by Sarah Sutton
“He had a lot of issues. His father was the same way. He was very controlling.” Mrs. Brennan sighed. “And he didn’t have a relationship with his mother. She left them when he was young for another man.”
Her words only confirmed that he had a deep-rooted mistrust of women.
“I thought I could help him,” Mrs. Brennan added with a shake of her head. “But clearly I was wrong.”
Julie stared at her mother as she spoke before grabbing a hold of her hand–– the room falling into silence. They were clearly both still healing.
“And how did you meet Reese?” Tara asked Julie.
“I used to go to the coffee shop to study sometimes before my dad got home. I met Reese when she first started working there. That’s when our friendship really started. We both had strict parents, so we kind of just understood each other.”
“Did you ever tell your dad about her?” Tara asked
Julie shook her head. “I knew if I told him, he would get all concerned about it. He always said I had a personality to be easily influenced.” She paused, sadness blooming on her face. Tara felt sorry for her. Hearing those words from her own father had to have affected her confidence.
“And what happened the night of the party?” Tara felt guilty asking. She knew it was a delicate subject, but she needed her to recount her story.
The girl sighed. “My dad thought I was home, but Reese snuck out of her house for a party and invited me. I went. I didn’t think my parents would know. But he was a cop and ended up getting called to break up the party.” Her eyes began to well up, and Tara knew very well why. It was the same story that Sofia’s friend had told them. “He hit me, in front of everyone. Over and over again. He broke my arm.” She now couldn’t control her emotion as she began to cry. Her mother leaned in closer, wrapping her arm around her. It steadied her. “Reese tried to stop him. I think he kind of made the connection then. He knew I went to the coffee shop a lot. He used to go in there before work, so he clearly recognized her.”
Mrs. Brennan spoke. “I got a call that night when I was in bed. I thought Julie was home, but it was the hospital. She squeezed her daughter’s hand. “That was my last straw with him,” she added. “I filed for divorce and a restraining order the next morning, and we moved in with my sister.”
“Has he tried contacting you at all?” Tara asked.
“Just once,” Mrs. Brennan admitted. “He showed up at my sister’s house with a box of our stuff a few months ago. He claimed he didn’t know we’d be there, but he knew.” She rolled her eyes. “He just wanted an excuse to check on us. I told my lawyer that he defied the restraining order, and he never did it again.”
Tara looked between Julie and her mother. “Do you think he would’ve hurt Reese?”
They shared a glance, as if to see what the other thought. They both questioned it; Tara could see it in their eyes. “I would hope not,” Mrs. Brennan replied. “I never would suspect him of murder, but I honestly don’t even know how he’s been this past year.”
It was an answer that made him seem even more suspect. His own family couldn’t even deny that he was capable of murder. But Tara still had one more question . Did Julie know Alyssa? She was the only victim that somehow hadn’t fit into the theory. She looked at Warren, who was already holding her picture in his hand, waiting for the right moment to ask. At Tara’s glance, he placed the picture in front of Julie.
“Do you know her?” he asked.
She looked down at it, and Tara could see familiarity flicker in her eyes. But Alyssa’s pictures had been everywhere, on every news station, on every telephone pole for a year. Anyone in this town would recognize her.
Julie shook her head, and Tara’s heart sank. “Only from the news. I don’t think I’ve ever met her, though.”
Tara and Warren thanked them both, and they soon stood in the parking lot. Mr. Brennan seemed like an obvious suspect to Tara now, but the only piece that gave her doubt was Alyssa. Where did she fit in, if at all? Once they got into the car, Tara posed the question to Warren. She could see that it was on his mind as well. He was being quiet, as he always was when in deep thought.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted as he placed the key in the ignition. He scrunched his face as he stared in front of him. His hand still held the key, even though the car was now on.
“What?” Tara asked. She could tell he had more to say.
He sighed. “I don’t know,” he said as he turned to her. “Reese and Alyssa do look a bit alike. Could he have confused the two?”
It was a question that hadn’t occurred to Tara, but he was right. They were a similar average height. They were both thin with long brown hair. Although Reese’s was slightly straighter, it was possible that they could’ve been mistaken from behind. If that was true, then he had wanted to kill Reese much earlier than he actually did. But Tara also knew that once he captured Alyssa, he would’ve known. But maybe it was too late? She mentioned it to Warren.
He nodded. “I agree. Maybe he knew he couldn’t turn back or he’d be caught.”
It was possible, Tara assumed, but the only way to know for sure was to get it out of Mr. Brennan directly. “Let’s just hope he’s sober enough now to talk,” she replied as they made their way to the station.
Warren pulled out of the parking lot, and Tara stared at the road ahead of them in silence as she wondered if they had finally caught the killer.
Chapter Nineteen
Tara and Warren entered the interrogation room. They were told that Brennan would now be sober enough to speak. The cops at the station had given him coffee and water until the weight of where he was hit him full-force. He stared at them as they entered. He squinted skeptically, and he sat up straighter, as if ready to take a beating. He had the same arrogance in his stance that he had at the entrance of his apartment, and now it was clear it wasn’t just the alcohol that made him that way. It was his core.
