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He wasted no time in doing it, calling the number at 6:08 in the morning. It rang a single time before it was answered. The same voice that had left the message responded right away. “Molly. Thanks God. But…it’s early. Are you okay?”
“Who’s speaking, please?” Sullivan asked.
Rachel cringed. That was not at all how she would have started the conversation. She had a pretty good idea of what was coming next and was proven right immediately. Rather than responding, the woman ended the call. She’d been spooked.
“Let me try on my phone,” Rachel said. “Maybe something about getting the call from Molly’s phone made them uneasy for some reason.”
Rachel called the number from her phone, but there was only a single ring before it went to voicemail. She shook her head and shoved her phone back into her pocket, frustrated.
“We can trace it, then,” Sullivan said, clearly embarrassed at the result. “It shouldn’t take too long, right?”
They headed back inside and as Sullivan made a few calls to the precinct and spoke with officers on the scene to get a trace put in place for Molly Stevens’ phone, Rachel made her way back into the bedroom. She looked to the victim’s neck, the bruises having grown a bit darker. Right down to the finger-like shapes along some of the contours of the bruise, it was perfectly clear this had been a strangulation case. But he also knew that this killer was crafty. No prints had been left behind so far, and no clues other than the single hair that she’d seen on the files in Dr. Willis’s apartment. She would be willing to bet any amount of money that there would be no prints on Dr. Stevens’ neck…or elsewhere within the house for that matter.
No, the only real answers were going to come from more research. And that research needed to start at a very specific place.
Who was Molly Stevens, and what had she been working on?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“So, what time is your appointment today?”
Sullivan asked this question as they pulled through a drive-thru a mile and a half away from Molly Stevens’ house. Neither had had breakfast or coffee yet, and it seemed like a perfect moment to do so as they waited for the trace results of the number they’d called back from Dr. Stevens’ phone.
“Nine thirty. So I need to make sure I’m readily available to leave whatever location we’re at around nine.”
“That’s simple enough.”
Rachel felt like it was the perfect opportunity to express some of what had been on her mind last night—to make sure she wasn’t forcibly inserting herself into the case. “That’s not to say that the case needs to come to a standstill without me. I’m very much aware that I’m the tag-along here, and I can’t help but feel that I sort of butted in.”
“I suppose you did, in a way,” Sullivan said as he pulled the car up through the drive-thru window. “But it was more than welcome. Trust me…my higher-ups are thrilled. You notice no one has called to tell you the rules, right? Whether you want to admit it or not, your name carries some weight even here, all the way on the other side of the country.”
Rachel frowned, not sure how she felt about this. She believed that Sullivan wasn’t feeling put out by her presence, but she hated the idea that there were still some fumes behind her little brush with fame from nearly seven months ago. Then again, she knew just how long and lingering news items like her ordeal tended to service in the annals of law enforcement.
“Do you mind if I ask a question about your treatments?” Sullivan asked.
“No, that’s fine.” Oddly, she found that she appreciated the interest.
“After the ones you’re undergoing this week…is that it? or will there be more in the future?”
The employee at the window handed them their orders. Sullivan paid, and as they pulled away, with Rachel sorting out the orders and handing Sullivan his coffee and food, she answered as best as she could.
“The hope is that there would be no more treatments at all. And if there are, they’d be so far in the future that they’re not even worth worrying about. There will be check-ups and things like that—probably for the rest of my life—but that’s far preferable to chemo and constantly worrying.”
“Well, I suppose it does sort of seem like a weird type of fate that this case is going on during the same few days you find yourself in Seattle for your treatments.”
“Yeah, that did sort of work itself out just right, didn’t it?”
Sullivan chuckled, but before he could respond, his phone started ringing. He checked the caller display and said, "This is Officer Stapleton, from the Stevens' house."
He took the call, placing it on speaker mode so Rachel could be part of the conversation. “Hey, Stapleton. Be forewarned…Agent Gift is also on the call, so watch that potty-mouth of yours.”
“Thanks for the heads up. Anyway, look, we traced that phone number. It belongs to a woman named Sherry Calloway. I’ve got an address for her home and her work…and I’ll give you one guess what she does for a living.”
“She’s into anti-aging field as well?”
“She is. In fact, her work history has her working with Adler.”
“And we know for a fact she also knew Molly,” Rachel pointed out. “What’d the work address for her?”
