She knew the answer but was ashamed to admit it out loud. She shrugged and looked to the floorboard, a clear indicator that she wasn’t interested in answering. Jack understood this right away and let the issue lie. Still, Rachel could clearly see that the entire situation bothered him. It made her feel slightly selfish, thinking only of what she’d needed to keep her sanity and not how this might affect Jack’s state of mind or, maybe even worse, his career.

  “I’m glad to have you with me,” Jack said, looking straight ahead into traffic. “But I need you to keep a backseat position on this. For your safety and my ass. Got it?”

  He sounded both stern and compassionate and Rachel wasn’t quite sure how to take it. As the state of his mood settled over her, she also realized that she was already feeling guilty for leaving Grandma Tate and Paige. It was a vicious circle that she was apparently never going to escape from, even when she wasn’t technically on the job.

  The remainder of the drive was quiet. It took a little over forty minutes to get to the crime scene, and when Jack pulled up to it, two things occurred to Rachel. First, he’d told her that he had interviews to conduct with family members of the deceased. Second, he’d insinuated that the most recent crime had happened “nearby.” Neither of these seemed to be true, making her wonder if he’d secretly come by her house with the intention of getting her to come along the entire time.

  When he pulled the car into the parking lot, Rachel gave him an accusatory stare. “I thought you said you had interviews to conduct.”

  He shrugged and offered a smile. “I lied. I wanted you to think that I was in the thick of it, really having to tackle this thing head on since I didn’t have a partner.”

  “So I was supposed to feel guilty?”

  “Hey,” he said, parking the car. “I can’t force you to feel any particular way.”

  “Ah, yet here I am.”

  Again, he only shrugged in a playful smart-ass way as they stepped out of the car. But when they were both out, he shook his head and something resembling sincerity passed across his face. “I thought you’d want in on this because of the topic…the characteristic of the victims. Call it poetic or just sappy, but it’s almost like you’re supposed to be on this one, you know?”

  She said nothing, but she did understand what he meant. And in a very strange way, she appreciated the thought behind it.

  They approached the scene together. Although there was no crime scene tape around the area within the lot where the victim had been killed, several of the parking spots around it had been cordoned off. Jack handed Rachel his phone and she saw that he already had some of the photos from the crime scene pulled up from before the body had been removed. She saw a young woman with prominent damage done to her head, sprawled out by a car.

  “The victim was twenty-six-year-old Polly Warren,” Jack said. “She was hit in the head twice from what we can tell, though the coroner may correct that. It’s believed she was attacked after her afternoon appointment, pegging her as having died somewhere between five fifteen and five thirty-five—when another hospital visitor spotted her body on the pavement.”

  “Anything from forensics yet?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning. Just before I arrived at your house, they found a bit of dirt on her pants but it turns out that came from right here in the parking lot.”

  “Have requests been put in for her medical records?”

  “Yes, I did it myself last night. Of course, you know how that goes, though. Fortunately, we got lucky in that the next of kin was more than willing to help us out. A sister, I believe, who lives out in Poquoson. She confirmed that Polly had breast cancer, that it was in the late stages, and she was considered terminal.”

  Rachel stepped into the blocked off area and looked around the parking lot. As she studied the layout of the parking lot, she listened to Jack as he gave her more details. “When we tried finding anyone who passed by this area around the time we believed her to have been attacked, only one person was able to offer anything. It was a hospital employee, a janitor reporting for his late shift. He said he saw two people talking right here, right where she fell. He didn’t see faces, but he did confirm that one appeared to be male, the other female. He also stated that there appeared to be no danger or animosity—that it looked like two friends were simply chatting.”

  “And I don’t see cameras anywhere nearby,” Rachel said. “The closest one is over there, to the left.”

  Jack looked in that direction, to where a small security camera was attached to the top of a light pole. “Yeah, and the police looked the footage over and there’s nothing.”

  “And you said the first victim…the murder occurred in Brandermill.”

  “Yes. Want to head over there and take a look?”

  “Have you already been?”

  “I have,” he said. “It’s about as uneventful as this one.”

  “How about the coroner? Have you been there yet?”

  “I haven’t. It was on the list for today. But honestly, whacked in the head is still probably going to be the best we get. Still…want to head over there?”

  Rachel thought it over for a moment. Paige would be home from school in about another hour and a half, and though Grandma Tate was more than happy to pick her up, there was still a great degree of guilt. Even Paige now understood that her diagnosis and limited time remaining was supposed to mean she’d be spending more time at home. So what would she think if her mother had already decided to change her mind about such things?

  Well, it’s a little late to worry about that now, she thought. These are things you should have considered before leaving the house.

  Well, she was here now and supposed she may as well see it through. At least for today.

  “Yeah, let’s go. But let’s make it quick. I’d like to try to be home before dinner.”

  “Sure,” he said, already walking back to the car. He turned before opening the door, though, frowning. “Did I pressure you into this?”

