Page 21 of Her Last Promise (Rachel Gift #19)

The precinct buzzed with a strange, gentle form of chaos that Rachel had come to expect from local law enforcement offices. While this particular station was one of the city's better-equipped facilities—with its newly renovated bullpen and fresh paint still evident on the walls—it still carried that unmistakable air of municipal funding limitations. It was illuminated by harsh overhead lights that made Rachel grateful for the warmer, more considered lighting design at the FBI field office.

She and Novak strode through the maze of desks, their FBI credentials drawing respectful nods from the officers they passed. The sound of ringing phones and murmured conversations created a familiar white noise that seemed to grow more urgent as they approached the back of the bullpen. Rachel thought she might need to ask one of the officers where they’d stashed Nathan Mitchell but then she saw him sitting at a desk, speaking in a tired manner to a uniformed cop.

The cop saw them coming before Nathan did. He straightened when he saw them approach, his posture shifting from casual to alert in an instant. He was young—probably not more than two years out of the academy—but Rachel had worked with him before, though she could not recall his name.

He gave them a nod of acknowledgement as he got to his feet and extended his hand. “Agents, I’m Sergeant Ryan. I’ve been taking Mr. Mitchell’s statement for the past twenty minutes or so.” His voice carried a mix of deference and eagerness that Rachel often noticed in younger officers when dealing with federal agents.

“Has he been cooperative?” Novak asked.

“Mostly.”

Novak nodded toward one of the interrogation rooms. "Thanks a ton for the assist. We'll take it from here. Is there a specific interrogation room we should use?”

“I think they’re all open at the moment. Help yourself.”

Novak looked to Nathan and said, “Mr. Mitchell, if you wouldn't mind…"

Nathan stood, his movements careful and measured.. His eyes still looked beyond tired, and the crumpled, overworn clothes didn't help. Rachel wondered when the man had slept more than a handful of hours. But she also wondered if one of the reasons he might be so tired is because he'd been up to some very devious things after visiting hours at the hospital—namely abducting and killing people related to the case concerning his mother.

As Novak led Mitchell away, Rachel hung back with Officer Ryan for a moment. "What did you get out of him?"

Ryan looked to the file currently open on his laptop, referencing the notes he’d taken down while speaking with Nathan. "I had another officer check with hospital staff and they confirmed his story about the visits. He's there every day after work, usually arrives around 5:30 in and sometimes leaves for lunch. Other than that, he’s there until 7:30, when they usually need to make him leave.”

“Is he aggressive when asked to leave?”

“If so, it can’t be so bad…no one mentioned it. But an evening nurse by the name of Maria Delgado says she sees him so often she could set her watch by his arrivals."

Rachel's mind immediately started calculating times. "Every single day?"

"Like clockwork, according to them. His workplace backed it up, too—they say he’d taken a few days off. The officer verified the days…they all line up with several days, including today, actually—when he was present at the hospital as soon as nine in the morning.”

“And where does he work?” she asked, looking over to the other side of the room where Novak was leading Nathan into an interrogation room.

“He works as an accountant’s assistant at Morton this was still, technically, a voluntary conversation. There wasn’t enough solid evidence to make it anything else.

Rachel took the seat across from Mitchell, noting how his fingers were clasped tightly together on top of the metal table. He nervously tapped at the surface with the gathered knuckles of his pinky; the sound echoed slightly in the sparse room.

"Mr. Mitchell," she began, "we appreciate you coming in to talk with us."

He nodded, his eyes darting between her and Novak. “You didn’t really give me much of a choice.”

“Maybe not. But I assure you, it’s going to do nothing more than help you as we get deeper into this.”

“Deeper? Look…I already told Officer Ryan everything there is to know. I really don’t feel like going over it again.” His voice made it seem like he might break down in tears at any moment. Maybe for his mother, Maybe because he looked exhausted. Or maybe both.

"Let's talk about your mother's case," Rachel said, keeping her voice neutral as she did her best to subtly sidestep his objection. "You were very involved in the legal proceedings, right?"

Mitchell's jaw tightened. "Of course I was. The monsters at the hospital insisted she stay alive by that machine…even after I made it abundantly clear that was against her wishes."

“And you feel they didn’t honor those wishes?”

“They did not. The reasoning is because there is no living will, no instructions. My mother wasn’t very organized. And I guess fifty-eight was still young to her. She didn’t see the need for last wishes, a living will, that sort of thing.”

“So the hospital…they are stating their default position in a situation like that is to do their best to revive her?”

“Yes. They’ve said that when it becomes clear there is no hope at all, they’ll strongly consider pulling the plug. But she isn’t getting worse. She’s not getting better either. Which is why….it’s why I know she’d want it this way. To live on a machine for however long and then maybe be saved only to live the rest of your life with all these complications…”

"They want to honor her life," Novak corrected gently. “Without any formal, written consent, they can’t—”

"Ah, Jesus, here we go again. I know! ” Mitchell's voice rose slightly, then he seemed to catch himself. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's just... it's still raw. And if you…if you think I killed anyone over it, you’re wasting your time while an actual killer is out there. All you have to do is look at my schedule. Work, the hospital, home. Over and over again."

Rachel watched his hands, now clenching tighter together. "Tell us about your interactions with Judge Smith."

