***

The victim’s father sat in front of them in a small room at the police station with a picture of his daughter tightly in his grip. His hands were caked in car grease and he wore a blue button-down with his name sewn into it. He was a mechanic of some sort and had clearly left in a hurry.

“Does she have a boyfriend? Or any siblings she might’ve been in contact with?” Warren asked.

It was the second time he had asked that question, but just like the last few times the man attempted to speak, no words could leave his throat, becoming trapped in the vibrato of emotion. This time, he looked down at the picture in his hands and let the emotion overcome him.

Tara knew he needed a moment. He needed to let the wound bleed. He was feeling its realness for the first time, and Tara knew firsthand how paralyzing that feeling was. When she lost her mother, she had gone through an array of emotions. As first she thought maybe it wasn’t true but then reality would hit her in waves, pulling her deep into a sea of unknown, and each time she would lose her breath.

She watched him stare at the picture of his daughter but his eyes were looking past it, deep into the depths of disbelief.

“No,” he finally managed. “She just had me. No siblings, no boyfriend.” He took a deep breath. “My wife died of cancer ten years ago.” He cupped his face with his hand and let out a muffled cry. “My baby girl.”

He was completely broken and in some way, it lifted a strange feeling within Tara. She couldn’t tell if it was just deep empathy or the tug on a deep forgotten wound.

She finally got up, grabbing hold of a box of tissues and placing them in front of him. His gaze remained transfixed on his daughter, and she felt another painful tug as she pulled her chair closer and stroked his back for a moment. His body shook with pain.

“We’re going to find who did this,” she said to him.

The man nodded as his bottom lip quivered.

Warren leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and readying himself to try again. “I know this isn’t easy,” he began. “But can you tell us when you spoke to her last?”

The man nodded. “Ye-yesterday morning.”

His voice cracked as he said the words, but the clarity of response caused both Tara and Warren to suddenly lean forward even more.

“Did anything seem off to you?” Warren asked, now sitting at the edge of his seat. “Did she ever mention anyone? Maybe someone she met on the trail?”

Again, the man shook his head, and Warren’s body relaxed again in disappointment. “No one,” he said. “And she always seemed happy when I spoke to her.”

“Did she ever mention a compass? Or engravings on a tree?”

The man looked at Warren in confusion. “No.”