Page 24

Rowan

After dealing with the dog and locking the house, I retreat upstairs, my heart galloping as I lock my bedroom door.

Harrison is here in Portland, playing “Beast of Burden” at Docksiders. I’m still shaking.

I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Natalie’s anguish cuts deep. I had no idea how much she cared about knowing her father. And yet Harrison’s return to Portland scares me in ways that I can’t share with her.

After finding my phone, I open Instagram and guess the password for the account I made months ago for my architecture portfolio.

And then—just like Natalie did—I type in Harrison’s name and find the band’s Instagram account. I flip back through the pictures until I find the first posts with Harrison.

May. He’s been in Portland for more than a month.

And I’m the fool who told the cops that we hadn’t heard from him in fifteen years. I told them repeatedly .

This is bad.

I blow out a shaky breath and picture Natalie sitting in the bar, clapping along with the band, five paces from the man who blew up both our lives.

I find Detective Riley’s card and compose a text.

Rowan: This is Rowan Gallagher. Tonight I learned that Natalie’s father is back in Portland, and my daughter has been in touch with him. I didn’t know.

After sending it, I drop the phone and go down to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. A tall one. When I pass Natalie’s bedroom door, I can hear her speaking to someone in a low voice. She must be using her laptop to talk to Tessa. Maybe taking her phone doesn’t even matter.

Do any of my parenting decisions matter?

In my room again, I pick up my phone to find that Detective Riley has already responded to my text.

Riley: Thank you for telling me. Can you do me a favor and click on this link? I need to know if you think this footage is Harrison.

Oh God . It’s suddenly hard to catch my breath, and I tug my sports bra away from my chest.

If the footage is of Harrison throwing a gun into a dumpster, I don’t know what I’ll tell my child.

When the link appears, I click, and a video loads. It shows the fishbowl view that’s common to doorbell cameras. But there’s no dumpster in view. It’s a house. Our house.

A man walks up the short path from the sidewalk to the front door. He has a guitar case strapped onto his back.

I feel sick.

The picture isn’t great, and our little front porch casts gloomy shadows over him as he steps up to our door and knocks. My heart is in my mouth as I picture Natalie opening the door and letting him inside.

But that’s not what happens. Nobody comes. He knocks twice more and then gives up, turning around to retreat down the walkway, his gait so familiar that it socks me in the chest. The set of his shoulders, and the loping, confident stride. I used to light up inside whenever I saw him coming toward me. He’d give me a slow smile. How’s it going, Gallagher?

Now he’s back, at the worst possible time, and I feel more crushed than afraid. What have you done, Harrison?

I slide off the bed and cross to the bedroom window, staring down at the darkened street. As if he might be out there right now.

After yanking the curtains shut, I go back to my texts with Riley.

Rowan: Where did you get this?

Riley: Your neighbor’s doorbell camera. Do you recognize him? Is it Harrison?

I tap out the word yes , but I hesitate before sending it. What will she do if I confirm this? The police found a receipt from Docksiders in Tim’s car.

Seriously? Could Harrison have killed him?

My phone rings in my hand, and I jump. It’s Riley, of course. I answer with “When was this video taken?”

“I can’t provide that information,” she says coolly.

“Why not?”

“This is an ongoing murder investigation.”

Jesus Christ . Like I don’t know that?

“How did you learn he was in town?” she asks. “You said you found out tonight?”

“By accident. I was walking past the restaurant where we worked when I was in college. I heard the band, and I saw his face on a flyer. I went inside and found my daughter with a friend at a table.”

She gives a low whistle. “And you had no idea they were in contact?”

“Look, have you ever raised a teenager?”

“No,” she says, her voice softening. “I haven’t had the pleasure. Did she tell you when they first made contact?”

“The date? No. I can try to ask, but she’s really mad at me. I took her phone away for lying to me about her whereabouts.”

“Okay, but I need that information. Either you get it, or I’ll have to interview her myself.”

Oh no you don’t . “We need a cooling-off period, but I’ll ask her tomorrow. Were you even going to tell me that he came to my house?”

