Page 27 of Her Last Farewell

Rachel was about to comment on this when Mitchell returned with a single sheet of paper. "Here's our current volunteer roster,” he said, handing it over to Rachel. “Fifteen names and contact info, including myself and the other managers. I wish it were longer."

“Thank you,” Rachel said.

“For the listandwhat you do here,” Novak added.

"Oh, of course. The need for this service in our community is tremendous. We get calls from people of all ages, all backgrounds. Sometimes they're dealing with addiction, loss,abuse... sometimes they're just lonely. But every call represents someone reaching out, choosing to fight for one more day. As cheesy as it sounds, I’m just happy to help."

"You seem very dedicated to this work," Rachel observed.

Mitchell's eyes grew distant. "I suppose I am. My younger sister died by suicide when she was seventeen. She never mentioned her thoughts to anyone…never reached out to a crisis line—maybe if she had..." He shook his head. "Sorry, I don't usually share that. But yes, this work means everything to me. Every life we save honors her memory."

The sound of a phone ringing cut through the room, and the younger man in one of the cubicles quickly donned his headset. They watched as he answered with a gentle, "You're not alone. I'm here to listen."

"Thank you for your help," Rachel said, turning back to Mitchell. "If we have any other questions..."

"I'll help however I can, within the bounds of our confidentiality requirements," Mitchell assured them. He walked them to the door, passing the two volunteers still working their stations. "I hope you find whoever's responsible for those disappearances. And if you ever need someone to talk to..." He gestured to the room behind him. "We're always here."

As Rachel and Novak stepped back into the evening air, the metal door closing behind them with a heavy thud, Rachel looked down at the list in her hand. Fifteen names. Fifteen people who devoted their time to talking others back from the edge. But was one of them using that position to find vulnerable victims? She highly doubted Mitchell would have to be considered, but she wasn’t at the point of making such eliminations just yet.

The sun had nearly set now, and the forest seemed to press closer in the growing darkness. Somewhere in these woods,Rachel thought, three women were being held against their will. And their time might be running out.

"Ready to run these names?" Novak asked, already pulling out his phone.

Rachel nodded, following him to the car. As they pulled away from the crisis center, she caught one final glimpse of the building in her rearview mirror—a lonely outpost of hope in a world that sometimes felt overwhelmingly dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Rachel slumped into the hard plastic chair at the borrowed desk, the list of hotline volunteers feeling heavier in her hand than it should. There was only a square of purplish darkness through the window to her right, a reminder of how many hours they'd spent here today, poring over files and databases instead of being out in the field. Her back ached from sitting too long, and her thoughts felt as stale as the air in the precinct.

But she had to remind herself that the constant return to this precinct—to the case files and the database—had led to where they were now. And she felt like they were closer than ever to finding all the right answers to this case. But at the same time, she was justso tiredof sitting down.

"I'm going to grab us some coffee," she told Novak, who was already logging into the computer system. "Want anything from the break room?"

"Thanks," he said without looking up, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency across the keyboard. "Black is fine."

Rachel stood, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from too much desk work. The break room was little more than a closet with a coffee maker and a few aluminum chairs, but it was mercifully empty when she entered. The coffee pot was nearly full, though judging by the burnt smell, it had been sitting on the warmer for hours. She poured two cups anyway, knowing they needed the caffeine more than they needed it to taste good. A box of donuts sat open on the counter, probably left over from the morning shift. She grabbed two of the least stale-looking ones, chocolate glazed for her and plain for Novak. She was pretty sure that’s how he preferred it; it was yet another of those things about her new partner she’d not yet figured out.

As she carefully carried the coffee cups and napkin-wrapped donuts back to their workspace,

Novak looked up from the screen, accepting the coffee with a grateful nod. She sat back down, sipping the bitter coffee, and spread the list of volunteers across the desk, brushing donut crumbs away from the paper. She scanned the names Mitchell had printed out: fifteen people who had volunteered to spend their free time talking to strangers on the edge.

As Novak began running the first names through the database, Rachel noticed how the paper had become slightly creased from her grip. She forced herself to relax her hands, remembering Dr. Tharpe's office and the careful way she'd guarded her patients' privacy. These volunteers were probably just as dedicated to helping people – but one of them might be using that trust for something far darker.

"Hey, I might have something on this guy, Marcus Phillips," Novak said, breaking into her thoughts. "Looks like he was picked up for stealing prescription pads from a doctor's office about five years ago. Charges were dropped when he agreed to enter rehab." He scrolled through more records. "Clean since then. Works as an accountant now."

Rachel made a note but didn't feel much excitement about it. They'd been down too many dead ends today.

“And…well, damn,” Novak said moments later, leaning closer to the screen. “This is interesting. This lady, Mrs. Turner Bennett…she used to work as a nurse but lost her license after being caught forging prescriptions for patients. Seems like we've got a pattern of prescription drug issues with these volunteers."

"Makes sense," Rachel said, absently brushing more donut crumbs from her lap. "Sometimes the best counselors are the ones who've been through their own struggles. Wanting to use the lessons they’ve learned to try to prevent others from making the same mistakes." She stood up and paced a few steps, tryingto work out the stiffness in her legs. The precinct was quieter now, most of the day shift having headed home. Their footsteps echoed off the linoleum floors and concrete walls.

The overhead fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting strange shadows across the nearly empty bullpen. Rachel could hear the distant sound of a phone ringing somewhere in the building, the muffled voice of someone answering it. The clock on the wall seemed to move impossibly slowly.

Novak continued working through the list, the glow of the computer screen reflecting off his face. "Robert Nash has a completely clean record. Karen Murphy had a DUI about eight years ago. Jai Chen... nothing except a speeding ticket from last year. Sarah Whitmore..."

Rachel watched as he trailed off, his eyes narrowing at the screen. "What is it?"

"Two speeding tickets," he said. "But there's something odd about them. Both were issued at the same location, almost exactly a year apart. Both around three in the morning."

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