Page 24 of Her Last Farewell

"Well, as you noted earlier, there are the marks on Ms. Rhodes' wrists and ankles, consistent with being restrained. There’s also some scattered bruising, but nothing that would indicate systematic abuse over time." The coroner paused, and Rachel could hear papers shuffling. "But here's what I found most interesting - based on the contents of her stomach and various indicators in her blood work, she appears to have beenreceiving regular meals and adequate hydration during her captivity."

“Okay…” She had a few ideas of what this meant but wanted to hear it from the coroner.

"Whoever was holding her captive was feeding her regularly. Simple but nutritious meals from what we can tell. There are no signs of starvation or dehydration. Additionally, we found no evidence of sexual assault or torture. Besides being restrained, she appears to have been treated...I hesitate to saywell,but certainly not with the level of cruelty we typically see in captivity cases."

Rachel felt a chill run down her spine despite the stuffiness of the precinct. "So you're saying our killer was taking care of her?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. It's quite unusual. In my experience, captors who take the time to properly feed and care for their victims typically have some sort of emotional attachment or specific purpose in mind.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that as well. This doesn't fit the profile of a sadistic killer or sexual predator."

“No. Not at all.”

Rachel thanked the coroner and ended the call, her mind racing with the implications of this new information. She looked up to find both Novak and Leery watching her expectantly.

"The coroner confirmed something strange," she said, running a hand through her hair and letting out a deep sigh. "Our killer wasn't just holding Carla Rhodes captive - he was taking care of her. Regular but simple meals, water, no abuse beyond the restraints needed to keep her confined."

Novak frowned, pushing away from his laptop. "That doesn't make any sense. Why go through the trouble of kidnapping someone just to... what? Keep them as a pet?"

Rachel shook her head, staring at the spread of files before her. None of their suspects fit this new profile: a killer whocaptured women but treated them with a twisted form of care before ultimately ending their lives. The usual suspects of Bowery weren't going to help them solve this case.

"I don't know," she admitted, gathering up the remaining files into a neat stack.Suicides,she thought.This man is rescuing distressed women and caring for them. He really does think he’s helping then…tough I think Carla Rhodes would disagree." I think we need to completely reconsider what kind of killer we're looking for.”

“You know,” Novak said, “maybe there are more links. We have more names now. I think we should revisit Dr. Tharpe…see if she knows anything about these other women.”

Rachel nodded in agreement as she looked back out to the window where the sun looked as if it had finally started to set…the day coming to a slow end. She thought it over, trying to make sense of it. Their killer wasn't driven by sadism or sexual motivation. He wasn't fitting any of the typical patterns they were trained to recognize. No, they were dealing with something far more complex. And even though she felt they now had a decent profile on their killer, she wasn’t so sure that was going to make finding the bastard any easier.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There was a sense of urgency pushing them along like rabid dogs at their heels as Rachel and Novak made their way back to the community center where Dr. Tharpe’s office was located. The chill of the day had truly started to settle in now that it was nearly dusk. Rachel pulled her coat tighter against her as they approached the entrance. The parking lot was notably emptier now, with just three cars remaining – likely belonging to Dr. Tharpe and her final patients of the day.

The receptionist recognized them immediately and waved them through without announcement. As they walked down the hallway toward Dr. Tharpe's office, Rachel noticed how the building had taken on a different character in the fading daylight. The warm, welcoming atmosphere of the morning had given way to something more somber, more fitting for the gravity of their investigation.

She thought briefly of home, of Paige and Jack. Paige would be home now, her day at school over. After all of the violence and drama with Alex and Alice, having Paige be at home by herself was still not something Rachel was overly comfortable with—but she knew she could not suffocate her daughter forever. (Plus, the fact that the bureau did, from time to time, send a unit by just to keep an eye on things was a big help).

When they came to Dr. Tharpe’s door, she was already standing in the doorway. Even though Rachel had called ahead, the doctor looked slightly put out. The calm she’d displayed earlier in the day had given way, showing signs of strain around the edges.

"Agents," she said, gesturing them inside. "I have my final session of the day in ten minutes, but I'll help however I can until then."

Rachel nodded, taking in the changes to the office since their morning visit. The curtains were drawn now, and a small lamp cast a warm glow that somehow made the space feel more intimate – and more conducive to conversation. "We'll be brief," Rachel promised, settling into one of the comfortable chairs across from Dr. Tharpe's desk.

"We've identified several more potential victims," Rachel began, pulling out her notepad. "I'd like to run these names by you, if I may." She watched Dr. Tharpe's face carefully as she listed them: "Monica Turner, Sarah Dupree, Carla Rhodes."

At the mention of Sarah Dupree's name, something flickered across Dr. Tharpe's face – a flash of recognition quickly masked by professional reserve. The therapist's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the arms of her chair. If she had been trying to hide the fact that the name sounded familiar, she was doing an awful job.

"Dr. Tharpe," Rachel said gently, "anything you can tell us could help save lives."

The internal struggle playing out across Dr. Tharpe's features was painful to watch. Her professional ethics warred visibly with her human instinct to help, each principle deeply ingrained after decades of practice. Rachel knew there were certain things she was not able to tell them because of doctor-patient confidentiality. She could only imagine the war being waged within her head in that moment.

Slowly, Dr. Tharpe removed her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose with trembling fingers.

"I..." she began, then stopped, swallowing hard. "I know of Sarah, but I didn't treat Sarah Dupree as a patient." She paused, and Rachel could practically see the weight of professional responsibility pressing down on the woman's shoulders. "But I did speak with her, once."

The admission seemed to cost Dr. Tharpe something vital. Her shoulders slumped slightly, as if the words themselves had drained her. "I volunteer sometimes, you see, at the local suicide prevention hotline. Not often, but as my schedule allows. There was one night…maybe half a year ago. Sarah called in, and I spoke with her."

“Did you know her before that?” Novak asked.

“No. Being a relatively small town, I knew who she was…vaguely. But we’d never spoken to one another.”

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