Her Last Prayer, page 16
But even that one hit had kept the team motivated. It was literally like looking for a needle in a haystack, even when the haystack came equipped with fields for search terms and the ability to filter by dates.
“Hey…” one of the other agents said, a bit tentatively. He was a bit younger than Rachel, a man of Hispanic descent named by the name of Gonzales. “I think I’ve got something from Overview Hospital. There’s a referral here for a three-year-old from twenty-five years ago…the patient’s name is Alan Deerborne and it says he was diagnosed with Mallerman-Diggs.”
Every set of eyes in the room went to Gonzales and his laptop. Rachel hurried over to his chair as he continued to summarize the record he’d found. “He was referred to a specialist in New York, but that’s all I see here. There’s no follow-up, nothing.”
“Check the records for any mention of Alan Deerborne from the date of that referral and into the future,” Rachel said as she hurried back to her laptop.
“What are you looking for?” Jack asked her.
“We set our town goalpost as twenty-five years because Mallerman-Diggs patients tend to not live beyond twenty-five. But if Deerborne was three twenty-five years ago, he was clearly born before then. So I’m going back a bit to find birth records.”
“And I’m running a search for his parents,” Anderson said from the other end of the table, typing quickly along his laptop keyboard.
“Agent Gift, I’m not seeing anything beyond this referral,” Gonzales said. “It just stops here.”
“Well, maybe he passed away?” Jack asked. And with that thought locked in his head, he started his own search at the laptop in front of him.
It was a tense handful of minutes as they worked together to look at death records, birth records, database information on families with the last name Deerborne within one hundred miles of Richmond.
“I’m not seeing any death records in the area for anyone by the name of Alan Deerborne,” Jack said.
And almost immediately on the heels of that, Rachel found what she’d been looking for. “Got it. Right here…Alan Deerborne, born to May and Harvey Deerborne, twenty-nine years ago. Hospital records indicate that Alan was kept in the hospital due to an unknown condition….that was…hold on…yeah, that was diagnosed as Mallerman-Diggs two weeks later.”
“And with no record of death,” Jack said, “that would mean he’s still around. No way to know if he’s still in the area, though…”
“Check death records for the family,” Rachel suggested. “And I’ll see what addresses we have in the area for Deerborne…”
Again, the room seemed to come alive with the clattering of keys and an almost tangible tension in the air. “May Deerborne,” Jack said, a bit too excited for what he was announcing, “died three years ago. Breast cancer. And…yeah, Harvey Deerborne died two years before his wife. Suicide…Jesus, suicide by self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”
“Poor guy,” Gonzales said. “A kid with a condition like that and then a wife fighting cancer…”
“Okay,” Rachel said, I’ve got hits for eleven Deerbornes in the Richmond area. I need to narrow it down—"
“Got it,” Anderson said. “Records indicate that May and Harvey had a daughter four years before Alan. A daughter named Gillian.”
Rachel scanned the list in front of her, searching through all of the Deerbornes listed in the area. Near the bottom, she found it: Gillian Deerborne.
“I’ve got it,” Rachel said. “Gillian Deerborne, 65 Ableston Road.”
She immediately got to her feet and though she headed straight for the door, she took a moment to look around the room. She was incredibly appreciative of the help, the fused teamwork that had somehow managed to get them this deeply buried lead.
“Need an assist?” Gonzales asked.
"Sure. If you want to run back up, you can. Of course, there's no guarantee this will lead to anything."
But even as the words came out of her mouth, she wasn’t sure she believed this. Based on their speedy research, she had a pretty good portrait of Gillian Deerborne. She'd lived through a father who'd killed himself, likely because of family hardships. She'd lost a mother to cancer and had likely been left to care for her brother, who was stricken with a rare disease that required a good deal of attention.
It was more than enough to make anyone crack. And as she and Jack hurried to the elevators toward the night beyond, she couldn’t help but feel that they were finally indeed on the trail of their killer.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
“So your ten o'clock rule has sort of been shot down," Jack said as they sped in the direction of Ableston Road, a twenty-minute drive from the field office. But with Jack’s speed and expert driving, Rachel expected they’d make it there in twelve. No more than fifteen for sure.
“Looks like it,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if we’d not make a big deal out of it, all thing considered.”
Upon leaving the office, they’d coordinated with Gonzales to drive to the end of the block. he knew he’d only be called upon in the event that there was a chase of some sort, but he seemed fine with that. It also helped Rachel feel a bit more comfortable about what was to come (if anything) to know they had all their bases covered.
Ableston Road was one of several smaller roads that all connected to a secondary road leading out to a bypass. The homes along those roads were typical middle-class homes, not too fancy but several steps up from the lower-class homes in other parts of the city. They approached it much quicker than Rachel had been expecting. When Jack turned onto it, she saw a. night-shrouded street lit up only by streetlights positioned along every fourth home. The Deerborne residence was directly in between two of these lights. As Jack pulled up in front of the house, parking directly behind an older model Honda Civic, she saw Gonzales’s headlights turn onto the street behind them. They waited a beat as he passed by them and drove to the other end of the block where he then pulled along the sidewalk and parked.
