by Blake Pierce
“Earth to Rachel,” Jack whispered. “You okay?”
Rachel thought of Paige being at home with a babysitter. She thought of her diagnosis and how, at some point, she was going to have to come clean with it. She thought of not being there for her daughter, leaving her husband to raise a child by himself. Slowly, in the light of a new morning, the pity she had caught a glimpse of last night turned to something else. It started to turn into anger.
“No,” she said. “This case is starting to piss me off.”
“The case or the killer’s actions?”
“Both. I say we find out where this woman was supposed to be getting her treatments and start there. All over again, like yesterday. Two clinics, three dead women…someone has got to know something.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
They arrived at the clinic fifteen minutes before business hours. It was called Greenfield Women’s Health Services and was about half the size of Regency. The doors were still locked with they approached but some sturdy knocking eventually got a very flustered-looking nurse to come to the door.
Though a small crack in the double doors, the fifty-something woman looked to them with disapproving eyes. “We don’t open for another fifteen minutes,” she said.
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Rachel said, showing her badge. “But I was really hoping to speak to someone before you officially opened for the day. We’re with the FBI and are looking into a series of murders.”
“Oh,” the woman said. “Oh, well yes, please come in. I’ll get Mrs. Carpenter, the manager for you.”
She opened the door for them and ushered them in before hurrying to a small reception area directly ahead of them. One other receptionist was already at work, speaking on the phone while typing something into a laptop. The woman that answered the door for them grabbed up the landline phone and typed in an extension. She spoke hurriedly into the phone for a moment and looked to them with great urgency.
“Mrs. Carpenter is on her way,” she said.
Rachel and Jack stood against the wall as Rachel compared the approach of this clinic to Regency. Even now, before the doors officially opened, the people here seemed eager to help. At Regency, there had been a lot of hesitancy and even something resembling annoyance. Of course, in the space of the day that had passed, Rachel figured news of the murders had spread and now the matter was being taken more seriously. She just hoped that carried over in speaking to the manager.
She met them two minutes later. Dressed in a stylish pantsuit, Mrs. Carpenter approached them with the same sense of urgency the receptionist had shown. She looked to be roughly middle aged, with the sort of thin smile that looked like it was pretty much always on her face.
“Good morning, agents,” she said. “Emma tells me you’re here to talk about those awful murders. What can I do to help?”
“You’ve heard about them already?” Jack asked.
“Yes. It was brough to our attention yesterday through a Facebook post from a concerned pregnant woman. Of course, I’m sure you know that neither of the victims was a patient here.”
“The first two weren’t,” Rachel said. “But there was a third last night and her husband has confirmed that she was due to come here today for fertility treatments.”
“Oh my God,” Carpenter said. “What…what was her name?”
“Hannah Kettleman.”
“One moment, please,” Carpenter said, scurrying over to the receptionist she’d identified as Emma. Rachel heard her ask Emma for the records for a patient by the name of Hannah Kettleman. Thirty seconds later, she was walking back over with a smart pad. She stood between them and let them see the screen.
“Hannah Kettleman, thirty-six years old. She had an appointment scheduled for 10:30 this morning. Right here, you can see where she had been here two previous times for tests to find out if she was a viable candidate for treatments.”
“No other appointments in the past?” Jack asked.
Carpenter scrolled a bit and shook her head. “Just gynecological check-ups.”
“Mrs. Carpenter, this is three women in three days,” Rachel said. “And so far, there are zero leads. I hope you understand that were having to take drastic measures to find this killer. That being said, I need a list of women that are scheduled for treatments over the next few weeks.”
She was expecting push-back so she was pleasantly surprised when Carpenter nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, I can get that for you right away.”
“And staff members as well,” Jack said, almost apologetically.
At this, there was some skepticism. “Why’s that?” Carpenter asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You have to understand that the main point of confusion comes from how this killer knows these women are getting treatments.”
“And because the victims are all linked by this one factor,” Rachel said, “we have to start at the most obvious conclusion: that someone at these clinics is leaking the information. We’ve already done background checks on everyone at Regency and they’ve come out clean.”
“And so will ours,” Carpenter said defiantly. “So yes, I’ll get you a list of names for staff members, too. Give me just a few minutes, would you?”
Carpenter left them alone again. Jack sighed and cracked his knuckles nervously—a little nervous tic of his that Rachel actually found calming. “You know,” he said, “it didn’t truly hit me until I heard it out of your mouth just now. Three victims in three days. And if he’s got some sort of a leaked list…fuck. We’re in deep here.”
It was rare that Jack got flustered, and even rarer that he dropped an f-bomb around her. “I mean…do we think about putting out a citywide alert for all women that are scheduled for fertility treatments?” he said.
