After studying the pictures, Ernie must have reached the same conclusion. Pointing to the senior portrait, he shook his head. “A picture’s supposed to be worth a thousand words,” he said sadly. “But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
Joanna nodded. “It certainly does,” she said.
Back in the O’Brien’s living room, David and Katherine sat in front of a massive stone fireplace. David’s wheelchair was parked on one side. Katherine’s overstuffed brocade-covered chair was opposite his. Both Katherine and David held fist-sized cocktail glasses in their hands. As soon as Joanna walked into the room, Katherine’s eyes sought hers. That silent, pleading look spoke volumes.
“Won’t you reconsider and join us?” Katherine asked. She gestured graciously toward a silver serving tray stocked with several crystal glasses, a matching ice bucket, and a selection of liquor bottles. The tray, placed well within reach, sat on an elegantly carved ebony coffee table. “Or, if you wish,” Katherine Continued, “Mrs. Vorevkin could bring in a fresh pitcher of lea.”
David O’Brien frowned as though finding his wife’s offer of hospitality somehow offensive. Polishing off the liquid in his own glass, he leaned over, slamming the crystal glass down on the tray hard enough to jangle the bottles standing there. Allen tossing in a couple of ice cubes, he refilled his glass with a generous serving from a half-empty bottle of Chivas Regal.
“No, thank you…” Joanna began.
“Stop it, Katherine,” O’Brien ordered. “That isn’t necessary. No sense treating these two cops like they’re honored guests or long-lost relatives. They’re here for business, not pleasure.”
Katherine blanched at the rebuke. Wanting to make her feel better, Joanna ignored David O’Brien’s rudeness and turned instead to his wife. “Your husband is right, Mrs. O’Brien,” Joanna said smoothly. “Detective Carpenter and I are here on business. It’s very kind of you, but it isn’t necessary to treat us as guests. And, now that we’re finished, we need to be going.”
Katherine had been ordered to stifle, and she did so. She nodded mutely in response, holding her mouth in a thin, straight line while her eyes welled with tears. David O’Brien, however, seemed oblivious to the fact that his actions had caused his wife any discomfort. Still fuming, he turned his attention on Joanna.
“Well, Sheriff Brady,” he continued brusquely, “what have you decided? Are you going to call in the FBI or not?”
“Not,” Joanna replied. “I realize, Mr. O’Brien, that you’re under the impression that some serious harm has come to your daughter. However, nothing we found in her room gives any indication of foul play. According to what your wife could tell us about your daughter’s things, the clothing Bree packed when she left home is consistent with someone going away for a few days-of someone going away with every intention of returning. Your daughter told you she’d be back on Sunday afternoon, correct?”
“Yes, but…”
“How old is she, Mr. O’Brien?”
“She turned eighteen in March.”
“Not a juvenile, then. She’s of an age where the law allows her to come and go as she pleases, regardless of her parents’ wishes. Until she misses her Sunday afternoon estimated time of arrival or until you receive some kind of threat or ransom demand, there’s really nothing more we can do.”
“Can or will?” David O’Brien asked.
“We’ve already done something,” Joanna countered reason-ably. “Probably more than we should have under the circumstances. Even though Brianna doesn’t officially qualify as a missing person, my department has nonetheless alerted authorities both here and in New Mexico to be on the lookout for her.”
“But not the FBI.”
“No.”
“And you have no intention of notifying them?”
David O’Brien was clearly a bully-someone who was accustomed to having his own way each and every time, no questions asked.
“As I told you earlier,” Joanna said, “we won’t take that kind of action unless there’s some compelling evidence to indicate that a kidnapping has actually taken place.”
The unwavering calmness in Joanna’s answer seemed to provoke David O’Brien and make him bristle that much more. “I thought as much,” he said. “But that’s till right. You do your thing, Sheriff Brady, and I’ll do mine.”
“David…” Katherine began, but he silenced her once more with a single baleful glare. Again the woman subsided into her chair. She said nothing more aloud, but the fingers gripping her partially filled glass showed white at the knuckles.
Looking at the woman, the phrase “contents under pressure” suddenly popped into Joanna’s head. That was what Katherine O’Brien was like. She seemed to be forever walking on eggshells around her husband, trying to keep things from him-things like learning about his daughter’s birth control pills-that might provoke… what?
For the first time, the possibility of domestic violence entered into the equation. Joanna had been sheriff long enough to know that domestic violence was a part of all too many seemingly happy marriages in Cochise County and throughout the rest of the country as well. DV calls came from homes at all socioeconomic levels and all walks of life. David O’Brien was in his seventies, but his bare arms bulged with the muscles and sinews used to propel his non-motorized wheelchair. His hands, callused from turning the rubber wheels, would come equipped with a powerful grip. Used as weapons, those same hands could be dangerous, although, in Joanna’s opinion, the words that came from his mouth-words steeped in anger and bitterness-seemed damaging enough.
Joanna thought again of the almost obsessive neatness of Brianna’s room-of the
Joanna turned back to David. He was studying her with narrowed eyes, as if expecting her to cave in to his demands.
“What do you mean by your thing and my thing, Mr. O’Brien?” she asked.
“It means that as soon as I saw your department’s reluctance to call in reinforcements, I went ahead and made other arrangements. I’ve contacted a private eye up in Phoenix. Detective Stoddard will be here by nine o’clock tomorrow morning. You may be unwilling or unable to do the job, Sheriff Brady. I’m sure my PI won’t be.”
“Hiring a detective is certainly your prerogative, Mr. O’Brien,” Joanna returned. “It may prove to be a waste of money, however, especially if your daughter shows up on her own as scheduled tomorrow afternoon.”
“Even if she does, it’s my money,” O’Brien said sourly.
“Of course,” Joanna agreed. “And you’re entitled to spend it in whatever manner you see fit. Good evening, then.” She started to leave, but then stopped and turned back. “May I ask one more question?”
“What’s that?”
“Have you noticed any changes in your daughter’s behavior in the last few months?”
“What’s this? You’re asking me questions about a daughter you insist isn’t really missing?”
Joanna ignored the jibe. “Has she changed?”
O’Brien shrugged. “Of course she’s changed,” he said. “Night to day. As though she had a personality transplant. Telling us one thing and doing another is just the tip of the iceberg.” He paused long enough to glower at his wife, as though he held Katherine personally accountable for his daughter’s emerging dishonesty.
“She never should have dropped out of the cheerleading squad,” he continued. “That was the beginning of all this and a grave disappointment to me as well. I didn’t raise my daughter to be a quitter. That’s not what O’Briens do.”
You mean being student