“Here we go,” Rachel said. She reached for the door handle but Jack stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Hold on. I think you should go to the door. We know from plenty of history together that women tend to trust you way sooner than they trust me. I’ll stay out here, just outside of the door once you go in and stand guard just in case she makes a run for it.”
It was a sensible approach, but not the sort of thing Jack would typically suggest. She was aware that it was nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt to leave the possibility to strenuous activity to him. No matter how she felt or how her health appeared to be, he apparently didn’t want to take any chances with her health. It irritated her but she also appreciated it when she processed it from the point of view of a woman who was going to be marrying him soon. She deiced not to argue the point, simply nodding as she got out of the car.
She did have to admit that she felt safe and secure, knowing that Gonzales was further up the street and Jack would be waiting outside. She walked along the thin sidewalk to the front door, took the three brick-layered steps, and knocked on the door. There was no answer at first, so she knocked again. With no doorbell of any kind, it was her only option.
This time, after a few seconds, Rachel could hear hurried footsteps approaching the door. The porch lights suddenly came on, flooding the formerly darkened porch into a field of vibrant white. As Rachel squinted her eyes from the glare, the door was unlocked from the inside and partially opened.
"Who the hell's out there?" a woman's angry voice asked. "It's after nine o'clock at night."
Given the woman’s irritated disposition, Rachel made a gut call. She was going to butter the woman up before coming right out with the real reason she was there—to question her about her possible involvement in a series of recent and very specific murders.
“I know, it’s late,” Rachel said. “But I’m wondering…are you Ms. Gillian Deerborne?”
“I am. Who’s asking?”
Gillian still had the door open only a fraction—less than a quarter of the way, in fact. Still, Rachel saw enough of her; she looked tired and slightly on edge. She also looked very distrustful of the woman on her porch. From the records they'd collected, Rachel knew Gillian was thirty-five years old, but she looked much older. And if her life had truly been as bad as the records had indicated, Rachel could see why.
She pulled out her badge and ID, edging them close to the door. “I’m Special Agent Rachel Gift, and I’m here because I’ve been placed in charge of a fairly sensitive case.”
“Oh?...”
“Yes. Some of our research and records experts at the bureau have done something of a deep dive in the last few days,” she lied. “We’re trying to locate anyone within a one-hundred-mile radius of Richmond that has a disease known as Mallerman-Diggs. We found the name of Alan Deerborne and also that you are his only surviving relative.”
“Yes, what about it?” She seemed more interested than concerned; Rachel didn’t see a single trace of fear in the woman’s face.
“Well, in the past week, someone has killed three Mallerman-Diggs patient in the Richmond area. So, as quietly as we can, the bureau is conducting these searches.” Thinking quickly, knowing that this woman, if the killer, would be aware of an increased police presence around the homes of the victims, Rachel added: “The police are conducting their own investigation into the name of patients that are being seen and treated at a local facility, but we’ve also found that there are a few more who aren’t; tied to that particular facility. In other words, I’m here to let you know that your brother could be in danger.”
“Oh…oh, I see,” Gillian said.
Rachel thought she caught a flicker of confusion in the woman’s eyes—as if she’d not been expecting this sort of story…that she may have been expecting to have to defend herself. But the moment was fleeting, the expression gone before it really even had time to land properly on her face.
“Well, you’re right. I am Alan’s only surviving relative. I’ve been caring for him for about three years now, ever since our mother passed away.”
“And does he live here with you?”
“Yes, he stays here with me.” Again, there was a strange look on her face for the space of about a second. Maybe regret? Had she suddenly wished she’d given another answer.
“Would it be possible for me to speak with him?”
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Gillian said. “He’s asleep for the night and as I think you probably know, one of the most important things for Mallerman-Diggs patients is rest.”
“Of course, I understand perfectly. Okay…so I’ll tell you what: part of my assignment is just to confirm these patients are indeed still alive and if they are to have at least a visual confirmation. If I promise not to wake him, could I just get a look at him?”
This time, Gillian waited a moment before answering, staring directly at Rachel as if daring her to say something. Rachel sensed that there was a mental game of chess being played; this woman was trying to decide which answer would serve her best. And if she was as irritated as she seemed, Rachel thought it might mean she just wanted her, Rachel out of there as soon as possible. Which would work in her favor.
“Yes, I suppose,” Gillian finally said. “If it’s absolutely necessary. But can we make it quick?”
“Absolutely. And thank you so much.”
Gillian opened the door the rest of the way and allowed Rachel inside. The front door opened into the living room, which was tidy and quiet. The TV mounted on the wall was off. A book sat on the arm of a recline, a bookmark sticking out about halfway through.
“He stays in my guest room,” she said. “I don’t think he likes it. He hates this house If he’d had his way, he would have lived all by himself in our parents’ house after mom died.”
“Why did you not move into your parents’ house?”
“They left it to me, but I sold it,” Gillian said curtly. “Too many bad memories. And I’d rather have the three hundred grand for the house than the memories.”
