"Sure. And I can tell you right away that the Klein funeral was indeed a referral. It came from a close acquaintance of mine…someone I met and briefly dated when I first arrived in Richmond. She's a grief counselor. Or, rather, she was. I believe she's switched to addictions as of late. We broke things off as we haven't really kept in touch."

  She said nothing, not really caring much about Howell’s love life. She was, however, very interested in hearing that at least one of the funerals was playing into her theory—a theory that those funerals may be linked after all, through a third party.

  “Oh, and yes…right here,” Howell says. “It seems that the Hoffman funeral was also sent my way through the same therapist. Only for the Hoffman funeral, she’s listed as a support group leader…probably so that her name was already on file to suggest to the husband if he needed help in the days to come.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Howell hesitated for only a moment, but it was long enough for Rachel to understand that he might be a bit uncomfortable in sharing it. “Annie Brighton. She’s got an office somewhere over near the VCU campus.”

  “Any chance you have her contact information?”

  “I do. And this…this is just so you can ask her questions, right? Not because you suspect her of anything?”

  “That’s right,” Rachel said, slightly annoyed by the question.

  “All the same…things didn’t end the best between us. I’d appreciate it, if possible, if you don’t let her know I mentioned her or gave you her information.”

  “There’s no reason she’d need to know that, Mr. Howell.”

  Seemingly satisfied with this, he relented and gave Rachel the physical address of Annie Brighton’s office as well as her phone number. Rachel ended the call and nearly called Jack right away. Instead, she scrolled through her contacts and stopped at the first of two local medical examiners that ended up with just about every body Rachel had ever been connected to as an agent.

  She placed the call and, after speaking to a timid receptionist, had the medical examiner on the phone after just two rings. Her name was Doris Coleman, and she possessed a voice that was far too bright and chipper for an ME, in Rachel's opinion.

  “Agent Gift!” Doris exclaimed. “Back at work?”

  “I am.”

  “I take it, then, that you’ve kicked cancer’s ass?”

  "I gave it a beating, but the fight isn't quite over. Thanks for asking, but I have a quick question for you. Did you, by any chance, get the body of a recently murdered elderly man by the name of Larry Hoffman?"

  “I did, in fact. I’ve given him a preliminary look-over, but nothing detailed yet. Why? What are you looking for?"

  “You still have all personal effects found on the body, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I need you or someone on your staff to take a look in his wallet. I’d like to know if there’s a business card or any sort of information for a woman named Annie Brighton.”

  “Sure thing. Is it urgent, or can you wait about five minutes?”

  “Five minutes is fine. Thanks, Doris.”

  “Of course. It was nice to hear your voice after so long!”

  Rachel gave her thanks and then ended the call. She knew that even if there was a link between Mr. Hoffman and Annie Brighton, it didn’t mean anything. The real missing link was Joe Wickline’s deceased fiancé—Kara Spencer. If there happened to be a link between her, Lucy Hoffman, Troy Klein, and Annie Brighton, that was just going to be too hard to ignore.

  Flimsy lead or not, she figured it was time to call Jack. As she placed the call, she looked out over her backyard and smiled. Apparently, the glider was good for dissecting cases, too.

  “Miss me already?” Jack asked.

  “Terribly. But I do think I may have another link. Will you be free in about twenty minutes? I’m coming back to the office…maybe with a new lead.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  They met at Jack's cubicle, which was completely lacking in any sort of decoration or real organization. When Rachel stepped into the open space, she scowled at the pack of opened snack cakes. From just looking at them, she could tell they'd been there for a while, all dried out and hard.

  “I know, I know,” he said. “But it’s not like it’s a place I should really take care of and be proud of, you know? I’m still angling for that office.”

  “How’s that going for you?”

  He shook his head at her as she propped her backside against the edge of his desk. “So, you say you have a new lead?”

  “I do. I got an inkling of an idea and called Howell back.” She told him about her conversation with him, and then following up with Doris and having her check Mr. Hoffman’s wallet.

  “And did she find a business card for Annie Brighton?” Jack asked.

  “She did. So now, we need to really dig into Kara Spencer. We need to find out if she has any ties to Annie Brighton.”

  “Can’t we just pay Brighton a visit and ask her?”

  “Of course. But with no leads, clues, prints, ideas or anything, I’d like to know as much as possible before we go to her.”

  “So, it looks like you’re going to end up fishing through the database anyway, huh?”

  “Seems that way.”

  Jack sighed and gave her a nod. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to need another cup of coffee.”

  He walked away, and she sat down behind Jack's laptop. Before logging into the FBI database, she swiped the old, stale pack of donuts in the trashcan sitting under the L-shaped desk. She knew from experience that mining the database wasn't so bad when there was a clear path in mind. It was the directionless, monotonous searching for breadcrumbs that she'd always truly despised.

  She started with Kara Spencer first, wanting to see if she could find any ties to support groups. Things as trivial was support groups weren’t often accessible on the database, but the any involvement with a therapist or mental health specialist was; this was often seen as a red flag of sorts in most investigations.