"I never spoke to him directly," Nathan said. His right eye twitched slightly. "I... I did send some emails to his office. I was angry. I shouldn't have, but I was desperate."

"We'll need copies of those emails," Rachel said. They did need the emails and they could easily get them from Judge Smith’s computer. But she wanted to see how cooperative Nathan would be.

"Of course. I can forward them to you. They're... they're not nice, but I swear they weren't threats. I was just begging him to reconsider."

Novak leaned forward. "What about Dr. Walsh? Did you have any contact with her outside of her testimony?"

Nathan shook his head. "No. None. I wanted to... I wanted to ask her how she could be so certain about Mom's condition, but my lawyer advised against any contact. He said it would look really bad in court."

"And what about James Harrison?" Rachel pressed. “The prosecutor.”

Nathan’s laughter was bitter. "No. He wouldn't even look at me during the proceedings. Treated me like I was some kind of monster for wanting to keep my mother alive. I really don’t know if it was the sort of guy he really is, but he came off as a dick."

Rachel studied his face carefully. There was anger there, certainly, but was it the kind of rage that would drive someone to murder? "Your daily routine seems very structured, Mr. Mitchell. Work from nine to five, hospital until visiting hours were over. Every day."

"Is that a crime?" His voice carried a defensive edge. "I want to spend every moment I can with her. The doctors say she might be able to hear us, might be aware on some level. I read to her, tell her about my day..."

“Yet you insist she’d rather be dead?”

“Than be on life support? A machine keeping her alive? Yes, I know that with certainty.”

"Also, no one's suggesting it's a crime," Novak interjected smoothly. "We're just trying to establish timelines."

Nathan ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Look, I know how this looks. The judge who ruled against me dies, then the doctor... I get it. But I'm not... I couldn't..." He took another deep breath. "I'm trying to save a life, not take them ." And now there were tears in his eyes. He wiped them away angrily and glared at them as if asking how much longer this really needed to go on.

Rachel exchanged a quick glance with Novak. "Mr. Mitchell, would you be willing to provide us with your cell phone records? Credit card statements?"

"Whatever you need," he said quickly—almost too quickly. "I have nothing to hide. I just want to find out who's doing this so I can focus on my mother. I’m sorry someone has died…truly. But I’m more concerned about my mother." More tears came, and when they trailed down his cheeks, he simply let them fall this time.

"Your aunt mentioned you come home after visiting hours," Rachel said, watching his reaction carefully. "Always straight home?"

"Yes. I mean, sometimes I stop for groceries or gas, but mostly I just go home.”

“Do you ever speak with your aunt when you come home?” Novak asked.

“If she’s awake. But she usually just leaves me to my thoughts, you know? She knows how much the visits take out of me emotionally."

Rachel nodded slowly. "And your brother, Michael? When was the last time you spoke with him?"

Something flickered across Nathan's face—so brief Rachel almost missed it. "Michael? He... he left years ago. Before Mom got sick. I haven't heard from him since. He’s living in France somewhere."

"No contact at all?"

"None. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with the family anymore." His voice had grown quieter, heavy with what seemed like old pain. "Why? Do you think he has something to do with this?"

Rachel kept her expression neutral. His claim that he and his brother hadn't spoken in years didn't line up with what they'd gathered from the case files. "We're just exploring all possibilities, Mr. Mitchell. Would you be willing to write down his last known address? Any contact information you might have?"

Mitchell nodded, though his movements had become more hesitant. "Sure, but like I said, it's been years. I doubt any of it is still good. And I’d have to get it from home. I don’t have it in my phone or anything. Hell…you’d probably be better off to just get it from Aunt Tanya."

"One more thing," Rachel said. "The night Judge Smith disappeared—where were you? This would have been four nights ago."

He thought it over for a moment before answering. “I went straight home from the hospital. Aunt Tanya can verify. We watched some TV. I had a beer, read for a bit, then went to bed around midnight." He paused. "I know that's not much of an alibi, but it's the truth."

Rachel stood, signaling the end of the interview. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Mitchell. We'll be in touch if we need anything else. I do hate to say that until we can get an address for your brother, you have to stay here for a bit."

“Are you kidding me?” he asked venom rising up his voice. He was clearly angry that they were taking him away from precious time with his mother.

“I’m sincerely sorry,” Rachel said as she and Nova left the room. “Someone will be in momentarily to instruct you where to go next.”

When they closed the door to the interrogation room, she could hear Nathan screaming something in anger behind it.

Novak turned to Rachel out in the hallway. "What do you think?"

Rachel shook her head because, honestly, she wasn’t sure. "I think his routine is too perfect. Like he's built himself an alibi without actually building an alibi. Also, I think he got very interesting when we mentioned his brother."

"Want me to give Tanya a call, see if she has Michael’s address and phone number?"

Rachel nodded. "And while you do that, I’ll run a check in the database for Michael Mitchell. We pretty much know that Nathan isn't being entirely truthful about their lack of contact."

The precinct's activity had settled into its afternoon lull, but Rachel's mind was racing ahead as she went in search of an available laptop to do some more digging. There were answers just within her reach…she could literally feel it now. And even though she’d much rather be out in the field getting those answers, she knew the hardest, coldest truths were often found in hunts through history and paperwork. Hopefully, that’s where she’d find paydirt for this case as well.

Because of not, she wasn’t sure where they could turn next.