“Yeah…of course, yeah, I see that. But…what can I…”

  He was clearly at a loss for words. Rachel found herself a bit surprised to see the emotion in his eyes as he came close to tears.

  “The short solution to it is simple,” she said. “If you can provide us with alibis for the nights they were both killed, it clears you easily enough.”

  “Me?” he asked, appalled. “I would never do something like that! I was…I mean, Casey had become very special to me.”

  Based on his genuine expression and the fact that Rachel could see the shock continuing to set in, she believed him. “Last night during that storm…where were you?”

  He looked back down to his drink as if he expected to find the answer floating around in there. He was piecing together an answer, trying to pull memories through the shock of the moment. “Last night…um, I left here around six or so. Stopped at the grocery store, picked up some chips. Went home, fought with the wife for a while, a big argument. And then I went into my study. Had a bit more to drink from my liquor cabinet and fell asleep on my couch."

  “Other than your wife, is there any proof of this?”

  He grimaced and nodded, again looking to his drink. “I don’t know what kind of proof you’re looking for. I…I signed into my Only Fans account around 10:30.”

  “How long were you on there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe like an hour. I know my wife was asleep when I came out and got some water. So it had to have been around 11:30 when I finally called it a night.”

  “What about the argument with your wife?” Jack asked. “You said it was a bad one. How long did it last?”

  “Oh, a while. Off and on…one of those, you know? Started around seven and maybe ended around nine.” His eyes then went wide, as if some huge idea had just come to him. “Oh…and we have a security camera out front. It shows everyone coming and going, you know? You could check that…see when I came in and that I never left.”

  “We may take a look at that,” Rachel said. “I assume there’s an app, right?”

  “Yeah. And the…the OnlyFans thing…you can check the time logged in and everything, right? Because I swear…I mean, I know I’ve screwed up a lot lately…made some bad choices. But I would never harm a patient like that. Especially not someone dealing with something as terrible as Mallerman-Diggs.”

  “Can you open up the app?” Jack asked. “Pull up footage for last night.”

  Even as he asked, Rachel could tell that Jack was only going through the motions. He knew Richard Fallen wasn’t their killer. His alibi was too tightly tied down. And even if they had doubts about any of it, he had his wife as a third layer of proof.

  Still, she did her due diligence and watched as Fallen opened up the security app and showed them the night’s footage. As she watched him arrive home, stumble to the door and then go inside, Rachel was already thinking about their next steps. And while Fallen sped through the night, showing the front door and his car, never once moving, she had no idea whatsoever where that step might lead…if they could find it at all.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  She sat alone in her house and looked out of the kitchen window. She was hoping for another night like the one before—a savage storm to come and wash away the filth of the world. Last night’s storm had been a blessing; she wasn’t sure she would have been able to take the life of Casey Lowell if the storm hadn’t knocked the power out at the hospice care facility. If she’d needed yet another sign that she was doing the Lord’s work, that had been it.

  She’d felt the calling about a year ago when she’d been at church. The mission pastor was up on stage, asking for love offerings that would go to the unhealthy and impoverished. There were a few different causes they were trying to help with these offerings, and he was boasting how local missions had contributed more than forty thousand dollars to help feed the homeless and to assist with the hospital bills of a family who had lost everything in a house fire—including skin grafts and other treatments to help with the burns.

  The pastor had gone on to discuss this year’s goal—to raise that much or more for similar causes. And as he’d discussed those causes, he’d mentioned a new and innovative realm of medicine and research that was taking place right there in Richmond. He’d then told the congregation about progeria, and how there was a small research facility in the area that was working toward treatments to make the lives of those suffering from it more comfortable in their final days…and maybe even a way to extend their livers by many years.

  He’d shown a picture on the large flat screen behind the stage…and she’d been appalled. And really, she’d almost felt like she’d been slapped in the face. He’d educated the congregation of about two hundred on progeria while showing pictures of those affected by it on the screen. She’d seen the small, childlike bodies perplexed by the ravages of old age. In the images, they were all walking and smiling, acting as normal people would. But there had also been a few images of their bodies weakened and shriveled.

  She knew it was sinful to think badly of people just because of the way they looked or because of any medical conditions they had. But what she felt in that moment went beyond a simple physical revulsion. She had something of a personal tie to what she'd seen, and as such, she'd felt almost targeted

  But she had also felt called. She’d felt the prompting of God to not help them, but to eliminate them. These poor, unfortunate people were an afront to God’s natural design. It was a scar among the natural order of things. And he wanted her to serve as his guiding hand and eliminate them. More than that, what of the people who helped care for them, always in search of the next miracle or handout?

  As she drank her tea and stared out of the kitchen window, she could easily recall the prayers she’d offered up to him after that. How it had seemed wrong, how there was no way she could eradicate them all herself.