His mouth curled into a devious smile as Tara took a seat across from him. She knew what he was thinking. She was a woman. He could intimidate her. It was what he had done to every female in his life, and it amazed her that he still couldn’t see it was his ultimate downfall. She gave him the same smile back, with fire behind it, and his smile subsided angrily.
She slid a picture of Alyssa across the table. “Do you know her?”
“Isn’t this the picture you showed me at my apartment? I told you, I don’t know her. Only saw her on the news.” Tara wasn’t sure if he was too drunk the first time she showed him, but he had clearly remembered. She asked him again, trying to read his emotion, but once again, his response seemed sincere. Or was he a skilled liar? He was an ex-cop, after all. He knew how to play this game.
Warren took a seat beside her, opening the envelope containing all the pictures found in his apartment. He placed them on the table one by one. Brennan looked down at them, and for the first time a hint of fear surfaced in his eyes, but then it quickly vanished, as if remembering where he was. He had clearly been too drunk to remember Warren showing them to him before. He looked as if he were seeing them for the first time.
“Can you tell me why these were in your apartment?” Tara asked.
He remained quiet as he looked down at them. “I don’t need to tell you,” he finally blurted.
Tara stared at him. “Your daughter knows that you’ve been watching her. Her and your ex-wife’s lawyer are going to know pretty soon too,” she shot back at him. His face fell. “It seems kind of suspect that you’ve been watching her and her friends, and then suddenly two of her friends go missing. And I’m sure you don’t like her hanging out with this crowd, isn’t that right?” Tara’s head tilted slightly as she stared deep into his eyes. A sudden look of concern swept across his face.
“No,” he said, panicking. “She can’t know. Wait, what does she think?” He stared down at the pictures again.
Tara pointed angrily at the picture of Sofia. “Where is she?”
He looked up
, confused. It was a look Tara wasn’t expecting to see. “How the hell would I know?” He then looked from Tara to Warren. “What is this really about?”
Tara couldn’t tell if it was all an act or if he truly didn’t know that he was being accused of murder. “Where were you last night?”
“I was home,” he barked. “Now tell me what the hell this is about!” His frustration caused a vein to pulsate on his forehead.
Tara leaned in closer. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath. She looked him straight in the eye. “Reese and Sofia went missing not long after you took these photos. You know what this looks like? It looks like stalking to me.”
Tara looked at Warren, who nodded. “Looks the same to me too, Mills.”
Brennan chuckled under his breath. “That’s ridiculous,” he shot back. “So, what, you think I murdered them? Is that what you put in my daughter’s head?”
Tara stood up out of her chair. “I’m going to ask you again. Where is she?” She pointed at Sofia, now leaning over him.
“I said I don’t know!” He sighed. “I was just keeping tabs on my daughter, all right?” He leaned back in his chair in defeat. “Since I can’t see her and know what she’s up to, I try to keep tabs on her somehow.” Tara was about to speak, but he stopped her. “I know,” he started as if aware of what she was going to say. “The restraining order. But I’m still not physically going near her. I didn’t take these pictures.” The words fell out of his mouth. It was clearly something he didn’t want to admit, but he had been backed into a corner. But was it the truth? Tara shared a look with Warren. It was an admission that neither of them foresaw.
“Then who took them?” Tara asked.
He sighed. “I hired a private investigator. I wanted to see what she was up to, but I didn’t want her to see me watching her.” He looked back down at the pictures. She could see he knew how bad this looked. But his story did sound plausible. It would make sense why Julie never noticed him taking her picture, and he was smart enough to know that if she did, it would immediately be relayed to the lawyers. But now, it would be, regardless. Tara knew, and so did he as an ex-cop that hiring a private investigator would still be considered violating a restraining order.
Suddenly he looked up, as if a thought had struck him. “He was at my house last night, ask him.”
***
Tara and Warren stood in a small office down the hall from the interrogation room. Brennan had already given them the name and phone number of the private investigator, and they had just tried calling. But after trying a couple of times, and no answer, disappointment swelled in Tara’s belly. Warren placed his phone back into his pocket.
He sighed. “We’ll get one of the cops to keep trying or send someone over there.”
They had looked up the name of the private investigation agency. It was a legit place, and Tara was beginning to believe that the story would check out, and so would Brennan’s alibi. There was also once piece of the puzzle that she still couldn’t fit: Alyssa White.
She mentioned it to Warren. “I just feel like we’re missing something.” He understood without question what she meant, and he expressed it with a nod. It was clearly on his mind as well; it had been from the very start, and they still could not piece it together.
“You think he was telling the truth? That he’d never seen her before?” Warren asked.
Tara crossed her arms and sighed. “I suppose he could be lying, but I didn’t see him flinch or anything when I showed it to him.”
“Well, he is a cop,” Warren reminded her. It was the same reasoning that had crossed Tara’s mind. She nodded, but she still had a heavy doubt that wouldn’t ease. She could see in Warren’s eyes that he felt it too, but suddenly, Warren’s phone rang. He reached for it and quickly picked it up. Tara waited. At first, she wasn’t sure who it would be, but then it occurred to her that it could be the Evidence Response Team, that they could’ve finished searching Brennan’s car. She watched Warren’s face intently, trying to read what he was hearing, and his expression abruptly changed. They had found something, she could feel it, and her heart drummed.
