Her Last Regret, page 5
“Not at all. But I don’t know that I’m going to be much help, honestly.”
“Do you know how long he’d been in the hospital?” Rachel asked. She knew the answer herself thanks to the case files but wanted to see just how bad the disconnect between daughter and father had been.
“This time? I think about three weeks. Maybe a little less. He was there because he had cancer but refused to get treatment. He wanted to live his last days without dealing with chemo.”
Rachel was unable to suppress the chill that raced through her at this. It was a state of mind she completely understood … maybe a bit too well. “And I take it they moved him to hospice when it was clear there was just no hope?”
“Yes.”
“Forgive me for asking,” Jack said, “but how do you know all of this if you weren’t keeping in touch?”
“Well, I was keeping in touch with the hospital. When he was admitted the last time, one of the doctors called me. He wasn’t pushy or anything but told me that he had a good feeling this might be his last chance … that if I needed to see him to make peace, it might be the time. And while I wasn’t ready for that, I did call every few days to check on his condition.”
“During these calls,” Rachel said, “did the doctors or nurses ever mention someone coming to visit him? Or maybe have conversation with him that seemed a little off?”
Lizzie thought about it for a moment but then shook her head. “No, not that I can recall. But really, I’m all the family he had left around here. He had a sister that cut him off after everything went down when I was a kid, but she killed herself not too long after that. It was just me, and I wasn’t …” She shook her head and smiled in spite of herself.
“You okay?” Rachel asked.
“No, I don’t think I am. And with all due respect, I’d like to get inside now. I don’t have the capacity to deal with this today.”
Rachel nodded in response. She was pretty sure how Lizzie was going to finish the final statement before cutting herself off. Something along the lines of: It was just me, and I wasn’t there for him at the end …
“Thank you for your time,” Rachel said. The look on Jack’s face told her that he didn’t think it was quite time to go just yet. But she remained steady, unwavering.
As Lizzie started to pick her egg cartons back up, Jack stepped forward. “Can I give you a hand with those?”
“No, thank you,” she said, scooping them up with the practice skill of a woman that had been carrying them around for years and years. And as she started for her porch, she paused for a moment and turned back to them. “If you have more questions later on, you can call. Right now … well, it seems I wasn’t quite as ready for Dad to pass as I thought I was. I hope you can understand and respect that. I worked as a nurse for most of my life, so I thought I’d be fine getting on. I’ve seen so much death, and … this one is just strange for me.”
Without waiting for a response, Lizzie walked up her porch steps for her front door. Slowly, Rachel and Jack got back into the car.
As soon as Jack started backing the car out, he said, “Did you catch that final comment?”
“About her working as a nurse most of her life?”
“Yeah, that. And I can’t remember exactly, but what did her father do for a living?”
Rachel recalled it easily enough without having to resort to reaching for the folder in the back or pulling out her phone. “He was a lawyer for a while before getting into real estate.” But even as she said it, she knew where he was going with it. “And there were some clients on his list when he was a lawyer that were doctors or at least related to hospitals. Malpractice and things like that.”
“Could be a link.”
Rachel wasn’t sure how Roland Young working in an off-handed way with doctors while his daughter grew up to be a nurse could be a link, but there might be something there for sure. What, she didn’t know.
But she figured it was worth finding out. She got on the phone, the wheels starting to churn away in her head, as she started making calls to get her hands on a precise, detailed list of the doctors Roland Young had worked with. It was a shaky lead, for sure, but it was those uncertain, shaky leads that often led to the most surprising clues.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rachel could sense something different in Jack as they made the drive back to the precinct. Jack had always been perfectly fine with extended silences. In the past, they’d endured car rides of nearly three hours with less than fifteen minutes of conversation. And whenever he did feel the need to break one of those silences, it was usually with sarcasm or some sort of comedy.
But now, Jack was trying his hand at small talk. She found it endearing and was pretty sure it was the result of their relationship evolving to a romantic stage.
“So, how’s your grandmother doing? Does it look like her cancer is gone for good?”
The personal question shocked her, but she also loved that he seemed genuinely interested. If this was going to be a new part of their relationship from this point on, she was all in for it.
“Seems that way,” she said. “Her last check-up was three weeks ago, and all the numbers and blood tests were great.”
“That’s awesome. It’s pretty cool that you guys are experiencing this together. I mean, it sucks that you had to experience it at all, but you know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“And how about Paige? How’s she doing? Forgive me for saying so, but you’ve never really spoken about how she’s dealing with Peter’s death. Not since a few days after the funeral, anyway.”
“Well, it’s not exactly cheerful or work related.” What she thought but did not say was that, given her growing feeling toward him, talking about Peter just felt weird, honestly. “But she seems to be doing good. I’ve spoken to her about maybe seeing a therapist, and she seemed okay with the idea. So, we may start that in a few weeks.”