  And over time, he’d made a few things clear to her—namely that throughout his Word, he had used his hand of glory to wipe certain people from the face of the Earth. The Bible was rife with stories of God wiping out people that stood in opposition of what he intended for the world. And as far as her not being able to take all of them out, she only needed to worry about her immediate area.

  And as his divine plan would have it, that was also the very same day she learned about the Mallerman-Diggs research facility. And because Mallerman-Diggs was an even more horrific abomination than its point of origin, she knew that was where she must begin. She’d heard of the place before but had decided to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t exist. Science and money…that was all they cared about.

  She’d been quite careful, seeking time as a volunteer at hospice facilities and scouting the buildings to see when patients were moved. She’d felt protected the entire time, knowing she had God’s provision.

  But now that she had taken the lives of two already, she knew it was only just beginning. Because of the research facility, she knew there were at least seven others with Mallerman-Diggs…seven more souls she needed to free. She saw herself as an angel of mercy not because that’s how she felt but because it’s the identity the Lord had given to her.

  She peered outside to the afternoon light as evening shoulders its way in. Slowly, she dropped to her knees, letting the sunlight fall perfectly on her face through the window. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together in front of her, and prayed.

  “Lord, show me my next path. Show me your will and help to keep on the same, steady path…”

  And with the sun on her skin, creating small filaments of light even through her closed eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—she really was an angel of some kind after all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rachel hated to return to the office because it had always felt like defeat for her. It was the place she went when a case had no legs, when she had to gather herself up and admit that things weren’t going the way she’d wanted or the way she’d planned. But that’s exactly where she and Jack found themselves going upon leaving Richard Fallen at the bar.

  They’d tried starting their office visit with a trip to Anderson’s office only to find that he was out of the office, away on a bureau meeting in DC. With that option removed, they made their way back downstairs to the second floor, to Rachel’s cubicle.

  “Here’s my idea,” Rachel said as they settled in behind her L-shaped desk and she powered up her laptop. “We pay a visit to the research facility that’s heading up the Mallerman-Diggs research and make sure they've got their researchers, employees, project leads—everyone we can think of—on a tight leash."

  “Yeah, I think that’s the next step, too. As for the facility itself, I don’t know that they’ll come into play, though. Out two victims had obviously seen doctors tied to the facility, but neither of them was actually in the facility when they were killed.”

  “So maybe there’s a clue or lead hidden in that fact,” Rachel pointed out.

  “Could be. And I suppose they’d have a list of everyone in the area that has the condition. That should include where they’re staying as well as their current condition, right? Because it seems to me that, based on Lowell and Cayman, the killer is going after people in the later stages of the disease, right?”

  “Seems that way, yeah. So maybe one of us should call the facility and see if we can get that list. I don’t think we’ll run into any red tape or doctor-patient roadblocks. And assuming we can get the list, they all need to be under protection.”

  “Well, we’d need to find out how many people we’re talking about first,” Jack said. “If I call the Richmond Police and ask for protection surveillance on a ton of people, I’m going to get laughed at.”

  Rachel, tapping and scrolling through notes on her phone in search of the number for the research facility, nodded. “I don’t think that will be the case, though. It seems to me that it’s so rare there should only be a few.” She found the number, typed it in and shrugged. “I’ll let you know in about two minutes.”

  She placed the call, and it was answered by a soft-voiced woman with a bit of sorrow in her voice. Rachel supposed everyone over at the research center for Mallerman-Diggs was likely feeling very emotional today. One victim could be seen as a tragic loss; two would certainly start to feel as if there was specific targeting taking place.

  After introducing herself, the conversation went smoothly. The woman on the phone had to get permission to give her the names, but it was given right away. Rachel knew that if two people hadn’t recently been killed, there would have likely been a bit more pushback.

  “Okay,” the woman said. “Do you need me to email you the list?”

  “Do you also have addresses for each one?”

  “I do.”

  “Then yes, please email that information to me.”

  “Do you want the names of patients in Richmond or all of the patients that have been seen at the facility?”

  “Both, please. Separate, if possible.”

  “Sure thing. You’ll have them in about three minutes. What address can I send them to?”

  Rachel gave the woman her email address and ended the call. As she waited for the email to come through, Jack was speaking on his phone, pacing back and forth behind Rachel’s cubicle. Based on what she could hear from his end of the conversation, he was speaking with someone from the police department about the availability of officers for potential protection services. Even before having a concrete number, it would be a good idea to even know what sort of availability they’d be looking at.

  By the time the email came through from the research center, she was starting to detect irritation in Jack’s voice. Opening the email, the last thing she clearly heard him say is: “Well, how can you even make that assumption before you even know how many units we’d need?”

  When Rachel first glanced at the list, she felt a bit of relief. Maybe this wouldn’t be as difficult as they thought. The list for patients in Richmond was only eight people deep. And not only had the clinic provided addresses for them, but someone had taken the time to include the date of their last visit to the clinic.

