CHAPTER SEVEN
Several decades of experience and a good deal of human compassion caused Kate to turn back to James Thornton.
He was still sitting in the same position on the couch, his head in his hands, his entire body radiating shock and grief.
She moved closer, trying to decide how to approach this without making things worse.
He wasn’t crying right now, but his breathing was deep and labored.
"Mr. Thornton," she said softly. "I'm Kate Wise. I live a few streets over... an FBI agent, if you recall. I'm so sorry for your loss."
He looked up at her again, and this time the recognition was clearer. "Kate. Yeah. I've seen you around."
"I have a few quick questions, if you think you can handle them. Just basic things that might help."
James nodded slowly. "Okay. The cops already asked a bunch but that’s fine."
“Do you know if there was anyone Rachel might have recently been arguing with? Was there anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"
"No." His voice was flat, like he was speaking from very far away. "Everyone liked Rachel. I know that sounds biased coming from her husband but… but it’s the truth. She was kind. She helped people every chance she got."
"Had she argued with anyone recently? Any conflicts at work or in the neighborhood?"
"No. Nothing like that." James wiped his face with one hand. "She just started her own business a few months ago. Interior design. She was so excited about it."
Kate paused, her finger hovering over her phone screen. "She started a new business?"
"Yeah. She'd been an accountant for twenty years, but it wasn't what she wanted anymore.
She decided to follow her passion, even though she's... she was in her fifties.
" His voice broke on the past tense. "She said it was never too late to do what you love. She hadn’t quit her accounting job just yet but it was coming…
so she could focus on the interior design. "
Kate made a note of that. A career change at this stage in life took courage, and it spoke to the kind of person Rachel had been—someone willing to take risks, to pursue something meaningful.
"Did the new business have any problems? Difficult clients, maybe?"
"No. It was going well. She had three clients lined up already, and more people were calling." James looked at Kate with eyes that were starting to fill with tears. "She was happy. For the first time in years, she was really happy."
Kate felt a tightness in her chest. She'd seen Rachel jogging past her house so many times, always with that determined stride and a quick wave. Now she'd never see her again, never know what her design business might have become.
James started to cry then, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Kate knew she couldn't push any further. The man was barely holding it together, and asking more questions now would be cruel.
“James, do you have family or friends in the area?”
“My brother… he’s… he’s on the way in from Fredericksburg to be with me.”
“Good. In the meantime, you call for me if you need anything.”
James didn't respond. He'd put his head back in his hands, and Kate could see his whole body trembling.
She left the living room and followed the path Sloane had taken, down the hallway toward the back of the house. The sounds of activity grew louder as she approached. Voices speaking in low tones, the click of a camera, the rustle of equipment being moved.
Kate found Sloane in what appeared to be a home office.
The room was small but well organized, with a desk against one wall and built-in shelves on another.
Two forensics technicians were working carefully around the space, photographing and documenting everything.
Sloane stood near the doorway, her eyes moving systematically across the room.
She wasn't just looking at the crime scene itself.
She was studying the entire space, taking in details that most people would miss: the books on the shelves, the placement of furniture, the way light came in through the window.
Kate watched her work, impressed despite her earlier concerns. Sloane was methodical and thorough, treating the entire home as part of the investigation rather than just focusing on where the body was found.
Then Kate's eyes moved to the desk, and her heart sank.
Rachel Thornton sat in the desk chair, her upper body slumped forward across the desk.
Blood had pooled on the desk surface beneath her, dark and still spreading when they'd first arrived but now starting to dry around the edges.
She was wearing yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, the kind of comfortable clothes you'd put on for working from home.
A letter opener protruded from her back, buried between her shoulder blades at an angle that suggested it had been driven in with force. The handle was ornate, probably expensive, the kind of decorative object that would sit on a desk as much for looks as function.
Kate had seen countless bodies over her career…
victims of violence in every imaginable form.
But it was always harder when it was personal, when the victim was someone she'd seen alive and moving through the world.
Rachel had jogged past her house just days ago, waving as she always did.