Jack nodded as he came to an intersection, took a right, and headed to the police department.
“Thanks for asking,” Rachel said.
“Of course. Sorry I don’t ask about that sort of stuff more often. I just …” He shrugged, and she could tell he was wrestling with the right words. She didn’t press him, and when the car fell silent again, she was fine with it.
A little less than twenty minutes later, they arrived at the police station. It was located in a refined-looking part of the downtown district. They met with a liaison that led them down the central hallway of the well-polished and almost minimalist-designed precinct. She and Jack followed behind a young woman in police blues, coming to a stop when she stepped aside and opened a door on the right.
“You’re welcome to use this room for as long as you need,” she said. “The laptops on the tables are already logged into the database. My name is Michelle, so just give me a buzz if you need anything.”
Rachel wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to borrowing rooms at police stations to do background work. It was sort of like staying in a motel room, only slightly less private. She felt this a bit more than usual as she settled in behind an older-looking laptop, multi-tasking as she was also checking her phone as a new notification came through.
“I got a partial list from DC,” she said. “A few of the doctors Roland Young once worked with. And I must stress the word partial.”
“You want to dig into that? I’ll pull all the names from the police reports in terms of employees at Crossway, the hospital, and whoever was scheduled to transport Mrs. Brooks.”
“Sounds good.”
And really, it did. Sitting down behind a desk and going through background checks and histories was not Rachel’s idea of an exciting time. But this time, it allowed her a moment to fully process not only the case, but the fact that she was back at work. It had happened so quickly, and she had been so overjoyed to get back without the obstacles or hurdles of riding a desk that she hadn’t bothered to question the speed of it all. But now that she was starting to experience the subtle pains in her head again, the reality she’d been trying to avoid was once again staring her right in the face.
Maybe the stress of her job was the absolute worst thing for her. When she’d been at home, resting, taking her medicine, and participating in light exercise only, she’d had no symptoms at all. In fact, her last doctor’s appointment had been incredibly promising. And now here she was, less than a full day back at the bureau, and the damned headaches were popping up again.
They were mild, sure, but she knew it could be an indicator that something was wrong. As she started sifting through the information on the doctors Roland Young had once worked with, she glanced over to Jack. She should tell him. She knew this without a doubt but at the same time, he was so excited that they were working together again. Throw in the new and exciting romance they’d finally decided to address, and admitting to worries about the tumor was the absolute last thing she wanted to do.
So, for now, she decided to focus solely on the case. She had the names and information of four doctors that had worked with Young. All of the cases were standard, and Roland had managed to win the cases for two of them. The most recent case was twenty-one years old, and quick records and research work showed her that three of the four were deceased. She thought she had a trail worth following for a moment on the fourth doctor. His son had been accused of physically abusing patients when he’d gone into hospitals and doctor’s offices to check on the status of certain clinical trials, but he was now in prison; he’d been convicted fourteen years ago, was pushed through about a year or so courtroom drama, then was finally sentenced. He was sentenced to twenty years in prison. At the current age of sixty-nine, he had nine years remaining.
In other words, he was a non-factor in their case.
“Well, I’m at a dead end already,” she said, gently tossing her phone down. “You got anything?”
“Sure,” Jack said without looking up from the records he was reading over on the borrowed laptop. “About a dozen names for you to look into.”
“Okay. Who am I looking into?”
“There’s a copy of the visitor’s logs in this newest update for the case files. I figure it’s worth checking out.”
Rachel shrugged, knowing it was an item that needed to be crossed off, but also fully aware that a killer was not going to check-in at the front desk or sign any sort of visitor’s log if they could help it. But it kept her mind sharp, kept her focused on the case, and she was happy to tackle such a mundane task for the moment.
She’d eliminated all but one of the thirteen names on the list for the night Mrs. Brooks had been killed when Jack made a deep hmmm noise next to her.
“You got something?”
“I think I just might.” He scooted his chair over closer to hers and tilted the laptop in her direction so they could both see it.
Rachel looked to the screen and saw a scanned copy of a police report. As she read it over, Jack summed it all up for her based on everything he’d read.
“This is Brittany Lowe,” he said. “Thirty-six years of age, divorced with no kids. She works as a travel nurse with a company called Best Days In-Home Care. I’ve got a bit of her work history right here, and you can clearly see where she worked for a Mr. Ronald Young several months ago.”
He tapped at the screen, and Rachel followed along. She also saw that one other in-home nurse had assisted Mr. Young, and that the care had been passed off to Brittany Lowe. The reason given was: the patient does not seem wholly interested in recovery.
“There’s no mention of her working for Mrs. Brooks,” he said, “but right here …”
He pointed to a note near the bottom of the form, what looked like a standard work-log or schedule of some kind, typed out on Best Days In-Home Care letterhead. Rachel read the note and saw that Brittany Lowe had been scheduled to assist with a transport from the hospital to a hospice facility two days ago but had been removed from it.