  This turned out to be the case with Kara. Up until the day she died, she had been seeing a therapist in the Chesterfield area—a man named Dr. Snyder. As she jotted down Snyder’s name and number, Jack came back through with his cup of coffee. He dragged another chair over from a neighboring vacant cubicle and sat down beside her. “You want me to drive here, too?” he asked.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Just so you know, I did check in on the florists from the Palmer ridge receipts. Called them up, spoke to them, even ran background checks. Everything seems to check out as far as I can see.”

  She’d expected as much, because trying to find a lead off of the receipts from a florist working a funeral had indeed seemed like an impossibly huge stretch. She took the information in as she continued looking over Kara Spencer’s records. There honestly wasn’t much to see. In fact, the only reason she was listed as having seen a therapist was because she’d been briefly interrogated several years back when local pharmacies had been thought to be involved in illegal prescription drug sales—most notably behavioral drugs like Prozac and Zoloft.

  "Well," she said, tapping at the piece of paper she'd jotted the number on. "This might not be much better than the floral receipts, but at least it's something."

  She called the number for Dr. Snyder, not realizing until the phone started to ring just how anxious she felt. It reminded her of when she was a much younger agent, naïve enough to think that the next big break was going to be on the other end of every single phone call or interrogation. She’d only spent six months away, but it felt like so much longer in certain respects.

  The line was answered by a cheerful woman. “Still Waters Counseling, can I help you?”

  “Yes, this is Special Agent Rachel Gift, with the FBI. I need to speak with Dr. Snyder.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s with a client right now.”

  “I understand, but this is quite urgent.”

  “Unless it’s a life or death matter, Dr. Snyder has very strict policies about not being disturbed in the middle of a session. Perhaps there’s something I can help you with?” Some of the cheer had gone out of her tone during the exchange.

  “Maybe so. I’m looking to the details of a former client named Kara Spencer. She passed away several years ago, but we know she saw Dr. Snyder. I'm trying to find out if she ever attended any support groups of during her time with Dr. Snyder."

  “I do have access to that information,” the woman said. “When might this have been?”

  “It’s been about a year and a half ago.”

  “Okay, let’s see…”

  Rachel knew there were certain details that couldn’t be shared over the phone—information such as diagnoses and patient histories. But things like support groups and, in some cases, prescriptions that were given, was usually fair game.

  "Okay," the woman said after about twenty seconds. "I do see here that Dr. Snyder recommended Ms. Spencer attend a support group dealing with self-esteem issues. Of course, I can't give you details about that."

  “I understand. Might you be able to tell us who led that group?”

  “Well, the group is apparently no longer meeting. But for the time it was running, it was led by Dr. Annie Brighton.”

  Rachel and Jack shared a triumphant glance. Sure, there was still no direct connection to Lorrie Klein’s husband, but two out of three was enough for them to now bring Annie Brighton and her support group into the pool for the case.

  “Thank you very much,” Rachel said. “That was exactly what we’re looking for.”

  When she ended the call, Jack leaned back in his borrowed chair and sipped from his coffee. “So how do we link Klein to this group?” he wondered out loud. “I mean, I personally think having two hits is enough to go have a talk with Brighton. If we can peg down a timeline of when our victims’ loved ones were attending this group, I think we should be able to get a list of people who were participating, right? And that’s like an entire list of suspects.”

  “Maybe. And you’re right. I think two out of three isn’t bad.”

  Jack chugged down the remainder of his coffee. “So we’re going to talk to another therapist?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Man, how did you manage to live without this thrilling and exciting line of work?” he joked as they made their way to the elevators.

  She only chuckled, mainly because she didn’t want to admit that she was finding this exciting. She'd missed just about every aspect of her job while she'd been away, and that included leaving no rock—no matter how boring—unturned. And now that they knew that Kara Spencer had been seeing Annie Brighton, there was yet another rock to look under.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Jack drove them along the western rim of the Virginia Commonwealth University campus. Even along the edge of campus, there were plenty of students out and about. Known to hold one of the country’s better public Arts programs, there were all manner of artists and musicians out enjoying the beautiful fall day.

  He was doing his very best to focus on the case, but every time he and Rachel spoke for more than one minute at a stretch, his mind went to the ring. It was starting to feel heavy again, and there were moments where he felt there was a message written on his forehead in bright red marker—a message that read: I WANT TO MARRY YOU AND I HAVE A RING IN MY POSSESION!

  He was feeling that way now as the car fell into silence. He was used to this; of course, he knew that whenever they were drawing close to a destination where they would be questioning someone, Rachel always took a few silent moments to think of her approach. It varied from person to person, so he was always treated to something of a surprise when they arrived at their destination.

