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A transaction from somewhere called Wellness Therapy. It must have slipped past them before. Fiona frowned. Gary Fogel had been attending therapy? That was news.
She went online and looked them up, only to see it was a therapy clinic for grief and trauma counseling.
"Jake, look at this," Fiona said, excitement creeping into her voice as she pointed at the screen. "Gary Fogel went to a therapist for grief and trauma counseling. It could be nothing, but it's worth checking out, right?"
Jake leaned over to glance at the screen, his brow furrowing as he read the information. "Yeah, let's see if there's any connection between that and the other victims. It could be a lead."
Fiona nodded, feeling a renewed sense of energy as she began to dig deeper into the clinic. She pulled up its website, scanning through the list of therapists and services offered.
The possibility of a breakthrough electrified the air around them, sending ripples of anticipation throughout the room. Fiona felt her heart rate quicken as she envisioned the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place. There was still much to uncover, but the discovery offered a glimmer of hope—a hope that they were one step closer.
"I never saw this in Craig or Carrie's records, but let me check Craig's insurance records," Jake suggested, fingers already flying across his keyboard. Fiona watched as the seconds ticked by, her heart pounding in anticipation."Got it," Jake announced, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Craig made a claim for the same clinic—Wellness Therapy." His eyes flashed. "That's two out of three victims."
Determination surged through Fiona's veins, and she abruptly stood up. "Then we need to pay this clinic a visit."
***
The clinic was located downtown, nestled between towering office buildings. As Fiona and Jake entered, Fiona was struck by the incongruity of the space. Despite the soothing colors and calming artwork that adorned the walls, there was an undeniable hospital-like atmosphere. The number of staff members bustling about, all dressed in crisp white uniforms, only heightened the sense of urgency that seemed to pervade the air.
"Feels more like a medical center than a therapy clinic," Fiona muttered, scanning the room with a practiced eye.
"I got the same feeling," Jake replied, his voice low and cautious. "Let's see if we can find any connection between this place and our victims."
They approached the front desk, where a young receptionist greeted them with a polite smile. "Hi there, can I help you?" she asked.
Jake took the lead, flashing his FBI badge. "We're investigating a series of murders, and we have reason to believe that two of the victims received treatment here. We'd like to speak with someone who might have information about them."
"Oh, God," the receptionist replied, her eyes widening slightly at the mention of murder. "Please wait here... I just need to grab my boss."
As they waited, Fiona couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The connection between the clinic and the victims was undeniable, but the reasons behind it remained frustratingly unclear. The answers they sought were hidden within these walls; she was certain of it. And yet, as she glanced around the room, she couldn't shake the feeling that something else was at play here. The clinic was very busy. Staff members rushed past them, their faces etched with stress.
"Look at this place," Fiona murmured to Jake as they navigated the crowded waiting area. "There must be fifty staff members here and even more patients. Any one of them could know Gary and Craig."
"True," Jake replied, his eyes scanning the sea of faces for any sign of recognition or guilt. "But we're not just looking for someone who knew them. We're looking for someone who had a motive to kill."
"Exactly," Fiona agreed, her brow furrowed in concentration. She could sense that there was more to this story than just a common connection between the victims. Someone within these walls had a reason to murder – a dark secret that they would do anything to protect – and it was up to her and Jake to uncover the truth.
As they waited, a middle-aged woman approached them with a concerned expression on her face. "I'm Dr. Grayson, the director of this clinic," she said, extending her hand for a handshake. "How can I assist you?"
"We're with the FBI," Jake said, showing her his badge again. "We're investigating the murders of two of your patients, Gary Fogel and Craig Thompson. We believe both of them received treatment here, and we were hoping to speak with anyone who knew them."
Dr. Grayson's expression darkened. "I see. This is certainly concerning.Unfortunately, any information about our patients, living or dead, is strictly confidential. I cannot release any records or discuss their treatment without a court order."
"Listen," Jake interjected, his voice strained with frustration. "We're trying to catch a killer here. If there's any connection between this clinic and those men, we need to know about it."
"Unless you have the necessary legal documentation," the doctor retorted, her jaw set stubbornly, "there is nothing I can do for you."
Fiona clenched her fists at her sides, her patience wearing thin. She could feel the truth slipping through their fingers like sand. But without the cooperation of the clinic, they were at an impasse.
Taking a deep breath, Fiona decided to try a different approach. She stepped forward and fixed Dr. Grayson with an earnest gaze. "We understand your position," she said gently. "But two people are dead, and we need answers in order to bring their killer to justice."
Dr. Grayson's eyes flashed. "I can't confirm if the people you mentioned even came here. I'm sorry, but we're a very busy clinic, and this is awfully suspicious. I need you to get that warrant, or else I can't help you."
Fiona frowned, feeling the walls closing in around them. They were so close to a breakthrough, and yet it seemed like they were back at square one.
"Thank you for your time," Jake said tersely, "and we'll be back with that warrant." With that, he turned and headed towards the door. Fiona followed, her mind buzzing with frustration and disappointment. They needed to get that warrant, and they needed it fast.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
