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“I can make a call for security detail for Calloway,” Sullivan said.
“And I’ll head back upstairs to have a talk with anyone who can get me a list of names we can start trying to keep an eye on.”
It seemed like a simple enough plan, and a good one. But Rachel hated to waste time speaking and doing research when there was very clearly a killer still out there. Throw a looming treatment appointment into the mix and the case truly did start to feel as if it was getting away from them bit by bit.
In fact, looking at her watch, she saw that she stood a good chance of missing her appointment…for a case that wasn’t even hers.
Priorities… she reminded herself. Health. Family. Future…
Still, she found herself irritated by the appointment and couldn’t help but wonder if making sure she had her priorities in order might result in the loss of another life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
By the time Rachel had to leave for her appointment, she had a list of four other names from within the Seattle area—the names of doctors who worked in the anti-aging field. Of the four, three were male and only one was female. It made Rachel wonder if the killer was going after the females first because of societal expectations that females were weaker and would, therefore, not put up much of a fight.
She handed the list off to Sullivan before heading to her appointment. He took it along with Calloway’s phone to the precinct after making plans to meet at the home of Dr. Calloway’s parents as soon as the appointment was over.
At the appointment, Rachel felt almost irresponsible for having her mind so fixated on the case rather than the treatment. It was, though, a testament to just how lackadaisical the treatments were. A single injection, a wait of about twenty minutes, and then five minutes in the MRI machine. After a quick round of questions with her doctors, Rachel was out of the office exactly thirty-six minutes after she'd passed through the doors.
Before heading to the address Sullivan had sent her, she took the time to text both Jack and Grandma Tate back home. She had to keep reminding herself that her responsibilities to her health and to matters back home really should come before a case that had never truly been hers in the first place. The text was brief, but that was exactly what they’d expect from her.
Third treatment down. Docs say all looks perfectly well. See you guys in TWO DAYS!
Sending it, she found that she was homesick. She knew that if this case had been officially assigned to her and Jack, sending them across the country, the feeling wouldn’t be quite as bad. But as she typed in the two days part, it seemed like an impossibly long amount of time.
Then it’s a good thing I’ve got this case to occupy my time, she thought as she started back out into the city.
She was filled with a strange sort of excitement, a thrill that almost made her feel bad. She knew it was silly, but she almost felt as if she was cheating on Jack. Even if he could not be here with her, maybe she should at least be sharing more details about the case or being more forthright about how much time and mental focus it was taking. She was sure Jack would understand, even though he'd much prefer that she rest up in the hotel room.
She forced herself to shut such thoughts down when she reached the address Sullivan had sent her. She pulled in behind his car, parked in front of a two-story house in a neighborhood that looked remarkably similar to the one where Dr. Molly Stevens had lived. There was also a lone police car there as well, parked just as the lip of their paved driveway. As she made her way up toward the front porch, she felt guilty again—this time for having missed the brutal gut punch of informing these parents that their daughter had been murdered.
At the front door, she knocked softly. She could hear muffled voices and treading footsteps on the other side. Just a handful of seconds later, the door was opened. A middle-aged policeman greeted her, his face solemn and his lips pulled into a tight, expressionless shape.
Rachel showed her badge and ID, and the cop stepped to the side to allow her in. Without a single word exchanged between them, the cop led her into the house. The front door entered into a wide hallway of sorts. An archway to the right revealed a sitting room that looked to also double as a home office. Further ahead, at the end of the hallway, was a large living room. The sounds of soft speech and the sniffles of a woman crying poured out of the space.
Before they came to the living room, Rachel stepped closer to the cop and whispered: “How long has Detective Sullivan been here?”
“About fifteen minutes,” the cop said.
“Was he the one who broke the news?”
“No, that was me. Easily the worst part of this job, though.”
When they came to the living room, Sullivan waved her in. “Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, this is the agent helping me on the case, Special Agent Rachel Gift. Would you mind if she joined us?”
Rachel observed the parents, both looking to be in their early seventies. The mother looked to be absolutely wrecked, and the father stared blankly at Rachel. It was the father who answered, his voice dry and monotone.
“Of course, that’s fine,” he said.
“Agent Gift,” Sullivan said, “Mr. and Mrs. Stevens have just informed me that Molly had just come out of a serious relationship. Four years, and an engagement. It was quite a dramatic breakup, but she and her former fiancé had mended their bridges and were trying to work on things."
“I see,” Rachel said. “Had she been married before?”
"No," the father said. He was a tall, skinny man, and with the shocked expression that seemed to be glued to his face, he looked almost phantom-like. "She had a serious boyfriend through most of college, but they broke things off. I think she dated here and there along the way, but nothing serious."
“She never had time for a romantic life,” the mother finally said. Her voice was a wave of emotion, and Rachel wasn’t sure if the woman was on the verge of screaming or crying. Form the looks if her eyes and her tear-streaked face, she’d already done a bit of the latter. “She was always so fixated on that damned job of hers. Is that why she was killed? Because of her work? Did one of those damned fool protestors take things too far?”
“Sadly, we just don’t know,” Rachel said. “That’s why we’d like to speak with you. We’re trying to learn anything we can about your daughter and any enemies she might have had…or any sort of controversies she might have—”
