“And what about the elephant in the car that is this whole Lynch and his dead squirrel situation? Are you wanting to talk that out or do we leave it alone?”
She appreciated him asking. Over the past two cases, he’d noticed something was wrong with her and she’d snapped at him far too many times. He was trying his best to respect her privacy while still remaining a supportive partner.
“I think I’m leaving it alone for now. I can’t let that creep occupy too much of my time if I’m on a case…despite the mistake I made of consulting with him in the first place. If Anderson gives me his word that he has people staking out my house and family, that’s all the security I need for right now.”
Only, as she drove farther away from the office and her home, she wondered if this was true. Paige was, after all, already weighing heavy on her mind. It had never been easy to leave Paige and Peter behind, but it was harder this time Maybe it was because of the secret she was keeping, but Rachel almost felt as if she were betraying her daughter.
Just another reason to just tell her when she got back home. But first, as always (as Peter might bitingly say), there was a case to close.
CHAPTER FIVE
Rachel drove directly to the site of the second crime scene as Jack once again read over the few case notes on his phone. When they arrived on the scene, a local deputy was already waiting for them. It was just shy of 8:30 and the city was filled with the noises of morning traffic. Roanoke, Virginia, was not a booming metropolis by any means, but it felt just as big as Richmond as people were zooming to work and doing other morning errands.
The crime scene was the parking lot of a small hospital. The lot was two levels, the primary level running adjacent to the hospital grounds and the second lot sitting at the bottom of a hill, connected by a set of concrete stairs built into the hillside. This lower-level parking lot was where they met the Roanoke Deputy, a middle-aged African American man with graying hair and the beginnings of what Rachel had always referred to as a pot belly. He seemed like a pleasant enough fellow, but he looked tired and a bit distressed.
“Good morning, agents,” he said as Rachel and Jack met him by the hood of his patrol car. “Deputy Jerome Stanhope. Good to meet you.”
“Agents Rivers and Gift,” Jack said, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand. Somewhere further ahead of them, an ambulance was dispatched, rolling out with its sirens blaring. Deep down, though she knew it was ridiculous, Rachel wondered if it was for her. She figured maybe it was just a reaction she’d have until her final days, hearing ambulance sirens and assuming it was some sort of glimpse of her future.
“So what do you know about the case?” Stanhope asked them.
“Just what the local PD told our Director,” Jack said. “I mean, we’ve got the case notes, too, but there’s not too much to go on. Two murders that seem to be the same in approach. One significantly worse than the other.”
“Our reports say both bodies had their throats slashed,” Rachel said. “But this most recent victim also had a deep stab wound in her stomach.”
“That’s right,” Stanhope said. “Her name was Maria Ramirez, and she was leaving an appointment when she was killed. She had the last appointment of the day, meeting with Dr. Fenton. But I will say right now that the first victim was a bit more than just a simple throat-slashing. It was pretty brutal. At least six stab wounds from what I hear, and none of them were neat or clean.”
“Well, if that’s the case, why are we thinking they were linked at all?” Jack asked. “Why assume it’s the same killer?”
“Forensics thinks it was likely the same weapon at both scenes. Also, the close proximity of the bodies to medical facilities.”
“And what about Mrs. Ramirez?” Rachel asked. “Do we know what the appointment was for?”
“Not yet. The docs here are pretty rigid about patient confidentiality. We’ve put in a warrant for the records, though. I expect for everything to pass through by the end of the day.”
“Was the family any help?” Jack asked.
“Not especially. It was news to them that she even had the appointment. It’s an estranged ex-husband and a son of eleven. The only other local family is a grandfather but he’s in a nursing home in Norfolk with some pretty severe Alzheimer’s.”
Rachel started to slowly scan the site of Maria Ramirez’s murder as Jack continued asking questions. She listened in as she had a look around, though it was the sort of scene that told her right away it wasn’t going to have much to offer. The lot itself merged with a simple two-lane road that bordered the side of the hospital before leading into a parking garage.
“And the first victim,” Jack said, “was a sixty-year-old man by the name of Bruce Webber, correct?”
“Yeah, but I had nothing to do with that crime scene,” Stanhope said. “That one wasn’t at a hospital, but outside of a specialist’s office. Real butchered-up and bloody.”
None of this was news to Rachel. She’d read about the murder and the scant details of the scene in the report—or, rather, had Jack read them to her while she drove between Richmond and Roanoke. Webber seemed to have been the victim of a vicious and violent attack while Ramirez’s case had been much more methodical. Still, Rachel listened to the back and forth between Jack and Stanhope, seeing if some new detail might be uncovered.
“It was a hepatologist, right?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, I think so. That’s like a liver specialist, right?”
“Correct.”
“From what we can tell on that one,” Stanhope said, “the victim, Mr. Webber, was headed to an appointment. The specialist and his employees…none of them ever saw him that day. He never made it to his appointment. It was a patient coming out of the office that found Mr. Webber, dead in front of his car. We assume he was headed in when he was killed. No witnesses, no security footage, nothing.”
Rachel took one last scan of the area but the only thing she found that was of any interest at all was a stained spot along the pavement that she thought might be blood from Maria Ramirez’s body.
“Deputy Stanhope, would you please share the contact information of the immediate family?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he said. “I figured you’d need it. I’ve got it all printed out, waiting in the car. You think you’ll need an assist?”
“It’s unlikely,” she said as Stanhope retrieved the folder and handed it to her. “But we’ll certainly let you know if it comes to that.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” the Deputy said, “I think I’m going to leave you to it. I’ve got about a dozen places I need to be at once—but seriously, just give me a ring if you need anything. My number is in there with the family contact information.”
As Stanhope got back into his car, Rachel opened the folder he’d given her. There were only two contacts—one for each victim—and, as he’d said, his own cell phone number.
“He said there was some tension and weirdness between the estranged husband and Maria Ramirez,” Rachel said. “I say, her being the most recent victim, we wait a bit. I think we speak to the Webber family first before we give the trail time to get cold.”