CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kate was three blocks from home when she remembered the Indian restaurant—the new one that had just opened up over on Grove a few weeks ago.
She'd been thinking about dinner since leaving the safe house, chiefly because she knew all she and DeMarco could do for now was wait. And if that was the case, she’d be waiting at home with her family, over dinner.
It was one of the ways she kept reminding herself of the balance she was looking for—between career and family.
Allen had mentioned wanting to try the new Indian place, and after the frustration of the dead-end interview with Michael Torres, the idea of bringing home something exotic and flavorful felt like a small way to salvage the evening.
She reached for her phone to call Allen, already imagining his reaction when she suggested they order takeout from somewhere new.
Michael would probably love the rice, and they could get something mild enough for his toddler palate while still giving themselves a chance to try the more adventurous dishes.
But before she could dial Allen's number, her phone rang in her hand. Director Duran's name appeared on the screen, and Kate felt her stomach drop. Calls from Duran rarely brought good news, especially not during an active case.
"Agent Wise," she answered, setting the call to hands-free mode as the car’s Bluetooth system picked it up.
"Kate, I need you to respond to another scene,” Duran said. “We've got what might be a third victim."
Kate heard the words clearly but struggled to believe it. "Where?"
"I'm sending you the address now. It's actually not far from your neighborhood, which is why I'm calling you first. DeMarco is tied up with forensics right now, trying to track down where those poison pills might have originated from, so she'll be arriving after you."
Kate's phone buzzed with the incoming address. She glanced at it and realized Duran was right; it was only about ten minutes from her house. "What makes you think it's connected to our case?"
"Local police responded to a 911 call about an hour ago.
A woman found her sister dead in a converted garage.
The responding officers noted a prescription bottle near the body, the cap off.
" Duran paused. "Could be completely unrelated, but given what we know about the pattern, I'd rather have you take a look. "
"I'm on my way," Kate said, already looking to the address. The thought of dinner with Allen and Michael suddenly felt very far away, the idea of Indian food little more than an afterthought.
"Kate, if this is connected to your case, that's three victims in less than a week. We need to figure out how this killer is selecting targets and gaining access to their medication."
"Understood." Kate ended the call and immediately dialed Allen's number.
He answered on the second ring, with a bit of cheer in his voice. "Hey, perfect timing. Michael just asked where Mama is."
"Allen, I'm sorry, but I need to respond to another scene. There might be a third victim." She said it simply, very matter-of-factly. She hated the tone of it. She thought it sounded too bossy, as if saying there was nothing he could say to pull her away from it.
The pause on the other end of the line told her everything she needed to know about how he was processing this information. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully controlled.
"How long do you think you'll be?"
"I honestly don't know. It could just be an hour or two, or it could be longer if it's connected to our case." Kate hated the uncertainty in her own voice. "I was about to suggest we try that new Indian place for dinner, but…"
"We'll save that for another night," Allen said. "Be careful, Kate. And keep me updated."
"I will. Give Michael a kiss from me."
Kate ended the call and focused on the route to the address Duran had sent.
As she drove through the familiar streets of her own neighborhood, she found herself thinking about the pattern they'd identified.
Empty-nesters whose adult children had recently moved back home, all killed by poisoned pills added to their prescription medications.
If this third victim fit the same profile, it was just another piece in a case that was starting to feel like a very morbid lottery.
The address led her to a middle-class residential street lined with mature trees and well-maintained homes. Kate could see the police vehicles before she reached the house number, their red and blue lights creating an intermittent glow against the gathering darkness of early evening.
She parked behind one of the patrol cars and grabbed her badge and notepad from the passenger seat.
The house was a two-story colonial painted yellow with white trim, similar to dozens of other homes in the neighborhood.
Nothing about it stood out as particularly remarkable or unusual, which seemed to fit the pattern of their previous crime scenes.
As Kate approached the front door, she could hear the sound of someone crying. A woman's voice, high and strained, was saying something about "supposed to come home tomorrow" over and over again. The sound carried a note of hysteria that Kate recognized from too many crime scenes over the years.
A uniformed officer met her at the front door. He was young, probably in his late twenties, with the serious expression that suggested he was still getting used to responding to death scenes. He looked nervous, maybe even on the verge of being sick.
"Agent Wise? I'm Officer Hall. Thank you for getting here so quickly."
Kate showed her badge and followed him into the house. "What do we have?"
"The victim is Linda Harper, forty-nine years old.
She was found dead by her sister, Samantha, about an hour and a half ago.
" Hall gestured toward the kitchen, where Kate could see another officer trying to comfort a woman who was clearly in distress.
"Samantha came by to drop off some things, found the front door unlocked, and the victim unresponsive in the converted garage space. "
"Converted garage?" The term piqued her interest at once.
"Yeah, the victim had been fixing up the space above the garage as an apartment.
Looks like it was almost finished." Hall consulted his notepad and read from the notes written there.
"The sister says the victim's son was supposed to come home from rehab tomorrow.
She'd been preparing the space for him."
Kate felt the pattern fall into place. Another empty-nester, another adult child returning home, another death. The timing was too consistent to be coincidental.
"Where's the body?" she asked.
"Still in the garage. We haven't moved anything yet, waiting for the coroner and your arrival.
" Hall led her through the kitchen toward a door that opened onto what had clearly been a garage conversion project.
"The sister is pretty shaken up,” Hall said.
“She keeps talking about how the victim was excited about her son coming home. "
Kate nodded and followed Hall into the converted space.
The garage had been transformed into a small but comfortable living area, with new flooring, painted walls, and furniture arranged to create a welcoming environment.
It was clearly a labor of love, designed to help someone start fresh while remaining close to family support.
Linda Harper lay motionless on the floor near a twin bed.
She looked to be in her mid-fifties, though Kate knew from Hall's information that she was actually younger.
She wore jeans and a sweater that looked comfortable and well-worn, and her position suggested she had fallen suddenly and without warning.
But what caught Kate's attention immediately was the prescription bottle sitting on a small nightstand near the bed. Just as Duran’s preliminary details had suggested, the cap was off.
"Has anyone touched the medication bottle?" Kate asked, pulling on latex gloves.
"No ma'am. We secured the scene as soon as we realized what we were looking at." Hall watched as Kate approached the nightstand. "The sister mentioned that the victim had been taking medication for anxiety, but I don't know if that's what's in the bottle."
Kate carefully examined the prescription bottle without disturbing its position.
The pills inside were capsules, similar in size and color to the Lorazepam that had been found at the previous crime scenes.
But when she looked at the label, she saw immediately that these were not anti-anxiety medications at all.
The prescription was for something called Atenolol, which Kate recognized as a blood pressure medication.
More importantly, the prescribing physician listed on the label was not Dr. Cassandra Chen.
It was Dr. Patricia Walsh. While it did break the pattern (and cleared Chen's name in the process), the overall picture remained the same.
Kate felt a mixture of confirmation and confusion. The pills looked similar to those found at the Bennett and Rodriguez scenes, suggesting the same method of poisoning. But the different doctor and different medication type added new variables to consider.
"Officer Hall, when was the last time anyone spoke to the victim?"
"The sister says she had coffee with the victim yesterday morning. Based on the condition of the body, the coroner's preliminary estimate is that death occurred sometime yesterday afternoon or evening. So we're looking at roughly twenty-four hours."
Kate studied the scene more carefully, noting the careful attention Linda Harper had paid to preparing this space for her son.
The contrast between the care put into this preparation and the tragedy of Linda's death was overwhelming.
A place that had been meant for celebration and reunification had become something much darker.