“I know it doesn’t seem all that strange at first,” Jack said. “I’m sure there are schedule changes and alterations all the time. But if we find that Mrs. Marie Brooks was the only patient scheduled for transfer to a hospice center two days ago …”
Rachel nodded, already grabbing her phone to call the hospital. It took a few different pass-offs and connections to different departments, but she finally had the woman she needed to speak with on the line. The whole process took less than five minutes. While she waited, Jack continued to scroll through the list of people who could potentially be connected to both Marie Brooks and Roland Young—a list that had turned out to be much longer than either of them had truly expected.
“Is this Agent Gift on the line?” the woman on the other end said.
“It is. Thank you for your time.”
“Sure. I’m in charge of the transfer of patients to other facilities and to in-home care. I was told you had a question for me about Mrs. Brooks.”
“I do. I need to know how many other patients were scheduled to be moved to a hospice care facility in the past week or so.”
“Just two. Mrs. Brooks was one, of course, and the other was a gentleman that ended up going back home with his son.”
“In the case of the other one, do you know if the plans to move to a hospice facility were ever actually started?”
“They weren’t. In terms of plans being made and transport being scheduled to go, Mrs. Brooks was the only one we had.”
“And do you happen to know the name of the company that had planned on providing a nurse for the hand-off from the hospital to Crossway?”
“That would be Best Days In-Home Care. The hospital has had an ongoing contract with them for at least eight years—as long as I’ve been here.”
That was exactly what Rachel needed to hear. She swatted at Jack and gave him a nod and a thumbs up when he looked at her. He understood what this meant at once, going back to Brittany Lowe’s records right away. Rachel thanked the woman for her help and looked over Jack’s shoulder as he pulled up Lowe’s information.
She wasted no time, still feeling the urgency and push from Anderson’s suggestion that this case could be wrapped up quickly. She dialed the number listed for Best Days In-Home Care while Jack clicked and scrolled around for more information about her in the database.
“Best Days In-Home Care, how can I help you?” a cheerful voice asked.
“I need to speak with Brittany Lowe, please.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Brittany is out with a client right now.”
“May I ask where?”
There was a brief pause before the woman on the other end said, “Who’s calling?”
“This is Special Agent Rachel Gift.” She gave her badge number as further evidence, though she knew it was rarely needed.
“Oh, of course, yes.” As the woman on the other end stammered a bit, Rachel looked back to Jack and noticed the look of confusion on his face as he read intently over a section of Brittany Lowe’s file. “Brittany is on the schedule to meet with two patients at Grayson Personal Care.”
Confused, she asked, “Is that hospice care?”
“No, it’s an assisted living residence. Do you need the address?”
Rachel said she did and committed it to memory as the woman recited it. She ended the call, tapped the address into her maps app, and then looked back to Jack. “You look puzzled,” she said.
“Nice of you to notice. And yes, I am … well, I mean I was. I wanted to dig further back into her history, so I checked her out under her married name, which was Brittany Laine. However, that was harder than I assumed because as it turns out, Lowe isn’t her original last name.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, it looks like after the divorce, she not only got rid of her ex-husband’s last name, but she completely changed her name. She kept the Brittany but got a new last name. Her maiden name was Brittany Covington … married name was Brittany Laine. But her new name …”
“Lowe. So, she legally had her name changed?” Rachel asked.
“Seems like it. I wonder why.”
Rachel shrugged and then showed him the address she’d gotten from Best Days In-Home Care. “I don’t know. Maybe we should go ask her.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rachel felt both sad and guilty when she found the mere sight of Grayson Personal Care depressing. Sure, it was a newer building, and the signs of renovation were evident in the large glass walls and modern aesthetic as they made their way to the front door. But to her, it was, to coin a phrase, like putting lipstick on a pig. The people that came here knew why they were here. It was one thing to make them feel comfortable and at peace with their final days, however many they might have. It was another thing completely to make the place look like something it wasn’t.
When she and Jack walked in through the door, she thought the place looked almost like a sort of get-away resort for couples. Right down to the smiling woman at the welcome desk, the place had a very welcoming yet plastic feel to it.
They approached the desk quickly, and Rachel was already showing the woman her badge before she could make niceties.
“We’re Agents Gift and Rivers with the FBI. I need you to please find out where Brittany Lowe, of Best Days In-Home Care, is right now.”
The woman looked absolutely terrified that there were FBI agents standing in front of her, and it took her a moment to unfreeze herself. “Yes, um, I believe she’s meeting with Mrs. Stanley and Ms. Roberts today. I don’t know who she was going to meet with first. But they are in Rooms 106 and 111.”
“Do you know for a fact she’s here?” Jack asked.
“Yes. I saw her come in about an hour and a half ago.”
“Quickly, can you tell us what the overall opinion of her is around here?” Jack asked. “Among the staff and your clients?”
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