Page 8

Morning was officially giving way to the afternoon as Rachel and Novak made their way back toward Richmond. Rachel watched the rhythmic passing of mile markers, her mind working to piece together the puzzling details of Carla Rhodes' death. She continued to find herself struggling to find a way to connect Carla’s apparent plans of suicide with being captured for five months. She supposed there was a chance that the two things weren’t linked at all, but if that was indeed true then this case was going to be a monster.

Still, as they got closer to Richmond, an idea began to present itself. The drone of the road beneath the car’s tires seemed to pull it out of her.

"I have a theory," Rachel said, breaking the contemplative silence that had settled between them.

“Okay,” Novak said. “Let’s hear it.”

"What if Carla's suicide note was fake? What if someone took her, held her captive all this time, and then killed her last night?"

“So you think her abductor wrote the note to make it look like she wanted to kill herself?” He thought it over and shrugged. “It would make a weird sort of sense, I guess. If people knew she planned to kill herself, there wouldn’t be much of an investigation.” Novak glanced over from behind the wheel, his expression measured. "Still, that's quite a leap."

"Is it, though?" Rachel shifted in her seat to face him. "Those marks on her wrists and ankles—she was clearly restrained. And not just briefly. Those kinds of marks develop over time, consistent pressure and struggling." She paused, aware of how outlandish it might sound. "I know it seems far-fetched, but…I don’t know. I think there’s something worth digging into there.”

"It's an interesting theory," Novak said carefully, merging into the right lane as their exit approached. "But maybe we should keep that particular angle to ourselves when we talk to the sister. Breaking news of death is hard enough on family members without adding speculation about torture and captivity."

Rachel nodded, fully agreeing with this. She studied Novak’s profile as he drove. She had to admit, in moments like these, Novak showed a sensitivity that Jack had sometimes lacked. Where Jack would have immediately started strategizing about the case, Novak's first thought was for the emotional impact on the family. It was the kind of insight that made Rachel gradually warm to him as a partner, even if she still missed working with Jack.

They turned off the interstate into one of Richmond's older suburbs, where modest ranch homes lined streets named after Civil War generals and local historical figures. Rachel checked the address again on her phone, though she'd memorized it already—a habit born from years of fieldwork. She was vaguely familiar with the neighborhood, which also helped.

"You know what bothers me about this case?" she said, watching the house numbers tick by. "If someone did take her, why wait five months to kill her? Why now?"

Novak contemplated this as he navigated the quiet streets. "Maybe something changed. Maybe he freaked out or just got tired of trying to care for someone."

She had been thinking the same thing, wondering if the killer had simply gotten tired of having a captive. Before she could respond, they found Julia Rhodes' address on a quiet street near the end of the development. Her single-story brick home sat back from the road, sheltered by two massive oak trees that had shed most of their leaves. A small Japanese maple near the front door still clung to its deep red foliage, providing the only real color in the austere autumn landscape.

Despite Thanksgiving being a week away, several houses on the street already displayed Christmas decorations. Inflatable snowmen stood guard over brown lawns, and strands of multicolored lights draped dormant rose bushes. The early decorating struck Rachel as desperately cheerful against the somber gray November sky.

Rachel felt the familiar weight settle in her chest as they approached the door. No matter how many times she'd done this, breaking news of death never got easier. She thought of all the families she'd watched crumble under the weight of her words, their worlds forever altered in the space of a few sentences.

"You want me to take the lead on this one?" Novak asked quietly as they reached the porch. The boards creaked under their feet as Rachel considered his offer.

"No, but thank you," she replied, appreciating his willingness to shoulder the burden. "It never gets easier, but it's part of the job."

She noticed the door had recently been painted a deep navy blue, the brass knocker polished to a shine. These small details of home maintenance spoke of someone who took care of things, who believed in order and upkeep. Rachel hated that she was about to bring chaos to this carefully maintained sanctuary.

Before she could knock a second time, the door opened. Julia Rhodes stood in the doorway, her ash-blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, wearing black yoga pants and a loose gray sweater. She was attractive in an understated way, with clear green eyes and fine features that suggested she and Carla had shared good genes. Something in those eyes triggered Rachel's instincts—a shadow of recognition, as if Julia had been waiting for this moment.

“Yes?” Julia said.

“We’re Agents Gift and Novak, with the FBI,” Rachel said. “We were wanting to—”

"Is it Carla?" Julia asked before Rachel could finish.

Novak stepped forward slightly. "Yes. Ms. Rhodes,” he said, his voice soft and somber. “Your sister's body was found this morning. I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you."

Julia's reaction wasn't what Rachel expected. Instead of immediate grief, she seemed to absorb the news with an almost clinical detachment. It had been five months after all; it wasn’t like this was some unexpected, harsh blow to the gut. And oddly enough, the first words out of her mouth were a correction to what Novak had said.

"It's Julia Kasum," she corrected, her voice steady. "Rhodes is my maiden name. And..." She paused, swallowing hard. "I think I supposed from the start that she was... that she was dead. She…"

But even as the words left her mouth, the reality seemed to finally hit her. Her hand flew to her mouth, her composure cracking like thin ice. She took an unsteady step backward, her other hand reaching for the doorframe to steady herself.