  The other list—of patients that didn’t live in the immediate area—was a bit longer but still manageable. There were only ten names on the list. Only one was from Virginia. Others were scattered all around the country. An eleventh was listed by themselves, hailing from Lyon, France.

  “That’s it?” Jack asked. Rachel turned to face him, not sure if he was still on the phone or talking to her. But he’d come back into the cubicle, the phone stowed away as he looked to her opened email.

  “Yeah. Just seven here in town. For the others, we can simply call to alert the care facilities and families.”

  “Yeah, I suppose,” Jack said with annoyance. “But that’s just a band-aid. And based on the conversation I just had with the police, I don’t know how plausible it’s going to be to get protective surveillance of seven people. Not right away, anyway.” He sighed and, almost like a child, sat down on the floor and pressed his back against the cubicle wall. “The only clear option to keep these people safe is to catch the bastard who is doing this.”

  “Agreed. But where do we start now? We can do a deep dive over at Trautman. All of the employees…but with Frank Cayman never having been there, I don’t think it’s a viable choice.”

  “I think the research center is our best play,” Jack said. “But there’s no actual staff over there from what I can tell. Most of it’s done through telecom services, right?”

  “That’s the impression that I get. But, still…of this place is the epicenter of where all of these patients are going for studies and treatments, it looks to be our best shot. Even if there’s nothing to be gained directly, we’ll still get the names of people who’ve had contact with everyone on this list of seven.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jack said, getting up out of the floor. “I’ll drive if you hop on the phone and alert the seven local families.”

  “Do you think it’s wise to scare them when we are sure if—”

  But she stopped herself, mentally answering her own question. Of course, it's not wise to scare them…but they need to know. Especially if we won't have the convenience of surveillance for all of them. It's better to know and be scared so they can take any necessary precautions.

  “Never mind,” she said. “That’s sounds like a plan. Let’s go. But…can I meet you at the car. I need to call home.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  He seemed a little confused at first as he kissed her softly on the cheek and the left, headed for the elevators. She wondered if it was because she’d asked to meet him at the car—that he felt being engaged should give him access to these conversations she often had with Grandma Tate and Paige. Honesty, she couldn’t care less if he overheard or not. If anything, she felt embarrassed and a bit like a hindrance to be making this call at all. But it was something she’d swore to herself—to keep herself accountable and present to her family.

  She quickly called her secondary cell number, the one that was answered on the iPad most of the time. It rang twice before Paige answered it. “Hey, Mommy!” She struggled with propping the pad up on something as she gave her greeting.

  “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

  “Homework. Boo.”

  She finally got the iPad propped up, the angle slightly tilted. Paige was in the living room, sitting in the thin space between the couch and the coffee table so that she could use the coffee table to do her homework on.

  “Did you have a good day?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah, it was pretty good. I was goalie for PE and I was so good that Mr. Francisco switched me out.”

  “Well, yeah, they have to be fair to everyone else.”

  Paige smiled, and as she opened her mouth to say something else, Rachel could hear Grandma Tate in the background. Her voice got louder as she came into the room, asking: "Paige, is that your mom?"

  Paige’s head turned and said, “Yeah, it’s mom.”

  “One second, sweetie,” Grandma Tate said. The iPad was jostled as Grandma Tate moved it. Rachel could tell right away that she was carrying it into the kitchen, away from Paige. Her heart instantly dropped, thinking there was bad news on the way.

  Grandma Tate sat down at the kitchen table, and Rachel felt a bit of slight relief when she didn't see worry on her grandmother's face. In fact, she smiled for a moment and said, "Did you ask for someone to look in on us for some reason?"

  The question took Rachel by surprise. She had mentioned the possible need for a lookout after Helmsdale’s death—back when she’d been certain the attack had been directed at her. Back when she had been absolutely certain it was somehow linked to Lynch. But Anderson had denied it, along with a long explanation of why the Helmsdale murders probably had absolutely nothing to do with her. But she’d never told Grandma Tate that she’d made such a request.

  “I did, but that was almost three weeks ago. Why do you ask?”

  “Because there was a black car parked across the street when I stepped out to get Paige off the bus. And honestly, I think I only noticed it because it instantly brought back memories of what it was like when we were under bureau protection was Alex Lynch was on the lose.”

  “So you think it was a bureau car?”

  “Yes, I think so. I didn’t get a look at the driver.”

  “Is it still there?” Rachel asked.

  “No. I poked my head out five minutes ago and it had left.”

  Rachel pondered this for a moment. Maybe Anderson had decided it might not be a bad idea. And if that was the case, she wondered how long her family had been surveilled by the bureau without her knowing. It was both a sweet gesture on Anderson’s part but also creepy at the same time. Of course, he was out of town at the moment, in DC for his meeting, and wouldn’t be able to ask him about it.

  “I can’t get an answer for you right now. But…I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.”

 

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