“That would never fly. It brings up privacy issues. I’m starting to think along those extreme measures, too, though. I wonder if it might be plausible to have every clinic dealing with fertility treatments to be temporarily shut down until we find our killer.”
“That could work,” Jack said. “But the mere act of getting that approved would likely take days. And at the rate this killer is moving…”
He didn’t need to finish his statement for his point to be made. As they stewed in these ideas, Mrs. Carpenter came back to them with several sheets of paper. She had already separated the papers for them and made a point of showing them so.
“This,” she said, handing Jack two stapled sheets of paper, “is a list of every women due to come in for treatments in the next month. There are eight in all. And this,” she said, handing Rachel four sheets stapled together, “is a list of our staff, complete with phone numbers, email addresses, and home addresses. I do ask that if you need to actually contact one of them that I would be notified.”
“Of course,” Rachel said. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m glad to help. However, there is one thing that you should know…and it pretty much proves the innocence of my entire staff, if I may be so blunt.”
“What one thing is that?” Rachel asked.
“Even if there is someone leaking these names, the fact that the killer is now targeting women from two clinics complicates things. If it were someone on my staff, they would not have access to a list of women receiving treatments from another clinic. We simply don’t share that information with other clinics—or anyone outside of agencies like yours.”
Damn, Rachel thought. How did I miss that?
“Of course,” Rachel said.
“Is there anything else?” Carpenter asked. “We have exactly three minutes before we have to open the doors for the day.”
“No thank you. You’ve been a tremendous help.”
Rachel and Jack slipped out as Mrs. Carpenter unlocked the doors to start the clinic’s day. Rachel was thrilled to have the lists, but based on the glaring observation Carpenter had made about not being able to share information with other clinics, she wasn’t sure how much good it would do.
“Man,” Jack s
aid as they neared the car. “These people start early, I see.”
Rachel looked ahead and saw a small group of protestors beginning to gather together at the edge of the parking lot. A brief glance was all the attention she gave them. She really didn’t need another reason to get annoyed this morning. She had to get hyper-focused on the case.
She got behind the wheel, cranked the car, and was about to pull off when she saw something that triggered a flash of familiarity.
She pointed to one of the women and said, “Jack, does that woman look familiar to you?”
Jack looked to the woman in question and shrugged. “Not sure. I don’t think so.”
“She was at Regency yesterday. She was the one that called us out when we were leaving—the one that thought we’d gone in together as a married couple.” Rachel looked out again, just to be sure. And yes, it was the same woman—the same dark shoulder-length hair, the same glasses, the same angry-looking fixed stare.
Jack looked again and recognition spread across his face. “Yeah, that is her.”
“Seems she stays busy with these protests, huh?”
“It does. And to show up at the two that are centered around the killings…I think that at least warrants some questioning.”
Rachel killed the engine and got out. Jack joined her and they walked slowly to the other side of the lot, the one directly by the little two-lane feeder road that connected the parking lot to the busier streets beyond. The group consisted of only seven people so far and most of them noticed the two people headed their way.
“Excuse me,” Rachel said as she approached. The woman they had recognized looked up. There was irritation on her face at first, presumably thinking her little group was about to get lectured. But then she seemed to recognize Rachel and her eyes went wide with worry.
“Yeah, you,” Rachel said, pointing her out with a rigid index finger. “You stay busy with this stuff, huh? Funny seeing you here this morning.”
“I have a right to protest,” the woman said, though there was little defiance in her voice.
“You do,” Rachel conceded. “You’re absolutely right. But, as an FBI agent, I also have a right to question you about why you were at one clinic yesterday and another today—both of which just happen to be at the center of a case my partner and I are working on.”
“Question me?” she asked.
“Yes. And it’ll be a lot less awkward if you step away from your friends there and—”
The woman did exactly that. Only when she did, she took off running in the opposite direction. She ran for the feeder road, away from Rachel and Jack at an angle and to the scattered buildings beyond.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Rachel asked, taking off after her.
She was barely aware of Jack chasing behind her. For a moment, she was back on the training course, trying to destroy her time. And with anger and adrenaline pumping through her in equal measure, this woman that seemed to have a passion for protesting was soon going to find out just how much of a mistake it was to try running from Agent Rachel Gift—and Jack was going to be reminded just how hard it was to keep up.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The ironic thing about the whole scene was that for as far back as she could remember, Rachel had liked to run. She’d done some cross country in high school, a couple of marathons during college, and tried to get in at least three runs of three miles or more a few times a week. And when she found herself running during work—which did not happen very frequently—it was hard not to see it as a competition.
