Page 11

Rachel pushed the sedan to fifteen miles over the speed limit as she and Novak made their way toward Dr. Tharpe's office. The late morning sun cast long shadows across the road, the shadows of trees stripped from the cold weather. Her mind kept returning to Keith Grimm's desperate plea for help at the precinct. The local police's dismissal of his concerns about Andrea not only worried her; it also pissed her off.

"I can't believe they just brushed Grimm off like that," she said, shaking her head. "Missing person cases are time-sensitive. Every hour counts."

Novak shifted in the passenger seat as she looked up from the notes he’d taken on his phone. "Small-town politics," he said. "Once you get labeled as trouble in a place like this, that's it. You're permanently filed away in their minds as someone not worth taking seriously."

"Still," Rachel insisted, "they're supposed to serve and protect everyone, not just the people they deem worthy of their time." She knew the drill, though. She knew Novak was right. It was a sad fact of a good number of small-town police forces. She'd seen it far too often.

"I know," Novak agreed. "But in communities like this, the cops see the same faces over and over. The addicts, the drunks, the petty criminals. After a while, they stop seeing them as people who might actually need help. My mom was a cop in a small town for a while…smaller than Bowery. She only made it three years before she quit. And she quit because of shit like this."

Rachel nodded, not wanting to make too big of a deal of the fact that Novak had just given her a very rare glimpse into his personal life. She wasn’t even sure if he realized he’d done it. She supposed it was a good thing…a sign that their partnership was evolving.

Rachel turned off the main road onto a narrow lane that wound through a cluster of pine trees. The community center complex came into view – a collection of brick buildings arranged in a horseshoe pattern around a central courtyard. The parking lot was small, with spaces marked by fading yellow lines and patches of grass pushing through cracks in the asphalt. A weathered sign indicated various offices: Community Health Services, Adult Education Center, and at the bottom, Dr. Margaret Tharpe, Licensed Clinical Psychologist.

They parked near the building marked with a simple "C" above its entrance. The structure itself was unremarkable – red brick like its neighbors, with large windows reflecting the morning light. A small garden of purple and yellow pansies flanked the entrance, providing a touch of welcoming color to the otherwise institutional setting.

Inside, the air carried a stale smell that was only slightly alleviated by faint furniture polish. A few unique touches seemed to attempt to soften the clinical atmosphere. Framed nature photographs lined the mint-green walls, and potted plants occupied the corners. The worn carpet had a subtle geometric pattern that had probably once been bold but had faded to soft blues and greys over the years.

At the reception desk, a woman in her fifties looked up from her computer. Her name tag read "Marion," and she offered them a practiced smile. "You must be the FBI agents," she said.

“We are,” Novak said, showing his badge.

"Dr. Tharpe is expecting you. Last door on the left."

The hallway stretched before them, lined with closed doors bearing different counselors' names. Their footsteps were muffled by the carpet as they made their way to Dr. Tharpe's office. Rachel noticed how the lighting grew progressively warmer as they walked, transforming from harsh fluorescents to softer, more natural illumination.

Dr. Tharpe's door was slightly ajar. Rachel knocked gently, and a warm voice called out, "Please, come in."

The office that greeted them was unlike any therapist's office Rachel had visited before. While spacious, it managed to feel intimate and welcoming. Instead of the expected sterile professionalism, the room embraced a deliberate homeyness. Soft lamplight spilled from several standing lamps, and the walls were painted a warm terracotta color. A large window overlooked a small private garden, and beneath it sat a comfortable-looking window seat complete with cushions.

Dr. Tharpe herself rose from behind a substantial wooden desk that looked like it had been around for decades. She was tall and slim, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a neat bun. There were smile lines around her eyes and mouth, showing only the slightest signs of age. She wore a cute cardigan in a soft shade of blue over a simple black dress.

"Agents," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Margaret Tharpe. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Rachel said, offering the hand and shaking it. Novak did the same, offering a smile.

“Please, have a seat," Tharpe said, gesturing to two leather armchairs positioned across from her desk. As Rachel and Novak settled in, Rachel noticed other thoughtful touches around the room – a small electric kettle and tea service on a side table, several thriving plants, and artwork that appeared to have been created by patients.

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," Rachel began. "I know you must have a full schedule."

Dr. Tharpe folded her hands on her desk. "Yes, I do, but I must say…this is a first for me, the FBI calling. So I figured I just needed to make time. Now, how can I help you?"

