One Last Breath

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One Last Breath Page 11

by Sarah Sutton


  “It’s of course possible.”

  Tara felt a surge of adrenaline. She suddenly felt as if they were wasting precious time. She could see the same urgency in Warren’s eyes.

  “What do we know so far?” she asked.

  Tara already knew certain details. Warren had filled her in on the way. The victim was Sofia Hernandez, sixteen. She had ridden her bike home from a friend’s house and never made it. Sheriff Patel only reiterated those points.

  “Did we find her bike?” Tara asked.

  Sheriff Patel’s shoulders slumped as he shook his head in disappointment, but then he perked up. “We think the killer might’ve called the victim’s sister.” It was a new bit of information that Tara hadn’t heard before, and she could see it was new to Warren as well; he had arrived at the beach only moments before Tara.

  “How do you know?” Warren asked.

  Sheriff Patel sighed. “I was over there this morning, interviewing them, and she got the call. She put it on speaker, and someone was breathing really heavy on the other line and then started laughing and hung up. There was something really chilling about it.”

  A shiver ran down Tara’s spine. The killer was mocking them now. “Were you able to trace it?”

  Sheriff Patel shook his head. “I tried, but he hung up right before I could, and then he didn’t call back.” He then looked up, twisting his mouth in confusion. “It’s almost like he knew. Like he stayed on just long enough before I could trace him.”

  Tara and Warren shared a look. It was another detail that made their original theory plausible—that this was someone who knew a thing or two about investigations. Tara spoke to Warren. “I say we go talk to them.” They both knew there was no point in hanging around the beach without a body to review. For all they knew, the victim could still be alive, and if that were true, the clock was ticking.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tara and Warren arrived at a beautifully large home, layered with cedar siding. A wide-open porch sat on the top floor of the front of the house, directly under the sun. Tara had already called the family on the way. She had asked that the friend who had last seen the victim be present as well, and Tara hoped that one of the three cars in the driveway was hers.

  They knocked, and a tall, strikingly beautiful woman came to the door. She had shoulder-length auburn hair and bangs cut stylishly across her forehead. She was older, Tara assumed in her mid-forties, but her skin was still tight and youthful. She looked at them with sheer fear for a moment, until she realized who they were, that Tara was the one who had just called. She most likely assumed they were there to tell her some unfortunate news, but at the realization that they weren’t, she sighed. Tara knew immediately who she was: the victim’s mother.

  The mother was always the easiest person to identify. There was a deep pain that lingered on her face as she faded into herself, trying desperately not to scream.

  “Please come in,” she said as she moved away from the door.

  They followed her across the dining room to a large, open living room with vaulted ceilings. The skylights above shined onto the four people sitting on the couch and in chairs. The woman took a seat on the couch next to her husband and daughter and introduced them all. The other two were the victim’s friend and her mother.

  Tara and Warren sat down as well. The room fell into silence, but then Tara spoke. “So from what we understand, one of you received a call this morning?” She looked specifically toward the sister, who sat wedged on the couch between her mother and father. She must’ve been only a couple years older than the victim.

  She nodded as she hesitantly raised her gaze from the floor to Tara, who asked her to recount what she heard.

  “It was just a lot of heavy breathing, and then he laughed.” Her voice began to shake as she said the last words, and her gaze fell to the floor. The event had clearly traumatized her, and her father stroked her back.

  “Did it sound like a male?” Tara asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “And did he sound young or older?”

  She bit her lip as she thought. “It’s hard to tell just on a laugh, but I’d say older. His voice was pretty deep.”

  The information helped, but Tara also knew that teenage boys could have deep voices as well. “Do you have any clue who it could’ve been?”

  The sister shook her head as her parents did the same, and Tara turned to the friend.

  “She never mentioned anything to you? Anyone she seemed afraid of?”

  The girl looked as if she wanted to burst into tears at the question, but her mother encouraged her to answer. “No,” she revealed with shock still in her voice. “Everything seemed fine.”

  “Was she dating anyone?” Tara looked from the friend to the parents, but they all shook their heads. “She didn’t have a boyfriend,” the mother replied. “She was a softball player, and it took up all of her time and interest.”

  Tara continued to ask more questions. If she knew the other victims. If she ever worked at the coffee shop or kayak rental store, but each question was answered with a no. Tara asked them for some places where Sofia could’ve gone, and after the mother insisted her daughter didn’t run away, she gave some ideas—the batting cages, the softball field. Tara would make sure that the cops searched those areas.

  When they finally exhausted their efforts, Tara and Warren stood outside.

  “Let’s make sure Sheriff Patel knows to check those places the mother mentioned,” Warren said. Tara nodded as she reached for her phone in her pocket, about to make the call, but before she punched in the number, they needed to determine their next move. They could both feel the pressure weighing heavy on them, almost to the point of suffocation. They had no lead, and if there was any chance of finding Sofia alive, they needed one soon.

  “I have a feeling we were on to something before,” she finally said, referring to the theory that the killer was law enforcement or someone who knew a thing or two about investigations. “I think the killer knew how long he could stay on the phone before being tracked, and he knew not to call back. He’s clearly mocking us.”