Rachel saw the protestor in front of her, and she was closing in fast. Most panicked people did not understand how stupid it was to try running from the police or any other arm of the law if they themselves were not used to running. It was just something that a panicked nervous system insisted was the best thing to do. Still, it felt like a sport to Rachel, and she almost considered slowing down a bit to allow the protestor a bit more room—to allow the chase to go on for a few more seconds. It was a juvenile response, sure, but every now and then her competitive nature reared its head even in these situations.
They’d crossed the little feeder road and were now running across a back parking lot, used for loading and unloading as well as employee parking. Rachel could hear Jack padding along behind her and she was sure he’d give her an earful when this was over, but—
All thought came to a sudden halt as a bolt of light flashed across her vision. It was accompanied by a dull ache that seemed to radiate all the way across her head. Again, she was back at the training course, staggered by the flashing light and pain.
She gasped, let out a little moan and then her knees buckled. She managed to stay mostly upright for a moment rather than falling flat out on her face. Instead, she slowly dropped to the ground on her knees and slowly bent over as if she were having a severe stomach cramp. Again, the light came, dull and flickering this time.
Is this it? she wondered. By pushing myself did I shorten my year or so to just a handful of days? Is this how I’m going out?
But even by then, the pain seemed to be fading. There was one final flicker of that white light across her field of vision, and then it seemed to be gone. The ground felt like it was swaying a bit beneath her as Jack finally reached her. He stopped and knelt down by her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, panting. There was an extreme look of worry on his face. It made sense, she supposed; she wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her injured or in any sort of weakened state.
“Don’t know. Pulled something.” The lie came so easily that it made her feel absolutely awful. “Just go get her…”
Jack brought her lie and took off right away. Rachel remained there for a moment and slowly got back to her feet. She took one experimental step and then another. She was still wobbly and wasn’t going to be running again anytime in the next few minutes, that was obvious. She walked slowly over to the back stoop of what looked to be a small packaging business and sat down. She focused on her breathing, tried to clear her mind, and did her best to keep the wave of emotion she could feel from crashing and obliterating everything.
She could just barely hear the sounds of the footrace between Jack and the protestor. Their footfalls were like little blasts of thunder from a great distance. After a few seconds, she heard the protestor give a cry of despair, followed by Jack’s murmured voice. Hearing all of this, Rachel forced herself to her feet and walked in the direction of the commotion. The protestor had led Jack down a thin alleyway between two buildings, cluttered with broken down cardboard boxes and waste bins. When Rachel spotted them, Jack was gently pulling the woman up to her feet. He’d already cuffed her and the woman’s face was locked in an odd expression; it seemed that she was trying to decide if she should be pissed off or scared.
“All good?” Rachel asked. She made sure not to move or speak too fast. She had no idea what sort of movements might trigger another episode. At the same time, though, she did her best to appear normal.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Jack said.
“You think so?” the protestor asked. “You just wait until I call my lawyer.”
“I’ll do that,” Jack said. “Maybe he can tell us why you decided it would be a smarter bet to run from us than answer some questions. I’d love to hear how that goes.”
The three of them walked back across the lot and feeder road. The protestor did not argue or put up much of a fight. She did, however, receive a smattering of applause from the other protestors when they arrived back at the car. A few of the protestors cast curse words and threats at Rachel and Jack, but neither of them took the bait. With the runaway protestor in the back of the car, Rachel got behind the wheel and pulled out of the lot.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jack asked.
“I think so. I think I just did too much, too fast.”
“You understand why I find that hard to believe, right? You’re always in amazing shape and I’ve seen you hustle a lot harder than that in the past with
no issues.”
She felt a sting of irritation coming on, but squashed it right away. She grinned, still playing a part, and said: “Yeah, well, I guess aging is just a bitch, huh?”
Jack grinned back, nodding, but it was clear that he was not totally convinced. But if he suspected something, he said nothing about it and for that, Rachel was thankful.
***
Her name was Maria Oliver, she was a forty-three year-old divorcee and she lived in Baltimore. Rachel and Jack were able to get these small details out of her on the way back to the station. Other than that, though, she spent a lot of time griping about her rights being infringed upon and how fertility clinics were trying to play God.
Slowly, as they got closer to the station, Maria Oliver started to calm down. Rachel had seen it countless times before—the criminal acting angry and aghast that they were being arrested, screaming and fighting at first but then slowly becoming subdued as they got closer to the station and the reality of the situation came over them. Maria was no different. It was like a little puppy placed in a crate, yelping and whining hard for the first few minutes but quiet and accepting several minutes later.
Once she calmed down, Rachel tried to get a little more information out of her, thinking she was likely coming around to the acceptance phase of things. “Is there anyone we can call for you to let them know what has happened?”
“No,” Maria barked from the back. She then chuckled nervously and said, “You realize you just made me a hero, right? To all of the women I protest with…this is only going to make them admire the cause even more.”
