Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ROXY
I'm in the darkroom developing prints from our last hunt, when Dom appears in the doorway holding an envelope.
Not a bill or junk mail, an official letterhead. Arizona State Police. My hands freeze mid-development, the print half-submerged in the chemical bath.
"When did this come?" I ask, my voice steady despite the ice spreading through my chest.
"Just now. Certified mail. I had to sign for it."
He crosses to me and sets it on the counter beside the developing tray. The red light makes the letterhead look like blood.
Detective Lily Chen
Criminal Investigations Division
Arizona Department of Public Safety
I don't touch it. Just stare at it like it might explode.
"Open it," I say.
Dom picks up the envelope and tears it open carefully. Inside is a single typed letter on official stationery.
He reads it aloud, his voice flat and controlled:
"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Brennan,
I am writing to request your voluntary cooperation in an ongoing investigation into the death of Gary Hollis, whose body was discovered outside of Flagston, Arizona, approximately eight months ago.
Our investigation has identified you as persons of interest based on witness descriptions and timeline analysis. I would like to conduct voluntary interviews with both of you at your earliest convenience.
Please contact my office within ten business days to schedule these interviews. Your cooperation is appreciated.
Sincerely,
Detective Lily Chen"
The silence that follows is absolute.
I can hear my own heartbeat. The hum of the darkroom ventilation with distant sound of traffic outside.
"Persons of interest," I say finally.
"Not suspects. Not yet."
"But close, how they hell did she find us?"
"No idea. But she meant to unnerve us with this. She could have sent police to the door, but she didn’t."
I turn back to the developing tray and pull the print out, hanging it to dry with hands that don't shake. Muscle memory, automatic movements while my brain processes the threat.
"We could run," Dom says quietly. "Pack tonight and be in Mexico by morning."
"And then what? Spend the rest of our lives running? Abandon everything we've built?"
"Better than prison."
"Is it?"
I turn to face him, leaning back against the counter. The red light casts shadows across his face, making him look dangerous and beautiful.
"Think about it," I say. "What does she actually have?"
"Something that was enough for her to find us."
"From eight months ago. Descriptions of two people who don't exist anymore. Dom and Roxy, whoever they were, disappeared. Died, maybe. Vanished into thin air."
"She's smart enough to track us here."
"How? Through what connection? We're James and Roxy Brennan. We moved to San Diego from Portland. We have tax records, rental history, business licenses. We're normal people."
Dom's quiet for a moment, thinking. "She could have tracked the van. Registration, VIN number."
“But you sold it in Reno. Cash sale, no paper trail. The buyer probably scrapped it or sold it again by now."
"Credit cards. Bank accounts."
"Everything we had as Dom and Roxy is gone. Erased."
"DNA. If she has DNA from the crime scene…"
"We've never been arrested. Never been printed. Our DNA isn't in any database." I pause. "And even if she somehow got a sample, what would she compare it to? James and Roxy Brennan have no criminal history. No reason to be in the system."
He's listening now, really listening. I can see his mind working through the logic.
"She wants voluntary interviews," I continue. "That means she doesn't have enough for a warrant. Doesn't have probable cause. She's fishing."
"And if we refuse?"
"Then we look guilty. Running makes us look guilty. But cooperating, answering her questions and providing alibis, being helpful citizens, that makes us look innocent."
"You want to talk to her."
"I want to test the cover. See if it holds under pressure."
Dom crosses to me and pulls me against him, his hands settling on my waist. "This is dangerous."
"Everything we do is dangerous."
"If she doesn't believe us, we’re fucked."
"Then we deal with it. But I think she will, because the story is solid. And there's no physical evidence connecting James and Roxy Brennan to anything that happened."
He's quiet for a long moment, his forehead resting against mine.
"You're sure about this? This could all go epically wrong, you know," he says.
"No. But I'm sure that running is worse. Tokyo is three months away. If we run now, we lose all of that."
"We'd be alive and together, and that’s more important."
"We'd always be looking over our shoulders. Is that what you want?"
"I want you safe."
"Then trust the cover. Trust what we've built."
He sighs as he embraces me in a tight hug, agreeing without saying a word.
We're staying and we're going to face this.
We're going to win.
The next morning, I do something that should terrify me but instead feels strategic.
I call Detective Lily Chen.
