone to call on that phone. They had even contemplated getting rid of it, since they never even used it and it just seemed to attract telemarketers, but John’s parents still liked to call on it sometimes.
Tara stood up, moving toward the machine. “Did your parents call?” she asked as her hand hovered over the play button.
“Not that I know of,” he replied.
It was probably a telemarketer. She rolled her eyes as she pressed the play button. But once she heard the voice, she stiffened. Her face grew hot, and John stopped eating.
“Hey, Tara, it’s me,” it began. It was the voice of her father. He sounded rushed, speaking quickly. “It was nice seeing you the other day, but I really don’t think you should come back.” There was pain in his voice as he said it. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I just think it’s best for both of us.”
Tara didn’t move for a moment. Shock and confusion swirled into a haze of questions. Why would he want her to stay away? Her whole life, he had been trying to reach out to her, and now she had, and he didn’t want anything to do with her. But she already knew why. It had to be the same reason he cut her visit short. It had to be the questions she asked, the mention of someone else in the room. She spun around to John, who sat, fork in hand, his mouth hanging slightly open in disbelief.
“He’s hiding something,” Tara said. “Ever since I mentioned the person in the room, his whole attitude toward me changed. He does want to see me. I can hear it in his voice. He’s protecting someone.”
John nodded. He didn’t know what to say, and it occurred to Tara that it was the first time he had even heard her father’s voice. It must’ve been strange.
“It’s just so weird,” he replied. “Why would he be protecting someone?”
It was the same question that continuously crossed Tara’s mind. She had come to the conclusion that if he was protecting someone, it was someone he cared for deeply, or it was someone who held something over his head. But Tara knew the second scenario was less likely. He had already gone to prison for life. What more would he have to lose? She told this to John.
“Did your dad ever have an affair?”
Tara took a seat on the barstool again, resting her chin on her hand. “Not that I know of,” she replied. It had crossed her mind before. She had never suspected her father of being unfaithful to her mother when she was a child. But she was only very young, so why would she suspect anything if it wasn’t happening in plain sight? “It’s possible, I suppose,” she added. Is that who could’ve been in the room that night? she wondered. My father’s mistress? It seemed plausible, but Tara still wondered why, after all these years, he would protect a woman who murdered the mother of his child.
“How did he get the house number anyway?” John asked.
“I gave my contact info at the prison, in case he needed to call. I listed my cell first, and then the home phone.”
“And he didn’t call your cell?”
Tara shook her head. “He probably knew I’d be more likely to answer it.” She knew her father’s goal was to leave a message, not to speak to her.
John nodded, and a silence lingered between them before he turned fully toward her. “So what are you going to do?”
Tara didn’t even hesitate. “I’m going to find out what he’s hiding,” she replied as her eyes drifted yet again to the answering machine. Her father’s voice still echoed in her mind. She knew him well enough to know that he did not get spooked easily or at all. But the muffled panic in his voice only solidified Tara’s feelings that he was trying to keep something buried, and she was more determined than ever to find out what it was.
***
Tara lay in bed, still staring at the ceiling. The room was in total darkness, but she couldn’t be more awake. She had too many questions, too many thoughts.
She knew she didn’t have time to go visit her father again, not in the middle of this case. But she also knew she somehow needed to get in touch with him. Her only option would be to call. She would do so first thing in the morning, she decided. She just hoped he would speak to her.
Tara knew that he had purposely avoided a conversation with her, which was why he called the house phone in the middle of the day. He had known it was likely she would be at work. But she hoped that no matter what he was hiding, once she called, he wouldn’t be able to resist speaking to her. After all, for so many years he had written to her, hoping she would write back or call.
Strange, she thought. After all these years, she now had more reason than a dream to believe someone else was in the room that night of her mother’s murder. It was a validation she had never felt before. In a way, it felt good. She wasn’t crazy. But it also burdened her with more uncertainty. She had no idea who it could’ve been, and it troubled her.