  “No. And I think it’s adorable that you think you could pressure me into anything. It’s just that…I don’t want Paige to think I’m going back on a promise I told her.”

  “I understand. We better get going then.”

  When he got back into the car, Rachel could tell he was uncomfortable about the situation. But she knew Jack well enough; if she pressed him on it, he’d shut down. Maybe he’d be more willing to discuss it after another day or so. Or maybe she would just leave it alone. After all, she didn’t see this being an issue beyond this case—a case she really had no business working on in the first place.

  As it was now, they left the crime scene in silence and Jack drove them out toward the coroner’s office. The silence was thick and heavy, and Rachel couldn’t help but feel guilty that this was the atmosphere she’d created for what was essentially her last case…and her last time working as a partner with Jack.

  ***

  Jack called ahead so when they arrived at the coroner’s office, both bodies were already out and waiting for them. The coroner seemed to sense the strange mood hovering among Rachel and Jack, giving them access to the printed case files and then excusing himself. They stood in the large examination room together, looking over the bodies and the details.

  The woman, Polly Warren, was on the examination table, as she was the most recent. But the other, a fifty-seven-year-old man named Benjamin Wells, was on a typical gurney, having been wheeled in from storage. Polly Warren looked to be in the worst shape, as her wounds had not yet been given the care and attention as Benjamin Wells’s. Both had been killed in the same manner, with a series of blows to the head. There was only a single blow to Wells’s head, directly cross the left temple, hard enough to cause the skull to cave in on that side. Polly Warren, however, had been hit twice—maybe three times. The two blows to her head were to the temple and just above the forehead. The potential third was just above her brow, but that particular wound might be the result of falling on her face on the pavement. There were scratches on her nose to also support this fact.

  Rachel scanned the notes as she looked over each body. The notes were succinct and told the same story her eyes could see. There were no bruises or scratches anywhere other than the heads. The positioning of the blows indicated that they’d been facing their attacker when it happened. When Rachel put these factors together, she came up with a pretty clear picture of what happened: the killer had attacked while facing them, and neither victim showed any signs of a struggle or putting up a fight.

  “Seems to me that the victim either knew the attacker or the attacker somehow lured them in under friendly pretenses,” she said.

  “Yeah, because if the attacks came from the front,” Jack said, “it seems like he didn’t sneak up or take them by surprise.”

  Rachel spent another five minutes looking the bodies over, scanning for anything else that might connect them—scars from surgeries, tattoos, anything. But she could tell fairly quickly that there was nothing. The only thing connecting them outside death was their terminal illnesses. And as far as Rachel was concerned, there was something beyond deplorable about that. Of course, maybe she was biased. She was, after all, in that same boat.

  It made her wonder if the killer perhaps envisioned themselves as an angel of mercy, a means of shortening their painful and potentially dark final days. Perhaps the attacks were religious in nature, then, or maybe there was something much less tangible that she could not even conceive of just yet.

  Still, looking at the bodies made her feel helpless in a way she rarely felt while examining victims. It went beyond feeling sympathy for them in that she, too, shared in their terminal illnesses. No, it was because as she looked to both of them knowing about that terrible link between them, it was far too easy to picture herself in their position.

  This could be her very soon—and she wasn’t nearly ready to face that yet.

  “I want to talk to Polly Warren’s family,” Rachel said. “The sister from Poquoson. I assume she came to town after hearing about the murder.”

  “She did. She’s currently staying with the brother.” He sighed and said, “I figured you would want to talk to her. Looks like I’m not going to get out of speaking with an aggrieved family member after all.”

  Rachel knew he was just trying to make things a bit lighter—something he was usually pretty good at. But as they got back into the car, there was nothing light or remotely funny about what Rachel was feeling. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever felt so lost.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Polly’s brother lived just outside the town of Bottom’s Bridge, in a house that was surrounded by overgrown grass and two junked trucks stacked up on cinderblocks. The house itself was quite nice, though. And when Jack knocked on the door, Rachel caught a whiff of roses coming from a flowerbed to the left-hand side of the porch.

  The door was answered by a man who was clearly related to Polly. The resemblance was uncanny, right down to the piercing brown eyes. He regarded both with vague disinterest for a few seconds and then said, in a tired sigh: “Yeah?”

  Rachel had to remind herself that this was technically Jack’s case, so she made herself take the back seat. She remained quiet and stood to the side as Jack introduced them.

  “I’m Agent Jack Rivers and this is my partner, Agent Gift. We’d like to ask you some questions about your sister, if that’s okay.”

  He looked annoyed at once and made no attempt to hide it. “We already talked to the cops two different times,” he said. “I’m not sure what else you’re expecting to get out of us.”

  “Us?” Jack said. “So is your sister here?”

  “She is. And she’s a mess. So I don’t see why talking about it over and ov—”

  “Kevin, shup up and let them in,” a haggard female voice called out from the back. Kevin rolled his eyes, shook his head, and opened the door wide. He did so in an exaggerated motion, as if making sure not only the agents, but anyone else who cared to come in, could enter.