  Warren nodded. “Let’s head to the station,” he replied. “We can brainstorm there.”

  Tara agreed, and they quickly headed to the car as Tara made a call to Sheriff Patel. As she took a seat in the car, the sun shined brightly into her eyes. She pulled the visor down as a frustration bubbled in her stomach. Another day had come, another victim taken, and they did not have answers. She refused to let the sun rise again the same way.

  ***

  Tara and Warren sat in the police station once again, with case files spread across the table. They had called Sheriff Patel, and still no body had been found. They still had some ground to cover, but it was looking more likely that if a body was buried, it wasn’t at Dewey Beach. Tara told him of the places to check for Sofia. His team had already checked some, but he agreed that he would have them keep a close watch.

  Now, they sat in silence. An immense guilt sat heavy on Tara’s conscience. The killer had gotten another victim, and she couldn’t help but feel responsible. She stared down at the case files, but her mind was also focused on something else. If they were right, if this killer knew a thing or two about investigations, he would never bury a body in the same place where the others were found.

  “Maybe we should have them check other beaches,” she finally said. She explained her reasoning.

  “I agree,” Warren admitted as he reached for his phone and called Sheriff Patel. He was only on the phone briefly before he hung up. “He says they’re checking neighboring beaches within a ten-mile radius. They brought in other departments from other towns for the search.”

  Tara was glad to hear it. They certainly needed help to cover so much ground. But while Sheriff Patel and the other cops were busy searching for a body, Tara and Warren needed a plan to find Sofia and the killer.

  Warren sighed. “I think you’re right,” he started. “We may have been
on to something when we were searching for someone with law enforcement experience, or who has some knowledge of investigative procedures.” He leaned his elbow on the table, letting his hand hold the weight of his head. His fingers were clenched, almost digging into his scalp.

  “Maybe we should do another search,” Tara replied. They had asked Patel to expand his search; maybe they needed to expand theirs. “Maybe we need to look at other towns.”

  They decided to call Grace, who was already working on the initial report—they just needed her to expand her search. But when they called, she was already on it.

  “Almost done,” she said. “I’m gathering a list of ex-police officers with a record in the past three years in towns within a ten-mile radius.”

  Grace always thought ahead, always anticipating what an agent would need next, and Tara was grateful that they wouldn’t lose any time. Tara thanked her and hung up the phone. They now just had to wait, and while they did, they dug deeper into each case file, trying to find any other connections among the victims. But after going through each, they had yet to find a correlation other than the way they were abducted, how Alyssa and Reese’s bodies were found, and the connection in where Reese and Alyssa worked for a short time. They all had attended different schools. Alyssa was from out of town. Reese and Sofia attended neighboring school districts.

  After some time had passed, Grace called. She had their results. Tara and Warren moved to a computer and were soon looking over a very short list of names of only two officers. One was a DUI, and Tara immediately scrolled over him, but the second pulled her in: an officer in his late forties who had been on the force for twenty years. He had been fired last spring, right before the summer Alyssa White went missing. Tara read his charge, and her heart rate picked up. He had been charged with assault on his teenage daughter after breaking up a party she was at near Dewey Beach. The cop’s name was Officer Terry Brennan, and the assault had occurred on the lawn outside of the party.

  She looked over at Warren, making sure he was seeing what she was. His eyebrows knitted, and he sat leaned forward in his chair, glued to the screen.

  “What do you think?” she asked when he finished reading.

  He sighed. “I think we should find out who was there.”

  Tara agreed. She would start with Sofia’s friend. She had given Tara her number after they interviewed her that morning. Within moments, Sofia’s friend was on the line.

  Tara reminded her who they were.

  “Did you find her?” the girl said abruptly, and Tara’s heart sank.

  “I’m sorry, but we haven’t.”

  She grew quiet and sighed.

  “I wanted to ask you about a party that happened last spring.” The girl still didn’t speak. Her breathing was suddenly more controlled. “Do you know a cop by the name of Brennan? He broke up a party last spring that his daughter was at?”

  She was quiet a moment. “Why?” she asked. “What does this have to do with Sofia?”

  “Were you or Sofia there?”

  The girl sighed again. “My parents don’t know we were there,” she said nervously. “But yeah. I remember that party very well. That poor girl was humiliated in front of everyone when her father flipped out.” She paused. “It was pretty awful. I just remember him grabbing her by the throat and hitting her hard in the face. He was calling her all these horrible things. I heard later on that he grabbed her arm so hard, he broke it.”

  “Did you know her?” Tara asked.

  “No, but I’ve heard of her. She was homeschooled. Her dad was really strict. But she’d sneak out sometimes. She had some friends that lived in the area, around Dewey Beach.” Tara’s mind immediately went to Reese, but then she remembered that earlier, Sofia’s friend told her that Sofia didn’t know Reese.

  “You’re sure Sofia didn’t know Reese, right? Reese wasn’t at that party too?”

  The girl hesitated, but then spoke. “I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t think it mattered,” she started. “Me and Sofia didn’t really know Reese, but I did recognize her when I saw her on the news and when you showed me her picture.” Tara and Warren shared a look as they anxiously waited for her to continue. “She was at that party. I remember her clearly because she tried to help Officer Brennan’s daughter after he hit her to the ground, but he just threatened her and she backed up.”

