Page 14 of Her Last Farewell

"I know," Novak agreed. "But in communities like this, the cops see the same faces over and over. The addicts, the drunks, the petty criminals. After a while, they stop seeing them as people who might actually need help. My mom was a cop in a small town for a while…smaller than Bowery. She only made it three years before she quit. And she quitbecauseof shit like this."

Rachel nodded, not wanting to make too big of a deal of the fact that Novak had just given her a very rare glimpse into his personal life. She wasn’t even sure if he realized he’d done it. Shesupposed it was a good thing…a sign that their partnership was evolving.

Rachel turned off the main road onto a narrow lane that wound through a cluster of pine trees. The community center complex came into view – a collection of brick buildings arranged in a horseshoe pattern around a central courtyard. The parking lot was small, with spaces marked by fading yellow lines and patches of grass pushing through cracks in the asphalt. A weathered sign indicated various offices: Community Health Services, Adult Education Center, and at the bottom, Dr. Margaret Tharpe, Licensed Clinical Psychologist.

They parked near the building marked with a simple "C" above its entrance. The structure itself was unremarkable – red brick like its neighbors, with large windows reflecting the morning light. A small garden of purple and yellow pansies flanked the entrance, providing a touch of welcoming color to the otherwise institutional setting.

Inside, the air carried a stale smell that was only slightly alleviated by faint furniture polish. A few unique touches seemed to attempt to soften the clinical atmosphere. Framed nature photographs lined the mint-green walls, and potted plants occupied the corners. The worn carpet had a subtle geometric pattern that had probably once been bold but had faded to soft blues and greys over the years.

At the reception desk, a woman in her fifties looked up from her computer. Her name tag read "Marion," and she offered them a practiced smile. "You must be the FBI agents," she said.

“We are,” Novak said, showing his badge.

"Dr. Tharpe is expecting you. Last door on the left."

The hallway stretched before them, lined with closed doors bearing different counselors' names. Their footsteps were muffled by the carpet as they made their way to Dr. Tharpe's office. Rachel noticed how the lighting grew progressivelywarmer as they walked, transforming from harsh fluorescents to softer, more natural illumination.

Dr. Tharpe's door was slightly ajar. Rachel knocked gently, and a warm voice called out, "Please, come in."

The office that greeted them was unlike any therapist's office Rachel had visited before. While spacious, it managed to feel intimate and welcoming. Instead of the expected sterile professionalism, the room embraced a deliberate homeyness. Soft lamplight spilled from several standing lamps, and the walls were painted a warm terracotta color. A large window overlooked a small private garden, and beneath it sat a comfortable-looking window seat complete with cushions.

Dr. Tharpe herself rose from behind a substantial wooden desk that looked like it had been around for decades. She was tall and slim, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a neat bun. There were smile lines around her eyes and mouth, showing only the slightest signs of age. She wore a cute cardigan in a soft shade of blue over a simple black dress.

"Agents," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Margaret Tharpe. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Rachel said, offering the hand and shaking it. Novak did the same, offering a smile.

“Please, have a seat," Tharpe said, gesturing to two leather armchairs positioned across from her desk. As Rachel and Novak settled in, Rachel noticed other thoughtful touches around the room – a small electric kettle and tea service on a side table, several thriving plants, and artwork that appeared to have been created by patients.

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," Rachel began. "I know you must have a full schedule."

Dr. Tharpe folded her hands on her desk. "Yes, I do, but I must say…this is a first for me, the FBI calling. So I figured I just needed to make time. Now, how can I help you?"

Rachel leaned forward slightly. "We're actually here investigating a murder – a woman named Carla Rhodes, out of Bowery. But we have reason to believe there might be a connection to a woman we know to be on your patients—Andrea Haskins.”

Dr. Tharpe's expression remained neutral, but Rachel noticed a slight tension in her shoulders. "I'm sure you understand that I have to be very careful about patient confidentiality," she said. "Even in circumstances like these."

"Of course," Novak said. "We're not asking you to breach any confidences. We're just trying to understand the situation better. Her boyfriend, Keith Grimm, told us that you had called to check in on her when she missed an appointment earlier today.”

Dr. Tharpe was quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing her words. Finally, she said, "What I can tell you is that both Keith and Andrea have been patients of mine, on and off, for about eighteen months. They came to me initially as a couple, both struggling with methamphetamine addiction. I believe they also wanted couples counseling because they are very much in love. But I told them we needed to work on their addiction issues first."

She paused, glancing at the garden outside her window. "Their story is unfortunately common in this area. They enabled each other's addiction for years, but they also genuinely love each other. It's a complex dynamic."

"We understand Andrea had been clean for three months?" Rachel prompted.

"Yes," Dr. Tharpe nodded. "She was doing remarkably well. She'd found a job at a local hair salon, was attending NA meetings regularly. Keith has had a harder time maintaining sobriety, which has been a source of tension between them."

Rachel watched Dr. Tharpe carefully as she spoke. The therapist's genuine concern for her patients was evident in hervoice and manner. Rachel could also tell just how carefully she was choosing her words.

"Dr. Tharpe," Rachel said gently, "did Andrea ever discuss thoughts of self-harm?"

The therapist's hands tightened slightly where they rested on her desk. "Again, I have to be very careful about what I disclose. But I will say that the road to recovery is rarely straightforward. Andrea faced many challenges in dealing with her past actions and their consequences."

"Would you say she was depressed?" Novak asked.

"Yes. Depression often goes hand in hand with addiction recovery," Dr. Tharpe replied diplomatically. "It's not uncommon for patients to struggle with dark thoughts during the process."

Rachel was again a bit impressed by the way Dr. Tharpe was able totechnicallynot give out any client information but, at the same time, giving them very strong hints and indications as to the information they were looking for. Rachel exchanged a quick glance with Novak before asking, "Have you ever treated or encountered a patient named Carla Rhodes?"

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