Page 22 of Her Last Promise
Another officer appeared at the door, balancing a fresh tray of coffee cups.The aroma of fresh coffee cut through the staleness of the room, but Rachel barely noticed.Her mind was racing, connecting invisible lines between victims, trying to see the pattern that she knew must be there.
"Malcolm, what's the status on that surveillance image?"she called out, her voice sharper than she'd intended.
Malcolm glanced up, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he'd been at this longer than any of them.His tie was completely undone now, hanging like a surrender flag around his neck."Best I could do."He turned his laptop around, revealing a grainy still frame of a man entering the building.The figure was easy to make out in shape, but the details of his face weren’t great at all.
Rachel stood, her chair rolling back against the wall with enough force to make Eloise jump."Send it to me.I'll forward it to our imaging team."She gathered her jacket from the back of her chair, nodding to Novak."We need to talk to Nathan Mitchell."
"Hold on," Eloise called out, her voice carrying an urgency that made Rachel pause.Her fingers flew across the keyboard again, pulling up another document."There's something else.The case notes mention Nathan has an older brother, Michael.He tried to intervene in the proceedings from abroad, even reached out to both Judge Smith and James—something about being the primary medical proxy before Nathan contested it."
“How far abroad?”Novak asked.
“Avignon, France.But the notes here also say he was very supportive and helpful to both staff and in answering any questions Judge Smith or the hospital staff and administrators had.”
“We’ll need his contact info, too, then,” Rachel said.“But for now, we need an address for Nathan Mitchell.”
“Got it right here,” Novak said, standing but hunched over his laptop.
Without another word spoken between them, they started moving toward the door.Rachel looked back to the others who had gathered in the room to assist.“Thanks for all of your help,” she said.“All of this likely saved us a day or two of monotonous digging.”
There were murmurs of response, but it was clear that they, too, were hooked into this case.And, like Rachel, they would not stop trying to help until Judge Smith’s killer and James Harrison’s abductor was caught.
As they walked, Rachel speed-dialed the bureau, letting the imaging team know that a high-priority email was coming.With the occasional glance up from her phone, she forwarded the email Malcolm had sent with the image of their potential suspect attached.Behind them, the hub of investigation continued its work.
Outside, the morning sun had burned away the last of fog, leaving behind a sharp clarity that seemed at odds with the murky waters they were wading through.A construction crew across the street had started up their jackhammer, the rhythmic pounding a counterpoint to Rachel's racing thoughts.She looked at her watch and was amazed (and a bit appalled) to find that it had somehow come to be 9:42.
Rachel stared through the windshield, seeing not the parking lot before them but the pieces of the puzzle finally starting to align."Two missing people, both connected to Judge Smith," she said slowly."James Harrison and now Dr.Patricia Walsh..."She left the sentence unfinished, but they both knew where it led.The implications hung in the air between them, heavy as storm clouds.
“I think if things don’t fully pan out with Nathan Mitchell,” Novak said, “we should hit up Richmond PD to see what they have on Walsh’s disappearance.”
“Absolutely.Actually, I’ll make that call now.”
She did exactly that as Novak pulled out into traffic, carrying them toward what Rachel hoped would be answers, but what her gut told her would only be more questions.Because second by second, it was clear that this was becomingthatsort of case.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cody Austin drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, watching the digital display on his dashboard tick from 10:04 to 10:05.The morning sun cast long shadows across the hospice center's parking lot, the light catching on patches of early frost that hadn't yet melted.He'd chosen this time deliberately—late enough so that the early morning set-up and back-to-routine actions were out of the way, and early enough to avoid the lunch rush of visitors.Every detail had been meticulously planned, just like his previous visit…the visit to gather information about Scarlett.
He smiled.The memory of her death brought a slight warmth to his chest, like savoring a fine wine.It had been just the first step and he had executed it well.
And now it was time for the next step.The backpack waiting in the passenger seat seemed to pulse with possibility.Inside, beneath the carefully selected stack of donated books, lay everything he needed.The tools of his trade, as he'd come to think of them during the past few endless nights.It was something he'd never even dared to fathom back in his prison when he had been planning his revenge against Rachel Gift.But inspiration had struck, and who was he to push it away?
Through the windshield, he studied the building's facade.Three stories of red brick and large windows, designed to let in natural light—to give the dying their last glimpse of sunshine, he supposed.The architect had tried to make it look welcoming, with curved entranceways and decorative stonework, but Cody knew better.He knew what happened behind those walls.He'd spent weeks studying the building's plans, memorizing staff rotations, learning the rhythms of this place where hope came to die.
He allowed himself a thin smile as he recalled the countless hours he'd spent researching this place.The building's layout was etched in his mind like a tattoo: four wings radiating from a central hub, security cameras positioned at every major intersection but with significant blind spots in the auxiliary hallways.The staff schedules, the shift changes, the cleaning rotations—he knew them all.
The memory of his prison cell flickered through his mind—six by eight feet of concrete and steel, his home for a decade.But while others had withered in that confined space, he had thrived.The prison library had become his sanctuary, not for the reasons his counselors had hoped, but because every book was a potential weapon in his arsenal.Medical texts that taught him about the human body's vulnerabilities.True crime novels that showed him where others had failed.Classic literature that helped him understand the human psyche—how to manipulate it, how to break it.
Cody checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses he'd chosen for this persona.They made him look scholarly, harmless—the kind of man who would donate classic literature to the dying.The irony wasn't lost on him.Prison had indeed made him a reader, though not in the way the system had intended.He'd devoured books not for rehabilitation but for technique: the precise medical terminology in thriller novels, the detailed descriptions of how bodies failed, how systems shut down.
His cellmate had once asked why he spent so much time reading."Expanding my mind," he'd answered with a smile, never mentioning how each page was another brick in the foundation of his revenge.How every word was bringing him closer to this moment, to Rachel Gift.
He stepped out of the car, shoulders squared beneath his casual blazer.The backpack settled against his spine with familiar weight as he walked toward the entrance, his footsteps crunching on the salt-scattered pavement—just in case it sleeted, which had been in the forecast for the last twenty-four hours.The sound reminded him of breaking bones—a pleasant association that brought another smile to his lips.Through the glass doors, he could already see the reception desk.Relief loosened his shoulders slightly—a new face sat behind the counter, not the sharp-eyed woman who'd been there during his reconnaissance visit a week and a half ago, when he'd been gathering intel on Scarlett.
The automatic doors whispered open, releasing a gust of warm air scented with antiseptic and artificial pine—someone's futile attempt at festive cheer.Fifteen days until Christmas.Fifteen days until these halls would be filled with well-wishers bearing gifts and false hope…some to people they had never met.How fitting that he'd chosen this season of giving to deliver his own special package.
The lobby was quieter than he'd expected, the morning lull settling over the space like a blanket.A small Christmas tree stood in the corner, its lights twinkling feebly against the harsh fluorescent overhead lighting.An elderly man dozed in one of the waiting room chairs, a magazine forgotten in his lap.A nurse walked past, her shoes squeaking softly on the polished floor, too focused on her clipboard to give Cody a second glance.
"Good morning!"The receptionist's voice was bright, her smile genuine.Young, probably new to the job.Perfect.Her name tag read 'Bea,' and she couldn't have been more than twenty-five.The kind of person who still believed in the inherent goodness of strangers.He almost pitied her.