"Please," she managed, gesturing them inside while quickly wiping a tear away. "Come in."

They followed her through a short entryway into a living room that spoke of careful curation. The furniture was modern but comfortable—a slate blue sectional sofa, a leather reading chair, clean lines everywhere. Potted plants occupied sunny corners, their leaves glossy and well-tended. A half-finished puzzle spread across a coffee table suggested someone who liked to keep their hands and mind occupied.

"Would you like some water?" Julia asked, her hostess instincts seemingly on autopilot. Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the kitchen. They could hear the sound of cabinet doors opening, glasses clinking, water running—all performed with mechanical precision.

Rachel and Novak settled onto the sectional, exchanging glances as they listened to Julia in the kitchen. The sounds continued longer than necessary for simply getting water, and Rachel recognized the behavior—someone trying to hold themselves together through routine actions.

"Give her a minute," Rachel softly told Novak. "Let her process it her way."

Novak nodded, his posture loose and, in his own peculiar way, sad. Rachel was once again impressed by her partner's intuition with victims' families. She'd seen too many agents over the years who rushed this part, eager to get to their questions, forgetting that these moments shaped how families would remember their loved ones' cases forever.

When Julia finally returned, her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. Her excuse to retrieve water had likely been a cover for letting a few tears out. She set three glasses of water on cork coasters, then lowered herself into the leather chair across from them. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her own glass.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked gently. "We can take a moment if you need to—"

"I'm fine," Julia cut her off, though her voice wavered. "Or rather, I'm not fine. But I need to know what happened. Please. Where was she found? And had she killed herself or…or…"

Novak spoke up, detailing the morning. Rachel listened as he deftly explained everything in a way that was gentle but also informative. There were a few times where Julia came close to breaking, but she managed to keep it together.

When Novak was done, Rachel watched as Julia's fingers worked at the hem of her sweater, folding, and unfolding the fabric. She waited a few more seconds to let everything sink in before starting to push toward finding answers. Her mood seemed to have shifted now that she understood there was a very good possibility that her sister had actually been alive for the past five months but, in the end, had still turned up dead.

"We'd like to ask you about the note," she said carefully. "The one Carla left. Did you see it?"

Julia nodded, her throat working. "Yes. The police showed it to me when she first..." She stopped, corrected herself. "When she disappeared."

"Were you're certain it was her handwriting at the time?" Novak asked, his tone gentle but firm.

"Yes." Julia's answer came quickly, almost defensively. "I know my sister's handwriting. And plus, the cops compared it to some things they found around her house. And honestly, the note..." She drew a shaky breath. "It wasn't a surprise."

Rachel leaned forward slightly. "What do you mean?"

“Carla had been struggling. Her divorce..." Julia's voice caught, and she took a moment to compose herself. "Her husband cheated on her. Multiple times, as it turned out. She'd given him everything—moved across the country for his job, gave up her own career to support his. Finding out about the affairs destroyed her."

Julia reached for her water glass again, took a small sip. "She told me she felt like she'd never known real love. Our mother died when we were young, and our father..." She set the glass down carefully. "He did his best, but he wasn't an emotional man. When he died last year, Carla took it especially hard. She said she felt completely alone."

"Were you trying to get her help?" Rachel asked, noting how Novak had shifted his position slightly, angling himself to appear less intimidating while maintaining eye contact with Julia.

"I was trying." Julia's composure finally broke, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'd found a therapist. Made the appointment myself. But before I could even tell her about it, she was gone." She pressed her hands to her face. "I thought... I really thought she'd just found some place quiet to... to end it. Somewhere no one would have to see or deal with..." Her voice cracked. "With the mess of it."

The wail that tore from Julia's throat was primal and seemed to come out of nowhere. It was as if she'd kept it all contained over the past five months, and she was choosing now to let it all out. The noise was filled with five months of suppressed grief suddenly unleashed. Her body folded forward as if she'd been struck, violent sobs wracking her frame. All the careful composure she'd been maintaining shattered completely.

"Oh God," she gasped between sobs. "All this time... all this time I thought... and she was alive. But to know she…she was out there somewhere? Oh God, oh God..."

Rachel moved to kneel beside Julia's chair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder as the woman's body shook with grief. She said nothing, knowing from experience that no words could help in this moment. She simply stayed there, offering what comfort she could as Julia's carefully constructed world collapsed around her.

To her surprise, Novak quietly got up and walked away, returning moments later with a box of tissues from a side table. He placed it within Julia's reach without a word, then stepped back to give her space. The simple gesture spoke volumes about his character, and Rachel felt a fresh wave of appreciation for her new partner.

She briefly looked through the window, her eyes and mind alert. Somewhere out there, someone had held Carla Rhodes captive for five months before ending her life. And Rachel still felt they were missing some crucial element to it all, some factor that might point them not just to answers, but maybe directly to the killer.