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