  Dr. Annie Brighton's office was located on the lower level of a larger building that housed Still Waters Counseling. Her name was one of three features in smaller print beneath the sign leading into the parking lot. Jack parked in an empty spot in front of Brighton's office. When Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car as if on auto-pilot, he was once again amazed at just how quickly she was falling back into the groove of things. He could easily tell that there were certain things that she used to consider mundane that were getting her excited now, but he supposed that was to be expected. But in terms of finding her speed and hitting her stride, it seemed that she hadn’t missed a step.

  They entered the office to an empty waiting area. A young woman with bright blonde hair sat behind the smell welcome desk, greeting them with a smile. “Good morning! Can I help you?”

  “Yes, we need to speak with Dr. Brighton,” Jack said.

  With a frown that almost looked sincere, the receptionist said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. You just missed her.”

  “Where did she go?” Rachel asked.

  The woman eyed them with a bit of suspicion before responding. "Can I ask what this is in reference to?"

  Both Jack and Rachel pulled their IDs at the same time. “Special Agents Rivers and Gift,” Jack said. “We need to speak to her about former clients.”

  “Oh, oh I see. Well…” She stopped for a moment, as if considering whether or not she really needed to give the next bit of information. “If you head out right now, you might be able to catch her. She’s just across the street at the Morrison Community Center. She leads a support group twice a week during lunch.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said and instantly headed for the door. Jack followed behind her, again finding it encouraging that she was so involved and concerned about every little detail and movement of the case. The Rachel he’d come to know and love before the cancer would have already been discouraged at the lack of clues and found the entire process of going from doctor to doctor, from therapist to therapist, a complete and total bore. But she seemed more determined than ever, and he found that it was actually encouraging him as well.

  He was also impressed with how she was able to bounce back and forth between all-business and a little flirty. It was an area he was personally struggling with, but Rachel already seemed to have it down. In the car, confined in that space together, she seemed to be okay with acting like a girlfriend and broaching certain topics pertaining to them. But the moment she was out of the car, she was all business. This was the case as they stepped outside and crossed the street. She took the lead without much thought, her full attention on getting face-to-face with Annie Brighton.

  Morrison Community Center was a non-descript brick building. It was hard to tell what it was from the outside; it could have been a gym or a municipal building. It was only the black letters over the glass doors that identified the place. However, once they were inside, things became a bit clearer. There was a small welcome center that more like a little kiosk just to the left of the entrance, but it was unoccupied. Ahead of them, on a large bulletin board on the wall, were two placards with a listing of all of the rooms within the two-story building. Rachel was already heading in that direction by the time Jack spotted it.

  Looking over her shoulder, he saw that beside the placards, there was also a printout of weekly activities that took place in the building. One of the listings, about halfway down, read: Esteem Workshops – Dr. A. Brighton – M,W,F – Noon – 1. Room 131.

  Jack checked his watch and saw that it was 11:50. “We’ve got ten minutes to catch her before the group starts.”

  Though the maze of halls was quite extensive, from a pre-teen hangout room for after-school activities to what appeared to be a culinary class taking place, they were able to find Room 131 easily enough. The door was opened partially, and the sound of something being moved around greeted them. Jack knocked on the door but stepped inside at the same time. The room was rather small and smelled of fresh-brewed coffee. A small snack center was set up in the back with a variety of sandwiches and chips, as well as the coffee maker. A woman was in the center of the room, in the process of arranging several chairs into a wide, spacious circle. She was quite pretty, with her slightly greying hair up in a cute bun. She wore a pair of eyeglasses that were the stereotypical librarian-type, but she wore them well. Jack guessed her to be in her late forties, but on a good day she’d likely pass for much younger. She looked up as Jack and Rachel entered.

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, waited a second, and then tilted her head. “I was going tell you that you’re a bit early for the meeting…but neither of you look like you’d be part of a self-esteem group.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a weird compliment or not,” Jack said. “But I suppose I’ll say thanks anyway. We’re actually with the FBI, Agents Rivers and Gift.”

  They showed their IDs, the woman taking great care to look at both of them. “I see,” she said. “And is there something I can do for you?”

  “Are you Dr. Annie Brighton?” Rachel asked.

  “I am.”

  “Good. We need to ask you a few questions about some former members of a support group you were in charge of. Nothing intimate or super personal.”

  “How former are we talking about?” Brighton asked.

  “A little all over the place,” Rachel said. “No further back than two years, though.”

  “Their names are Lucy Hoffman and Kara Spencer,” Jack said. “We know Kara attended the group and while we aren’t one hundred percent certain about Lucy Hoffman, we know that her husband had one of your business cards in his wallet.”

  “I remember Kara, certainly,” Annie said. “As for Lucy Hoffman…I think I remember her. Maybe. And older lady, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “If it’s who I’m thinking of, she came to at least one session, but that may have been all. Just to sort of try it out, I think.”

  "Dr. Brighton," Rachel said, "we're currently working on a case where people close to them have been murdered. And so far, the only link we have to connect them all is the group they attended…a group headed up by you.”

  “You should also know,” Jack added, “that both Kara Spencer and Lucy Hoffman died as well.”

 

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