“My responsibility is to the deceased, Rowan. It’s my job to ask more questions than I answer.”

Like that’s not infuriating.

“Listen,” she says. “I did some research on Harrison’s first offense. The bar fight.”

My stomach bottoms out, the same way it does every time I think about that night.

“You never mentioned they were fighting over you .”

“They weren’t,” I argue. “It wasn’t like some TV love triangle.”

“Then tell me how it was.”

The steel band around my chest tightens again. I hate remembering. Hate talking about the night that took my relationship from doomed to eviscerated.

“It was date night, I guess. We weren’t doing that well as a couple. We had a toddler who didn’t like to sleep in her own bed, and he had just lost his job. So we spent money we didn’t have on a babysitter, and we went out to a comedy show.”

“At the Parker House. That’s in the police report.”

Why do I have to tell this awful story if it’s all in the report? “Harrison was really... off that night. Sort of hard to reach. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“Like, mentally off?”

“Yes. I thought he was depressed. But he also kept asking me questions that didn’t make sense. And that made me livid, because it meant he’d probably taken drugs.”

“He did that a lot?”

“Well, yes and no. Not when I met him. He said he occasionally did some Ecstasy when he partied with his friends, but after Natalie was born, he started smoking pot. He was careful to smoke only outdoors, but it annoyed me because we had money issues. He told me it helped him feel less anxious.”

I remember yelling at him that getting another goddamn job would make me less anxious.

“Anyway—that night he was acting so weird that I thought he was on something new. I was afraid, and I was angry that he’d get high on our big night out together. So I picked a fight. I told him I was pissed off, and we might as well go home if he was going to act like a zombie.”

“And he got mad?” she asks.

“No, that’s the weird thing. He hardly reacted at all. Like he was checked out. Until this stranger butted in and said, ‘Hey dude, your lady is trying to tell you something.’ And finally Harrison sort of woke up and asked the guy, ‘Who are you talking to?’ Which sounds like a smart-ass thing to say, but Harrison really meant it.”

“Weird.”

“It was. Then Harrison asked, ‘Who sent you?’ and the guy starts laughing. He calls Harrison a freak and a bunch of other names. Harrison flipped out. He started screaming questions at the guy. The whole bar kind of stops to watch. The bouncer steps in and tries to grab him. And Harrison freaks .”

“Meaning... ?”

“Punching. Kicking. Like the devil possessed him. And this is a man I’d never seen violent in my life. The guy’s friends pulled him back, but Harrison grabbed a bar stool. It was heavy. Made of steel, I think. And he charged the guy.”

I shiver. I’d never been so scared, and I’ll never forget the sound of that man’s head hitting the concrete floor.

“The question is—do you think Harrison was capable of murdering Tim Kovak?”

Air rushes out of my lungs. “I just don’t see why he would.”

“Can’t you? Tim had what he once lost.”

“He didn’t really.”

“But Harrison is sometimes capable of great violence, and he has a history of drug use, correct?”

“Yes,” I say softly.

“Did you speak with him tonight? How did he seem to you?”

“We only spoke for a second. I sent my daughter outside and then told him not to come around. He seemed...” I close my eyes and picture his gray eyes. I hadn’t expected them to still look kind. I thought I’d see a monster. “He seemed a little angry, but also embarrassed. He said Natalie told him that she’d cleared their meetings with me. He fell for it.”

“Did he sound mad at your daughter? At you?”

“A little? At me. He said ‘If you’re never going to answer any of my messages...’ But I cut him off. I said I had a lot on my plate and told him not to bother us anymore.”

“What was his response?”

“He just looked sad. And then he asked me not to be too hard on her.”

“Hmm,” the cop says. “We have a man with a violent past who wants to get back in touch with his family. And your recent ex turns up dead. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence.”

“Maybe.” I sure hope it is a coincidence, though. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t share that information. But I’ll be in touch if we learn anything or have any more questions. You’ve been very helpful, Rowan. You did the right thing by letting me know.”

If only I was sure it was true.