Now she was dead, murdered in her own home office while her husband was somewhere else in the house.
One of the forensics technicians looked up at Sloane. "We're ready to move her whenever you give the word. Coroner's waiting outside."
"Just a few more minutes," Sloane said.
She moved closer to the body, circling the desk slowly. Her expression was focused but not detached. She was observing, processing, building a picture in her mind of what had happened here.
Kate stayed near the doorway, giving Sloane space to work. She watched as the younger agent crouched down to examine the angle of the letter opener, then stood and looked at the room from different positions, reconstructing the killer's movements.
Finally, Sloane straightened and turned to Kate. "It's not worth treating the husband as a suspect." She stated it as a fact, not a question or suggestion.
Kate raised an eyebrow. She agreed with the assessment, but she wanted to hear Sloane's reasoning. "Why not? Can you walk me through it?"
For just a second, a brief flash of annoyance crossed Sloane’s face.
But she then nodded and said, “This wasn't a crime of passion.
" Sloane gestured at the body. "She was stabbed only once.
Just once, with a very particular object.
If this was a husband losing his temper, we'd see multiple wounds.
Defensive injuries. Signs of a struggle. "
Kate nodded, encouraging her to continue.
"Look at how she's positioned," Sloane said.
"The killer waited here until she was dead.
They made sure her body would be found exactly like this, seated at the desk.
If she'd been left alone after the stabbing, she would have likely fallen over or tried to crawl to the door for help.
But she didn't. She stayed in that chair until she died, which means someone was here making sure of it. "
Kate pulled out her phone and made notes as Sloane spoke. The assessment was solid, the reasoning clear and logical.
"This murder was planned and deliberate," Sloane continued. "It almost reminds me of a mob hit. It's meant to send a message." She paused, looking at Kate directly. "And the fact that this is the second of its kind only backs that up."
Kate felt a chill run through her. Sloane was right.
If this was indeed the second murder of its kind, that changed things.
They were still waiting on the reports from the first crime scene, a woman named Patricia Holmes, but based on what they did know from what DeMarco had told them, both had been killed with personal, deliberate weapons.
"Two murders in three days," Kate said. "Both victims in their fifties, both killed at home."
"Both killed with objects that were already in their homes," Sloane added. "I’m going to call DeMarco and ask for the complete files for the first victim. Holmes, I believe. We need to find the connection between the victims.”
One of the forensics technicians cleared his throat. "Agent Sloane? We really do need to move the body now."
Sloane nodded. "Go ahead. Make sure everything is documented first."
Kate stepped back into the hallway as the technicians began the careful process of preparing Rachel's body for transport. She didn't need to watch that part. She'd seen it too many times before.
Sloane joined her in the hallway, and they stood there for a moment in silence. Through the window at the end of the hall, Kate could see neighbors starting to gather on the street, drawn by the police presence and the coroner's van.
"You did good work in there," Kate said quietly.
"Thank you." Sloane looked at her phone, already pulling up database access for the victim records. "I'm going to head back to the field office and start going through their backgrounds. Do you want to come with me?"
Kate thought about it. She could go with Sloane, help dig through records and look for connections. She checked her watch and saw that it was 3:20 in the afternoon. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve got some time.”
They walked back through the house together, past the living room where James Thornton was still sitting on the couch with a victim advocate now beside him.
He wasn’t even aware when they passed by.
They exited the house, passing by the young officer was still standing guard at the front door, and back outside where the afternoon sunlight felt all wrong in its brightness and warmth.
Kate's car was parked two houses down. She walked to it slowly, thinking about the victims and the calculated brutality of their deaths. Thinking about the fact that someone in this neighborhood had killed twice in three days and would almost certainly kill again.
She got in her car and sat there for a moment before starting the engine. Through her windshield, she could see Rachel's house with its police tape and official vehicles. She could see neighbors talking in small groups, their faces worried and scared.
Kate started the car and drove home, back to the house where her son was waiting. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she was driving away from something unfinished. Something that would pull her back in whether she wanted it to or not.