Gillian led her down a hallway that started just off of the hallway. The hall was to the right, with a kitchen to the left. Like the living room, it was quiet and clean.
“Here’s his room,” Gillian whispered. “He tends to be a light sleeper, so…. just a peek, and that’s it. Okay?”
“Yes, that’s fine. And confirmation he’s alive.”
“Well of course he’s alive. Why…whatever. Sure. But if you wake him up…”
“I swear, I won’t.” She had no intention of keeping this promise though. She’d love to talk to him, to get a better idea of his sister to see what she’d been up to lately. All she had to do was play off how she might “accidentally” wake Alan Deerborne up.
Gillian opened the door slowly and quietly. She then stepped aside to let Rachel pass through. The room was dark with the exception of an amber-colored nightlight along the right wall, and the glow of a monitor that was attached to a simple-looking machine over by an IV stand. Alan Deerborne was in the bed and she could tell that was indeed asleep just from the soft snoring sounds he was making.
Okay, now maybe just a cough or a sneeze or even…oops, bumping into the edge of the bed, Rachel thought.
She stepped forward and brought up a forced cough into her throat.
Just as she was about to let it out, something heavy struck her in the back. All of the wind went rushing out of her as he back wailed in agony. She stumbled into the edge of Alan’s bed just as she’d imagined but not nearly in the same manner she’d intended.
Holding to the edge of the bed and turning to face her attacker, the pain in her back seized her and for a terrifying moment, she couldn’t move. All the while, Gillian came striding forward into the dark room, holding something bat-shaped in her hand. And Gillian’s knees buckled and she toppled to the floor, Gillian raised the unidentifiable object into the air for yet another strike.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The pain in her back was flaring in all directions but the worst of it was right at the area of impact. Rachel didn’t think she’d been hit with a bat—there hadn’t been quite enough impact for that—but whatever the weapon was, it was hard and Gillian had put some oomph into it. And now, as it came back down toward her again, it was aimed directly for her head.
Rachel acted instinctively and fell the remainder of the way to the floor, right down to her right side. Not only did this cause Gillian’s attack to miss completely, but the weapon struck the floor just a few inches in front of Rachel's face. Rachel reached out and grabbed it, still not quite sure what it was. Whatever it was, it was quite thin but sturdy. She yanked it away from Gillian, causing Gillian to stumble forward and also collided with the edge of the bed.
Alan let out a cry of surprise and alarm from the bed. “Gilly?” he asked confused and scared. “Gilly what are—”
With Gillian so close to her now, Rachel went for the woman’s knees. The pain in her back had loosened up a bit, allowing her more flexibility. She hit Gillian square in the knees, causing her to shout out and go stumbling backward.
From the bed, Alan let out a scream. Rachel had to ignore it, though. She had to get Gillian retrained and try to make sense of this situation. She scrambled to her feet, the pain in her back flaring again. She pushed past it and fell on Gillian, trying to drive a knee into the woman’s stomach so that she could flip her onto her back and slap on her handcuffs.
She did manage to land the knee, but Gillian also delivered a haymaker of a punch at the same time. It glanced off of Rachel’s face just hard enough to cause her to totter as she tried to find purchased on top of Gillian. Gillian once again found the item she’d used as a weapon and now in the frantic movement of the darkness with her eyes finally adjusted, Rachel saw that it was an old IV stand.
Gillian got a single, lazy swing in but Rachel was able to easily block it with both arms. She then brought both of those arms down across Gillian’s chest. Gillian gasped for air and this time Rachel was able to wrestle her into her chest and started pulling her left arm behind her back.
Alan continued to wail and in a shocking moment that broke Rachel’s heart, she felt him fall on her back. His frail weight shook her a bit but didn’t stop her from her main goal. even when his fists started slamming on her back, she didn’t stop. Her heart felt like it might burst when she realized that she was going to have to do something about him…to restrain him somehow if he continued attacking her. His fists slammed into her back, along the side of her face just hard enough to cause her ears to ring, but she finally managed to get both of Gillian’s hands behind her back.
She heard footfalls out in the hallway as she finally got the cuffs out. She was bleeding from her cheek as the result of one of Alan’s weak punches but barely noticed it. What she did notice, though, was Jack coming to the bedroom door. He instantly flipped on the light switch and then drew his sidearm.
“Take over, would you?” Rachel said. She wasn’t aware that she’d been crying until she spoke, her voice wet with tears.
Her intent was originally to turn around to somehow gently shrug Alan off of her. But the moment Jack stepped into the room, Alan stopped his attack and had backed toward his bed. When she turned and saw his terrified state, she held her hands out to show she meant no harm.
“Please,” he said, looking at her with tired, pain-filled eyes “Let Gilly go. Why are you…. why are you even here?”
He was sitting in the floor, starting to curl himself into the fetal position. Rachel hated that she found his appearance so odd that it was hard for her to view him as the thirty-year-old man he was. Currently, he looked like a strong wind might blow him over. She could tell he wanted to do more to help his sister but that he knew he was powerless to do much.
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