  Rachel and Jack walked inside, finding the house still and quiet. It had the feel of a place that had just been dealt bad news. It was a sort of stale feeling in the air that Rachel had long ago gotten accustomed to. The brother—Kevin, presumably—passed by them as they entered the living room and sat down in a well-worn armchair. At the same moment, a woman of about thirty or so stepped into the room through the adjoining kitchen.

  “Is there new information?” this woman asked. The tired desperation in her eyes made Rachel badly want to be able to tell her that they did have some news for her.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, “but we don’t. And I do understand that the cops have been by to speak with you,” he added, looking over to Kevin. “But as the burau is now on the case, we’d like to ask some questions as well.”

  “Of course,” the woman said.

  “I take it you’re the sister?” Rachel asked.

  “I am. Melissa. I had been taking Polly to her chemo treatments at the start of it all. But she responded to the meds well and really didn’t need the help. So I stopped. But I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have. If I’d been with her yesterday, this…this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “You don’t know that,” Kevin snapped. He then looked to the agents and said, “Forgive her. She’s wrecked and she tends to be a bit dramatic about things.”

  “Polly is dead,” Melissa said. “You understand that, right?”

  Kevin said nothing to this, electing instead to look at his fingers and pick at one of the nails.

  “You said you were taking her to treatments,” Jack said. “Did she insist you stop or was it something you decided on your own?”

  “Oh, no, that was all Polly. She hated the idea that someone was going to wait on her. I live outside of town, and I was trying to arrange things where I’d be able to work remotely so I could be with her, sort of like a caregiver. But she wouldn’t have that. And besides…she wasn’t having any severe side effects from the chemo. Even the nurses and doctors said that after the first few doses, she’d likely be fine.”

  “Does that mean there was hope of remission?” Rachel asked.

  “Well, I mean, I always held out hope. But the doctors were very upfront about the fact that it would take nothing short of miracle for her to fully beat it. Their best hope as of about a week ago was that she may be able to live another year and a half. The doctor she’d been seeing had mentioned two potential experimental procedures, one of which is starting to be utilized and working wonders in Sweden, but…but, no. I don’t think remission was a real possibility.”

  “In terms of family members, is it just the two of you?” Jack asked.

  “Just us,” Kevin said dryly.

  Wiping a tear away, only to be followed by another, Melissa said, “Yes, it’s just us. Dad was never around and I have no idea where he even is. We haven’t seen him for fifteen years or so. Mom died of breast cancer pretty early. No aunts or uncles…just us.”

  “Do either of you know if Polly was dating anyone?”

  “If she was, she kept it a secret,” Melissa said. “But really, I doubt she was seeing anyone. She’s pretty lousy at keeping secrets.”

  “Any close friends she may have had a falling out with?” Rachel asked.

  “I’m ashamed to say I don’t know. She had friends, sure, but Polly always kept to herself. She was very much an introvert.”

  “Kevin, have you lived around here your whole life?” Jack asked.

  “I have.”

  “So, within what? Twenty or thirty minutes of Polly?”

  “That’s right. But we rarely saw one another. We were never close. She’d call every now and then but that was about it.”

  “And when you learned she had cancer, you didn’t offer to help in any way?”

  Kevin didn’t answer, though he was no longer staring at his fingers. In fact, he looked rather upset. He gave both agents a smirk and then got to his feet. He walked into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and got out a beer. He sat at the bar area with his back to them and started drinking.

  Melissa seemed heartbroken over his actions. She looked at him in both disgust and sadness and then back to the agents, as if embarrassed. “Kevin has been hurt for far too long,” she whispered. “When Mom died, he changed. He shut down and closed himself off to everyone. And when he found out Polly had the very same cancer that killed our mother…he became hopeless. The most he’s done is reach out to a local end of life foundation and got us set up to start the paperwork.”

  “End of life foundation?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, it’s a non-profit that does what they can to help ease expenses on things like travel, bills, groceries, things like that. We’d just now started the paperwork and…well, I guess we won’t be needing them now.”

  Rachel found herself looking over to Kevin, sitting in the kitchen. She knew that Melissa was probably right; he was hurting and simply dealing with it the best way he knew how. But there were also several signs of guilt present in the way he was behaving. It was almost like he might be hiding something.

  Without looking away, she leaned over to Jack. “You good here for a second?”

  “Yeah…” he said. She could tell that he was aware of what was on her mind and was not a fan of the idea.

  “Excuse me, would you?” Rachel said to Melissa.

  She got up and walked into the kitchen. She walked to the other side of the bar area rather than sitting in the stool next to Kevin. Standing across from him with the bar between them created a scene that was reminiscent of an interrogation room. She’d used this little trick before, knowing that it brought the person in question around to a more agreeable way of speaking. It subconsciously made them feel as if they were a subject of great interest rather than being questioned.

  “You mind if I talk with you away from your sister?” she asked.

  “I’d really rather not.”

  “You understand that we’re only trying to help, right?”

 

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