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Rachel Gift stepped in close by the coroner, making sure to give enough space to the medical examiner. Through the bit of conversations she’d overheard, she knew the ME’s first name was Eleanor. She’d also brought along her assistant. Rachel pulled her coat a bit tighter around herself, waiting to see why Eleanor had called her and Novak back over. There was something almost artistic about the way medical examiners approached a body—the careful precision, the way they could read stories in bruises and abrasions that others might miss entirely. Rachel had always respected and deeply appreciated the work they did.

Eleanor a small woman in her fifties, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a tight bun, her movements deliberate and focused as she crouched beside the body. She wore purple nitrile gloves that seemed too cheerful for the grim task at hand.

"The positioning is interesting," Eleanor said, her voice carrying the slight lilt of a southern accent—perhaps one she had worked hard to get rid of from the sound of it. She gestured to Carla's hands as she spoke, folded peacefully across her stomach. "This wasn't random. Whoever placed her here took the time to arrange her body with care."

Rachel nodded, having made that very same comment just before Eleanor and the coroner had arrived.

"The entry wound is clean, professional. No stippling or powder burns, suggesting it wasn't pressed directly against her skin, but it was damned close,” Eleanor said. “I'd estimate between two and four inches."

The morning light filtered through the canopy of bare branches above them, casting dappled shadows across Carla's face. She looked peaceful, Rachel thought, despite the violent end she'd met. Her blonde hair was splayed out beneath her head, and if not for the bullet wound, she might have appeared to be sleeping.

"Any estimation on time of death?" Novak asked, his breath visible in the cold air.

Eleanor pulled back the sleeve of Carla's jacket slightly. "Based on the early stages of rigor mortis, I'd say no more than forty-eight hours ago." She paused, her brow furrowing. "But that's what makes this case particularly strange, isn't it? Ms. Rhodes has been missing for nearly five months."

"And now we know she was alive for most of that time," Rachel said quietly.

Eleanor’s careful examination stopped at the wrists. "Agents, have a look at this."

Rachel crouched beside the medical examiner, the leaves crunching beneath her feet. Around Carla's wrists were distinct bands of bruising, darker on the outside edges and lighter in the middle. The pattern was unmistakable. There were rough abrasions as well, small but the sort that had healed and then opened again repeatedly. It almost look like minor rug burn.

"Restraint marks," Rachel said, her jaw tightening. "She was bound."

"For an extended period," Eleanor confirmed. She gently lifted one of Carla's hands, turning it slightly. "See these layers of bruising and scratching? Different stages of healing. This wasn't a one-time thing."

Rachel moved down to Carla's ankles, carefully lifting the cuff of her jeans. Similar marks circled her ankles, telling the same story of prolonged captivity. She stood, her mind already racing through possibilities. "So she was held somewhere, restrained, for what could have been months, and then executed with a single shot to the head."

Novak had been taking notes on his phone, and now he looked up. "It doesn't fit the typical profile of a kidnapping for ransom or sexual assault. No signs of torture or abuse that I can see. What do you think?" he asked, looking at Eleanor.

She shook her head. "I'll know more after the full autopsy, but at first glance, apart from the restraint marks and the obvious cause of death, she appears to be in relatively good physical condition. No obvious signs of malnutrition or dehydration."

Rachel got back to her feet and paced a small circle, fallen leaves crackling under her feet. "So our killer kept her alive, seems to have taken care of her basic needs, and then murdered her with what appears to be a practiced hand." She turned to Novak. "What are you thinking?"

Her partner closed his notebook, tucking it into his jacket pocket. "I'm thinking this is someone who's done this before. The professional nature of the killing, the care taken with the body—it suggests experience. But the long-term captivity throws me. Why keep her alive for so long only to kill her now?" She frowned and said, “There could have been sexual motive. Of course, we’ll look for signs of sexual abuse when we get her to the coroner’s office.”

"And what about the suicide note?" Rachel added, running her hands through her hair in frustration. "Was it genuine? Was she forced to write it? Did the killer forge it?" She closed her mouth when she realized she was simply thinking out loud at this point.

"Could be a way to buy time," Novak suggested. "If everyone believes she killed herself, there's less urgency in the investigation. No one's looking for a killer because they don't know there is one."

Rachel nodded, the theory making sense. "But why kill her now? What changed?" She looked back at the body, at the peaceful way Carla's hands were folded. "It's almost like... like the killer was sorry to do it. Like it wasn't personal."

"There's something else," Eleanor said, pointing to some slight discoloration on Carla's jacket. "These marks here—they're consistent with someone being kept in a confined space. The fabric has worn in specific patterns, suggesting she was in regular contact with some sort of barrier or wall."

"A cell?" Novak asked.

"Possibly. Or a cage." Eleanor stood, removing her purple gloves with practiced efficiency. "I'll know more once I can examine the body properly in the lab, but I suspect you're looking for someone with access to a secure location where they could keep a prisoner for an extended period of time. Somewhere isolated, given that no one heard or saw anything for five months."

Rachel's mind was already mapping out possibilities. A basement, maybe, or an abandoned building. Somewhere in this rural area, there were plenty of places where someone could hide a captive. Old, run-down homes and even tobacco barns, that sort of thing. But the care taken with the body, the professional nature of the killing—it all suggested this wasn't just some random act of violence.

"Deputy Leery," Rachel called out, turning to where the local officer stood speaking with one of his colleagues. He came over, his boots heavy on the leaf-strewn ground. "That suicide note—it's in evidence?"

Leery nodded. "Yeah, it's back at the station. Part of the missing persons file we were working until about a month ago, when the trail went completely cold." He shook his head. "Never would have guessed it would end like this."

"I need to see it," Rachel said. "If we can confirm whether it's genuine or not, it might help us understand what we're dealing with."

"I'll get it for you as soon as we wrap up here," Leery promised.

Rachel turned back to the scene, watching as Eleanor's assistant and the coroner began carefully setting about the task of placing Carla's body into a black bag. The morning had grown warmer, but still felt a chill. Watching Carla placed into that bag roughly twenty-four hours after Scarlett’s funeral—it was eerie.

"You know what bothers me most?" Novak said quietly, coming to stand beside her. "The timing. Why now? Why kill her after all this time?"

Rachel had been thinking the same thing. "Maybe something forced their hand. Maybe they felt they’d already run enough risk. Or maybe…I don’t know. Maybe they got tired of caring for her.”

Novak nodded his understanding, but she could see that he was thinking deeply about his own theories and scenarios.

Rachel watched as Carla's body was lifted onto a stretcher—the sort that was little more than a plastic board without wheels. This deep in the woods, away from the trail, she was going to have to physically be carried out. "I think we need to look at recent missing persons cases in the area,” she said. “And we need to see that suicide note." She thought of Carla, writing that note and then being taken…of being trapped in one place for five months and then, without warning, shot and dumped in the woods. They were missing something…

As she and Novak walked back toward the trail, Rachel's was already planning out the next steps. The suicide note, missing persons reports, possible locations where someone could hold a captive for months without detection. But underneath it all was a growing sense of urgency.

It was then that it dawned on her. If Carla had indeed been held captive for five months and the killer had disposed of her in such a way, how much longer would it be before the killer wanted to fill that space again?