Page 12 of Her Last Escape

The afternoon sun seemed impossibly bright after the fluorescent sterility of the coroner's office. Rachel squinted against it, her mind already racing ahead to next steps. A blood draw could mean anything—routine physical, donation, specialized testing. But with two victims already confirmed and no other leads...

"I guess we'll be bothering Mr. Foxworth again," she said, pulling out her phone. “Maybe he’ll know why Diana had recently had blood drawn.”

“You think it’s significant?”

“No clue. But we may as well check. It’s not like we’re drowning in leads. And I’d rather ask her father than her healthcare provider. Getting anything out of them will be a nightmare.”

She pulled up the case files, looking for the Foxworth home number. The weight of the morgue still clung to her clothes, but at least now they had something to go on. Something that might lead them to the killer before anyone else ended up on Dr. Colet's examination table.

CHAPTER NINE

Rachel studied the stark concrete facade of the county coroner's office through the windshield. It wasn’t the most inspiring of places to figure out their next steps, but it would have to do. Next to her—behind the steering wheel—Novak shifted in his seat, the leather creaking beneath him. She had no idea why, but the sound made her think of the sheet that had been covering Diana Foxworth back in the coroner’s exam room.

She’d pulled up Steven Foxworth's number, switching it to speaker mode before placing it on the center console between them. The memory of his quiet voice and sorrow-laden face was still quite clear in her mind’s eye.

The phone rang twice before Steven Foxworth answered, his voice tight with strain. "Hello?"

“Hi, Mr. Foxworth, I apologize for bothering you again so soon—"

"No, please," he cut in. "Anything to help find the person who killed Diana. Anything at all." The raw grief in his voice made Rachel's chest tighten. She'd heard that tone too many times in her career, but it never got easier.

Rachel exchanged a quick glance with Novak. "I wanted to ask if you knew about Diana having blood drawn recently?"

"Blood drawn?" There was genuine confusion in his voice. "No, if she did, I wasn't aware.”

"What about her general health? Was she having any issues that you knew of?"

A bitter laugh crackled through the speaker. "Diana? God no. She was the picture of health. Always eating clean, always exercising." His voice softened with remembered affection. "Always griping at me about eating too much junk. Just last week she threw out my secret stash of Oreos. Said she wasn't going to let me give myself diabetes." He paused, and Rachel could hear him fighting to maintain composure. "Sorry, I... it's still hard to believe she's gone."

"It’s quite alright, sir," Rachel said gently. She'd learned long ago that sometimes giving witnesses a moment to process their grief led to better information. “I wonder…do you know what doctor she saw?"

"Yeah, that I do know. We all went to the same family practice – Diana, me, and Becka. Wellness Family Medicine on Oak Street. Dr. Welsh's office. Been going there for years."

Rachel jotted the name down. "Thank you, Mr. Foxworth. We'll be in touch if we need anything else."

"Please," he said, his voice suddenly urgent. "Please find whoever did this. Diana deserved better than... than what happened to her."

"We will," Rachel promised, meaning it.

After ending the call, Rachel immediately looked up the number for Wellness Family Medicine. As she dialed with the phone still set on speaker mode, Novak opened up his Notes app on his phone. He seemed to always have it at the ready, one of the many things Rachel was starting to appreciate about him.

The phone rang several times before a crisp, professional voice answered.

"Wellness Family Medicine, this is Jessica speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hi, Jessica. This is Special Agent Rachel Gift with the FBI." Rachel's tone was equally professional. "I'm calling regarding one of your patients, Diana Foxworth. We're investigating her murder and need to look into any medical visits from the past few weeks."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, perhaps as Jessica absorbed the fact that one of their patients had been killed. When Jessica did speak again, her voice had cooled considerably. "I'm sorry, Agent Gift, but we take patient confidentiality very seriously here. Even in the case of deceased patients, there are strict protocols we need to follow. If you can come by to retrieve the proper forms—"

"I understand that," Rachel said, keeping her voice level despite her mounting frustration. "But we're trying to catch a killer here. The autopsy showed evidence of a recent blood draw, and we need to know if it was done at your office. And why."

"Agent Gift," Jessica replied, her tone clipped, "HIPAA regulations don't simply disappear because someone has died. There are specific procedures that must be followed, documentation that needs to be filed—"

"I'm aware of HIPAA requirements," Rachel interrupted, her patience wearing thin. "I'm also aware that there are exceptions for law enforcement investigations, particularly in cases involving violent crimes."

"Nevertheless—"

"A woman is dead," Rachel pressed. "Murdered in a vicious and violent manner. And whoever killed her might strike again. Every hour we spend dealing with bureaucratic red tape is another hour this killer has to find their next victim."

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