  “What did he say?” Tara asked.

  “Just that she’d be sorry if she got in between them. Something like it was bad enough that she influenced his daughter. And then he said something that I think everyone was shocked about. He said she was a slut, just like every other girl at the party. He said he wasn’t going to let his daughter turn into one.”

  Tara let her words sink in. Could it be enough for motive? Could Officer Brennan have been taken over the edge when he was fired? And then sought out the girls he thought influenced his daughter? It was possible, Tara assumed, especially if he lost more than just his job that night.

  “Do you know if Alyssa White was there too?” Tara asked.

  The girl wasn’t sure. “I didn’t know her. Especially because she wasn’t local. But it’s possible. It seemed everyone was there, and it wasn’t just locals either.”

  Tara thanked her and hung up. She turned to Warren. “I think we should pay Officer Brennan a visit,” she said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A large multistory apartment building stood tall in front of them. Garbage littered the entrance, and shifty individuals eyed them as they walked past. Two of them were secretly exchanging something, before looking startled as they noticed Tara and Warren briskly walk to the entrance. It was on the more dangerous side of town, and it was where Terry now lived. They had learned, after looking up his information, that he was now divorced, which Tara had suspected. After the incident that night, CPS was called, an investigation ensued, and now Mrs. Brennan had full custody over her daughter.

  Tara knew that if Terry Brennan was already a man with a temper before his divorce, it was probably tenfold now. Tara and Warren entered an elevator and were soon on the fifth floor, headed to apartment 525. Tara could feel her gun under shirt, and it gave her comfort as they stood in front of the door and Warren knocked.

  It took a few moments, but the door opened, and a tired-looking man stood in front of them. His lip curled in disgust as he saw Tara and Warren. He looked as if he had barely slept in days. The skin under his eyes was red and the whites bloodshot, making him look sickly. His loose-fitting t-shirt was stained with whatever he had eaten that morning, and in one of his hands he held a half-drunk beer.

  “Mr. Brennan?” Tara asked, making sure they had come to the right door.

  “Yeah, what?” he spat back, confirming it as if it were obvious. He took a swig of his beer.

  Tara held up her badge, and a flash of anger appeared in his eyes. “We were wondering if we could talk to you a moment.”

  He placed the beer down on a side table as he leaned closer to the door. “About what, exactly?” he asked. “What could you possibly want from me?”

  “Can we come in?”

  “Absolutely not,” he spat back without hesitation. He had no care for who they were, and he showed a confidence that was concerning. Tara knew that overconfident suspects were more likely to do something rash, and she was watching all his movements carefully.

  He grabbed his beer again and took a swig, his other hand still holding the door handle.

  “We are not here to question you about the encounter with your daughter,” Tara tried to reassure him, but his face only tightened more in anger at the mention. “But we do have some questions about that night,” she added. “We just want to know if you saw any of these girls.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out the images of the three victims. He looked at each one carefully, but his eyes fell hard on Reese.

  “What does it matter?” he asked as heat rose up his neck.

  Tara wasn’t sure if he was playing dumb or if he truly did
n’t watch the news. Almost everyone would recognize their faces by now, since they’d been plastered on every local news station. Tara explained the case and that one of them was missing, but his face didn’t change.

  “We’re just trying to find a connection between the three. We think they might’ve all been there that night, at the party.”

  He didn’t answer, his eyes still fixed on Reese, until they moved to the others, with the same burning look.

  “Do you remember seeing them?” Tara asked again.

  “Who the hell knows,” he finally blurted as he looked up at Tara with utter disgust. “But you know what, those little sluts probably deserved it if they’re going to house parties at sixteen.” He went to slam the door, but Warren placed his hand hard against it, holding it slightly ajar.

  He was clearly not only controlling, but a misogynist too, and Tara felt a fire flare within her.

  “Sir, please, we just want to talk,” Warren assured him, but Terry only gave him a fiery glare.

  His teeth gritted, he pulled open the door abruptly. “Don’t you dare put your hand on my door,” he growled. He was about to shut it again, but then a burst of anger flowed through him. “Don’t you think I’ve been through enough!” he screamed. “I lost my damn daughter! My wife! And then you’re going to come here and bother me with this shit! Don’t you think I know what you’re doing?”

  Tara’s hand casually moved to her hip, closer to her gun. She wasn’t quite sure what he was implying. It was either that he was afraid they would bring him up on assault charges for pushing Reese that night and verbally abusing her, or he was referring to something else entirely.

  He took one look at Warren and began to laugh awkwardly. “You think you intimidate me?” He moved into the hallway, still holding his beer as it sloshed around, spilling in his clumsy grip. He was clearly drunk.

  “We can come back another time,” Warren replied.

  But Terry’s face only contorted with more anger. His lip curled in disgust. “No, you won’t. You’re both going to leave me alone! Now get the hell out of here.” He pushed Warren in the shoulder, an attempt to make him leave, but Warren swatted his hand away.

 

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