Dom's in the kitchen making breakfast when I dial the number from the letterhead. He freezes when he hears my voice.
"Detective Chen? This is Roxy Brennan. I received your letter."
Her voice is professional, controlled.
"Mrs. Brennan. Thank you for calling. I appreciate your cooperation."
"Of course. My husband and I want to help however we can."
"I'd like to schedule interviews with both of you. Separately, if possible."
"May I ask what this is about? The letter mentioned a death in Arizona?"
"Gary Hollis. A truck driver whose body was found approximately eight months ago. We're following up on all potential leads."
"I'm sorry, I don't recognize that name."
"That's fine. The interview is just to establish timeline and alibi. Standard procedure."
"When would you like to meet?"
"Are you available this week?"
I glance at Dom.
"Yes. We can make ourselves available."
"Thursday? Say, 2pm for your husband, 4pm for you?"
"That works. Should we come to you, or…"
"I'll come to San Diego. There's a police substation in Ten Park. I'll text you the address."
"Perfect. We'll see you Thursday."
I hang up and set the phone down carefully.
Dom's staring at me. "You just invited a detective to interview us."
"I just acted like we’re innocent people with nothing to hide."
"Roxy, I’m not so sure about this."
"It's the right move. Trust me."
"I do trust you," he says quietly. "But if this goes wrong…"
"It won't."
"But if it does, we run."
"Agreed."
We stand there for a long moment, holding each other in the morning light, preparing for the test that's coming.
I spend the next two days preparing, not by rehearsing lies, but by reviewing the truth.
The truth of who James and Roxy Brennan are.
I pull out our documentation, our marriage certificate from Portland. Tax returns showing my photography income and Dom's carpentry work. Rental history. Business license for my photography business. Client records, invoices, receipts. Everything legitimate and recorded.
Because James and Roxy Brennan are real.
We've been living as them for five months. We've built a life, a business, a reputation. We exist in the system, tax records, credit history, employment verification. The people Detective Chen is looking for, Dom and Roxy, whoever they were, those people don't exist anymore.
They died.
And in their place are two law-abiding citizens with alibis and documentation and absolutely no connection to a dead trucker in New Mexico.
I make a timeline from living in Portland, Roxy working as freelance photographer, Dom doing carpentry. Moving to San Diego fourteen months ago for better weather and art scene opportunities.
I create a false client list for that time period. Photography jobs that never happened but could have. Weddings, portraits, landscape work. I backdate invoices, create email trails, build a paper history that places me in Portland during the time Gary Hollis died in Arizona.
Dom does the same with his carpentry work. Job sites, contractors, payment records. It's all fake. But it's convincing fake. This type of documentation would take weeks to verify, and even then, who's going to remember a specific job from eight months ago? Especially freelance.
By Wednesday night, we're ready.
Our story is solid and our alibis are documented.
We're James and Roxy Brennan.
And we have nothing to hide.
Thursday arrives too fast and I make an effort to practice controlled breathing. I dress carefully. Jeans, simple blouse, minimal makeup. I look like a young artist, a normal person. All of the bold and loud colors are gone.
I’m not a murderer, or someone who helped hunt and kill a witness.
I’m Roxy Brennan, a concerned citizen cooperating with law enforcement.
Dom's interview is first. He leaves at 1:30pm, and I watch him go with my heart in my throat.
"Remember," I say at the door. "You're James Brennan. Carpenter. Moved here from Portland. You've never been to Arizona. You don't know Gary Hollis. You're helpful and cooperative."
"I know."
"And if she pushes…"
"I stay calm and I answer honestly. I don't volunteer information."
I kiss him, tasting coffee and apprehension. I hate feeling like I’m forcing him to do this, but it’s the right decision. "I love you."
"I love you too."
He leaves and I'm alone with my thoughts and the clock ticking toward 4pm.
I try to work. Try to focus on the prints from Riverside. But my hands are shaking and my mind keeps circling back to the same questions.
What if the cover doesn't hold?
What if she sees through us?
What if this is the end?
At 3:30pm my phone buzzes.
D: Interview done and it went fine. She asked about timeline, alibi, work history. I gave her the Portland story. She took notes but I didn’t get the impression she was concerned. You’re up next.”
I read it three times, relief flooding through me, his interview held.
Now my turn.
I grab my bag and head out.