Rachel leaned forward slightly. "We're actually here investigating a murder – a woman named Carla Rhodes, out of Bowery. But we have reason to believe there might be a connection to a woman we know to be on your patients—Andrea Haskins.”

Dr. Tharpe's expression remained neutral, but Rachel noticed a slight tension in her shoulders. "I'm sure you understand that I have to be very careful about patient confidentiality," she said. "Even in circumstances like these."

"Of course," Novak said. "We're not asking you to breach any confidences. We're just trying to understand the situation better. Her boyfriend, Keith Grimm, told us that you had called to check in on her when she missed an appointment earlier today.”

Dr. Tharpe was quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing her words. Finally, she said, "What I can tell you is that both Keith and Andrea have been patients of mine, on and off, for about eighteen months. They came to me initially as a couple, both struggling with methamphetamine addiction. I believe they also wanted couples counseling because they are very much in love. But I told them we needed to work on their addiction issues first."

She paused, glancing at the garden outside her window. "Their story is unfortunately common in this area. They enabled each other's addiction for years, but they also genuinely love each other. It's a complex dynamic."

"We understand Andrea had been clean for three months?" Rachel prompted.

"Yes," Dr. Tharpe nodded. "She was doing remarkably well. She'd found a job at a local hair salon, was attending NA meetings regularly. Keith has had a harder time maintaining sobriety, which has been a source of tension between them."

Rachel watched Dr. Tharpe carefully as she spoke. The therapist's genuine concern for her patients was evident in her voice and manner. Rachel could also tell just how carefully she was choosing her words.

"Dr. Tharpe," Rachel said gently, "did Andrea ever discuss thoughts of self-harm?"

The therapist's hands tightened slightly where they rested on her desk. "Again, I have to be very careful about what I disclose. But I will say that the road to recovery is rarely straightforward. Andrea faced many challenges in dealing with her past actions and their consequences."

"Would you say she was depressed?" Novak asked.

"Yes. Depression often goes hand in hand with addiction recovery," Dr. Tharpe replied diplomatically. "It's not uncommon for patients to struggle with dark thoughts during the process."

Rachel was again a bit impressed by the way Dr. Tharpe was able to technically not give out any client information but, at the same time, giving them very strong hints and indications as to the information they were looking for. Rachel exchanged a quick glance with Novak before asking, "Have you ever treated or encountered a patient named Carla Rhodes?"

"No," Dr. Tharpe said firmly. "I've never had a patient by that name."

Rachel nodded, making a mental note of this. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Tharpe. We know this puts you in a difficult position."

"I wish I could be more helpful," Dr. Tharpe said, standing as they prepared to leave. "Andrea's disappearance is deeply concerning. She's worked so hard to build a new life for herself. And I fear…well, if she did have another relapse, I fear she may have been far too hard on herself."

“Do you think she may resort to something drastic?” Rachel asked. The question felt heavy, its true meaning clear.

Dr. Tharpe nodded sadly. “I would not rule it out at all.”

As they walked back through the hallway, Rachel noticed that the morning light had shifted, casting different shadows on the faded carpet. They passed a young woman waiting in one of the chairs by reception, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. The sight reminded Rachel of just how many people struggled with their own demons in silence.

Back in their car, Rachel turned to Novak as she started the engine. "So what do you think?"

"Two women, both apparently contemplating suicide, both missing," Novak said thoughtfully. "That can't be a coincidence."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Rachel said, pulling out of the parking lot. "The question is, are we looking at two women who chose to disappear, or did someone take advantage of their vulnerable state?"

"And if someone did take them," Novak added, "how did they know these women were struggling with thoughts of suicide in the first place?"

Rachel merged back onto the main road, her mind already racing with possibilities. Something about this case was starting to take shape in her mind, but the picture wasn't clear yet. What she did know was that they needed to move quickly. If someone was indeed targeting vulnerable women, there was no telling how many other potential victims might be out there.

“Novak, see if you can get me Keith’s address,” she said. “Having spoken to Tharpe, I think we can go a bit deeper with him. And maybe we’ll get more out of him when he’s on his home turf.”

Novak nodded and reached into the pocket along the back of his seat for the iPad. Rachel did feel that speaking to Keith again so soon made the case feel as if they were going in circles. But right now, she felt that he was their best bet at any real information. While there was no definitive link between Carla and Andrea, the coincidences could not be ignored. For all they knew, a single, passing comment from Keith could blow this case wide open…potentially revealing something darker than they’d yet to imagine.