“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker so my partner can hear,” Warren said.
Tara moved a little closer as Warren held the phone out for them both to hear.
The man on the phone cleared his throat. “So I was saying, we found a hair. In the trunk. It’s definitely from a female.” Tara looked up at Warren, meeting his eyes, only to see the same shock. They had their doubts, but this could make them all subside. If the hair was in fact a victim’s, that could be all they needed for certainty.
“Do you know whose it is yet?” Warren asked.
“No, not yet. We’ll have results in the morning. Unfortunately, we don’t have any DNA for the third victim, but we’re going to compare the hair with the DNA of victims one and two. We also just stopped at the Brennans’ and got a DNA sample from the mother and daughter so we can rule them out if need be.”
Warren thanked him and hung up. He looked at Tara. They both knew there was the potential for substantial evidence, but their only option now was to wait. Warren looked up at a clock hanging on the doorway. Tara spun around. It was now evening. They had exhausted their efforts, but they still had yet to find Sofia.
She looked at Warren. “Sofia,” she said. The name rolled off her lips, and there was nothing more she needed to say. Warren understood, for he felt it too. His eyes were glossy from the tiring long day, and sadness swelled in them.
“They’re going to keep looking into the night,” he replied. He was referring to Sheriff Patel and the army of other officers that were diligently searching on every beach nearby. But Tara could see in his eyes that Warren knew that wasn’t all she needed to hear. It was the worry that they might not find her, that she was still out there, alive. But they both knew they had nowhere else to look. Every business was closed. They didn’t have a lead. They could only hope that that by capturing Brennan, she was somewhere safe.
“We’ll pick up in the morning,” Warren said. She could hear in his voice that he was disappointed, but it was their only option now.
They moved to the exit, but all Tara could focus on was another day lost, and as she reached for the door handle, a terrified Sofia haunted her.
***
Tara turned the keys to her condo and opened the door to a room full of darkness. She had arrived home before John. He was still at band practice. Tara had spoken to him on the way, and she was somewhat relieved to have some time to herself. She flicked the lights on, removed her shoes, placed her keys and phone next to the door, and made her way into the bedroom. A hot shower was what she needed. She was exhausted, but her mind was still fully awake, digging at every corner. Sofia was still not found. It was a realization that clung to her mind, unable to let go. It sickened her that she was home preparing for a shower when Sofia could still be out there, when her family was still worried sick.
Tara undressed, turned the water on, and stepped into the shower. The warm water was soothing against her skin. She took a deep breath, letting the steam fill her lungs. It soothed her, but not enough to make her mind stop racing. She knew it wouldn’t until Sofia was found and she was certain they had the killer. She had her suspicions about Brennan, but she still wasn’t one hundred percent certain. The more she thought about it, the more she felt that he was telling the truth—that he didn’t know Alyssa White.
Tara’s thoughts were interrupted to the sound of her phone ringing in the distance. It was probably John, she assumed, and she listened as it continued to ring and then stopped. She made a mental note to call when she was done, but then she heard her phone beep. She had a voicemail. John never left voicemails, unless it was important. And if it wasn’t John, who else would call her this late?
She hurried up in the shower. She had a bad habit of thinking the worst. Maybe it was John, maybe something happened, a car accident. The thoughts swirled through her head. She tried despera
tely to shake them off. He would’ve called the house phone next, she told herself. She didn’t know why she always thought that way—why tragedy would be her first instinct. She could only assume that it was a byproduct of her childhood trauma, and she hated that she tortured herself with those thoughts.
She stepped out of the shower, dried off, and quickly got dressed. As she exited the bathroom, she heard the jostle of keys in the front door and then the turn of the knob. She instantly relaxed. She knew it was John, and as she entered the kitchen, his smile greeted her at the door. He was still dressed in his business attire, even though he had just come from practice. He was wearing a button-up shirt that was undone from his neck to his chest, his sleeves pushed up his forearm. His hair was slicked over, and Tara couldn’t help but marvel at how handsome he looked.
“How was your day?” he asked as he placed the keys down on the counter and leaned over to give her a kiss. He then made his way to the fridge and began rummaging through it. Tara took a seat at the island.
His words instantly brought her thoughts back to Sofia, and her stomach churned into a knot. “Tough,” she admitted, but she didn’t go into details. She didn’t want to, and John understood. He nodded as he took a quick glance at her before taking out a plate of leftovers. He knew her well enough in this career now to understand when something was too much to talk about, and questions were better left unasked.
She changed the subject. “How was practice?”
A smile instantly formed as he placed his food in the microwave. “It was good! I think we’re definitely ready for the gig tomorrow. You’re coming right?”
She had almost forgotten about John’s gig and that she’d told him she’d try her best to be there. But now as the case progressed and was prolonged, she knew it was becoming more unlikely. “I really want to be,” she started as his face fell into a frown. “But this case, I really can’t promise anything.”