This car clearly belonged to someone else. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out the driver, and there were no streetlights out there. He shrugged it off, figured the neighbors had company, and went to bed.
By morning, the mysterious car was gone. And from that point on, he never saw the Reeds again. Walsh carefully documented the statement.
Now the case included an unidentified dark vehicle. Sullivan had owned one just like that. Walsh returned to his office and spread the photographs across his desk.
Bit by bit, the picture of the crime began to come together. And at first glance, every piece seemed to point to Victor Sullivan. He had a motive—longstanding dislike of his son-in-law.
He had opportunity, too, since he had access to the cabin. He had owned a car matching the witness description. And his behavior after his daughter vanished could be read as suspicious.
He had not mounted a sustained search. He had accepted the explanation too quickly and started drinking heavily. Walsh rubbed his eyes and thought it through. On the surface, the case looked almost too simple.
But his instincts kept telling him something was off. Some small but important detail kept slipping away. Victor Sullivan was formally detained on the fourth day of the renewed investigation.
A judge signed the warrant without much hesitation. The circumstantial evidence was substantial, and taken together it painted a convincing picture. Sullivan offered no resistance when he was arrested.
He quietly packed cigarettes and a toothbrush into a bag, then got into the car without a word. On the ride to the holding facility, he stared out the window. His injured leg twitched from time to time, a reminder of an old wound.
Once in the cell, Sullivan lay down on the bunk facing the wall. He stayed that way for three hours. Only his narrow shoulders moved now and then.
It was impossible to tell whether he was crying or just trying to keep himself together. The formal interview was scheduled for the next morning. Walsh came in with a thick file and a recorder.
Sullivan was already seated at the bolted-down table. His hands were steady. His expression was blank. Walsh switched on the recorder and began by asking about his relationship with his daughter.
Sullivan sat in silence for nearly a minute before answering. His voice was low and flat. He said Anna had been his only child, and he had loved her deeply…
