“Yessss?” she draws out. “I told you I couldn’t help you unless you have a case number.”

“I heard you, Merna is it? The thing is; that’s not true. I spoke to your supervisor, Mr. Simmons, earlier this week. In fact he was going to pull the case aside for me for when I arrived today. He informed me that I would not need a case number, only a name. So, if you could either get him, or pull my files, I would greatly appreciate it.”

She huffs and stands from her chair. “Follow me.” She leads us to a small conference room and gestures for us to take a seat at the table. “I’ll be right back with the files. What was the name on the case?”

“Greg Donovan was the victim in the case. I am his daughter, Vivian.” She leaves, closing the door behind her, leaving Brooks and me behind to wait on the files that could change everything.

“Wow, look at you getting all sassy with that lady,” he says, pulling a chair out for me.

“She was so unprofessional, and I wasn’t about to leave just because she didn’t want to get off her ass and do her job. That was ridiculous.”

Brooks laughs and takes a seat across the table from me. Within minutes, Merna returns with a cardboard box with the name Donovan written in black marker along the side. She places it on the table and immediately exits without saying anything. Whoever said public servants aren’t helpful, apparently never met Merna.

I hear the click of the door, letting me know that we are alone with the box, but I can’t find the courage to take the last step to remove the lid. I remain frozen in my seat, staring at the words on the box. Every piece of information that my mother refused to talk about is in there, and now that I have the power to know all of it, I’m terrified of what that information could be. I think about my father’s promise to build a fort, and how hard he worked to provide for us, but now a few words on a page could change everything I ever thought about him.

“Vivian, do you still want to look at it?” I hear Brooks ask, yanking me from my zone-out, and I shake my head to bring myself back to the moment. “Yes, I just need a minute to collect myself. Things might never be the same once I open that box. I can’t undo it once it’s done.”

“It probably won’t, but at least you’ll have the satisfaction of facing it–that you aren’t scared anymore to face this terrible thing that happened to your family.”

I push my chair away from the table and move toward the box at the end of the table, and Brooks follows. Grabbing the lid on both sides, I slowly lift it until the contents inside reveal themselves. I expected a disarray of random papers and photos, but instead, everything is neatly wrapped and tied together in a manila folder. I pick up the folder, and Brooks takes the box off the table, placing it on the floor beside us.

“I’m right here, Red. Untie it and we can find out together; you aren’t alone,” Brooks says, rubbing my back.

His words encourage me to keep going, to unlock my past. I untie the thread and open the folder. I split the stack of papers in half and give some to Brooks. “We don’t have a lot of time. You go through this stack, and I’ll go through the other, and we can swap information as we go.”

“Anything you need, Viv.” Brooks takes the papers from my hand and walks back to his seat. We each lay out our individual piles and separately begin rummaging through the stacks. Brooks holds up crime scene photos and mug shot line-ups. “How did you say he died?” he asks, examining each picture closely.

“He was strangled by a guy that worked for him, but that’s all I know,” I tell him, scanning through the investigator reports. “It looks like the guy had a previous record for all kinds of offenses, but my dad hired him anyways.”

“Really? Were they violent crimes?” he asks.

“No, looks like mainly drugs, fraud, burglary, theft…things like that.” I drop the report and sift through the other pages, the coroner’s report, and the grand jury indictment until I find the plea bargain affidavit.

“This case was pled out, Brooks,” I announce, stand, and move to his side of the table. I lay the paper in front of him and begin to point out the important pieces of information. “I thought that this was a complete trial, but it says they stopped the trial mid-way through, and that he accepted a plea bargain in exchange for a lesser charge. Why would the state do something like that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the defense found something that would have looked bad in court, or maybe the state would rather have him in jail than risk him being acquitted,” he explains.

“But I can’t find anything that discusses any of that. There’s nothing about private investigators uncovering unpleasant information about my dad. Did you find anything?” I ask.

“I don’t have anything; my entire pile is all pictures of the scene. I couldn’t even find the name of the suspect. What was included in the plea deal? Did he get off pretty lightly?”

“I didn’t need to look for his name; it’s one I would never forget. My mother screamed it at me the day my dad died, and it’s been burned into my mind ever since. His name is Raymond Michaels,” I say, looking down at the plea deal. “It looks like he pled down from murder one to second degree murder, and was sent to a maximum security prison outside Limon. What’s crazy though is he was looking at life, but the plea knocked it down to 25 years.”

I look to Brooks for his opinion, and I take a step back when I notice that all the color has drained from his face. “Brooks, are you okay? Are you feeling all right?” I reach for his cheek to feel if he’s warm. He looks like death, and it’s come on so suddenly, he has me worried.

“S-so, he c-could be out in l-like ten y-years?” he stutters through almost every word, like he’s choking on them. “He could be walking around like it never happened.”

“I know. It makes me sick to think one day I could run into him on the street and never even know that he was the one who changed my whole life.” I look more closely at him and see beads of sweat along his hairline. “Really, Brooks, are you sure you’re feeling okay? You don’t look good.”

He wipes his forehead with his palm and pushes away from the table. “I’m fine; I’m just going to run to the restroom really quick.” He stands and heads for the door. Not waiting for my response, he opens the door and rushes out, swiftly closing it behind him.

I shuffle through the last bit of the file, and then put it back together, loading it into the box. I at least found out the basics, but all of the incriminating information that was a part of the rumors growing up is vacant from any of the reports. After I put everything together, I sit at the table and patiently wait for Brooks to come back. The time slowly passes, and after thirty minutes, he still hasn’t returned.

Merna pokes her head into the room, announcing that they are closing up for the weekend. “Thank you. I’m all done. Have you seen the guy that came with me?” I ask her.

“When he came out, he asked where the restroom was, but I haven’t seen him since. I figured he snuck back in when I was in the back doing some filing.” Yeah, filing, I’m sure that’s what you were doing.

“Okay, thank you.” I stand and follow her out of the office, and she directs me towards the restrooms she sent him to. I knock on the men’s room and call out Brooks’ name. Nothing. I knock louder, concerned that maybe he passed out in there and is lying unconscious. I’m preparing to barge into the bathroom, when Brooks finally opens the door.

“Oh, shit, you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were passed out in there or something. Are you okay; are you sick?” I ask, reaching for him. He dodges my hand though, and scowls.

“I’m sorry you were worried. I’m not feeling well. Were you able to find out everything you needed?” He moves past me into the hallway and gets a drink from the water fountain across the hall.