All night, she had been digging into every depth of her memory for a clue, but she still couldn’t find one. She thought of moments in her childhood, positive memories and negative ones. She thought of moments with her grandmother when she was a child. Could she have hinted at something? But no matter what point in time she chose to focus on, she was left without a conclusion. She continued to think of moments in her childhood, but as each memory surfaced, her eyes grew heavier. Eventually, she was barely able to hold them open at all, and she soon faded into sleep.
***
Tara ran, the tall, uncut grass tickling her bare feet. The sky was bluer than she’d ever seen it. The sun was warm against her skin, and it made her smile grow wider. She wore a long pink summer dress. Her mother had sewn it herself, and it flapped against her legs as she ran, faster and faster. She was ready now. She took a deep breath as she threw her hands in the air and then flung her body sideways, letting her hands touch the grass, and then her feet.
“I did it!” she screamed.
A friend at school had been teaching her how to do a cartwheel, but this was the first time she had actually succeeded. She looked around her fenced-in yard, slightly off balance until her eyes met their target. Her mother sat on the steps to their porch. Her smile was wide, making Tara beam with pride. She began to clap.
“Excellent!” she yelled. “That was perfect!”
Tara giggled as she whizzed excitedly across the lawn. Her mother stood up, her arms open. Tara leapt into them. Her mother hugged her and kissed her on the forehead, but then Tara pulled away. She had too much energy to feel constrained. She reached for her mother’s hand and then used all the bit of weight she had to pull her mother toward the lawn.
“Now you try, Mommy!”
Her mother laughed. Tara was only five years old, and her mother didn’t budge from her pull. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, baby,” she replied as she smiled down at Tara. “I’m not as quick and flexible as you.”
“Please, Mommy!” Tara pulled harder on her mother’s hand, and when she still didn’t budge, she reached higher, grabbing hold of her forearm. She tightened her grip and pulled hard.
“Tara, ow!” her mother yelled.
Tara instinctively let go, the playfulness immediately dissipating.
“I’m sorry,” Tara said as her mother began to rub her arm. This was the second time this week that Tara had touched one of her bruises, and it had scared her just the same. Tara looked at her mother’s forearm, which had the marks of a grip held too tight. The bruise was large, spanning half of her mother’s small forearm, showing the size of her father’s hand.
“You can’t pull on people like that,” her mother snapped as she took a seat back down. The mood had abruptly changed. It was confusing for Tara, being so young. How could her father grab her, pull her, and even hit her at times? Yet Tara only pulled her mother’s arm to play, and she was the one getting in trouble. Even at such a young age, the injustice did not sit well with her.
“I just wanted you to play with me,” Tara said sadly, but her mother only raised her eyebrows in scorn and Tara’s face fell to her feet. She sat down on the stairs next to her mother. She didn’t have the urge to run through the grass anymore. She didn’t have the desire to try another cartwheel. There was a sadness in the air that muffled it all, and it hung heavy on them both in silence.
Tara tried to fix it. “What’s for dinner tonight?”
“We’ll order pizza,” her mother replied, trying to force a smile.
Tara loved pizza nights, and her face lit up at the mention. But it wasn’t just the food that excited her. She also knew that it meant something else too…
“Daddy won’t be home?”
Her mother sighed. “Not tonight, baby, not tonight.”
***
Tara’s eyes popped open. The room was still dark, and John still lay sound asleep next to her, but she suddenly felt more awake than ever. She knew it wasn’t just a dream. She remembered that day, those words—her mother saying her father wouldn’t be home. They were words that had been spoken more than once. How could I have forgotten?
Her father was a plumber and construction worker, but not the type that would work on building houses. All she understood was that he installed fueling systems. There was a point in time where he worked for a company that required him to travel out of town. It was the reason Tara was given each time she asked why her father wasn’t going to be home for dinner, and each time he didn’t come home until a couple days later. It wasn’t too often, but now, as Tara stared at the darkness above her, she wondered, was there any truth in it at all?