Page 8 of Her Last Farewell

Rachel read the note twice more, her trained eye picking up subtle details. The paper was standard printer paper, the kind you could buy anywhere. The ink appeared to be from a basic blue ballpoint pen. There were no water marks from tears, no smudges, no signs of emotional distress in the writing.

She passed the file to Novak, watching as his eyes scanned the pages she'd just read. "Deputy Leery," she said, "who is the Julia she mentions in the note?"

Leery shifted in his chair, reaching for a separate, thinner file from his desk. "Julia Rhodes – well, Julia Kasum now. She's Carla's younger sister. Lives in Richmond, works as a freelance graphic designer. She was incredibly helpful during the investigation, provided all of Carla's medical history, financial records, everything we asked for." He paused, his expression softening slightly. "She was convinced from the start that Carla had taken her own life. Said their father's death hit Carla particularly hard, and she'd never recovered."

"Has anyone notified her about the body?" Rachel asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

"No," Leery replied, shaking his head. "With everything happening so fast this morning, we haven't had the chance." He sighed heavily, clearly not looking forward to the task.

Rachel felt her stomach tighten. In her years with the FBI, death notifications never got easier. They were even worse in cases like this, where the family had likely already gone through the grieving process once, only to have old wounds reopened.

"We need to speak with her," Rachel said, standing. She looked at the suicide note one more time before Novak returned the file to Leery. Something about it didn't sit right with her – the neatness, the careful wording, the lack of any real emotional indicators in the handwriting. Combined with the marks they'dfound on Carla's wrists and ankles, it painted a disturbing picture.

Leery rose as well, his chair squeaking against the floor. "I can give you directions to her place in Richmond. It's about an hour from here." He paused, then added, "I know this is your investigation now, but I'd appreciate being kept in the loop. Carla's case... it bothered a lot of us here. Never felt quite right."

Rachel nodded, understanding the unspoken message. In small departments like this, unsolved cases could haunt officers for years. "Of course, Deputy. We'll keep you updated."

As they left Leery's office, Rachel couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. The neat suicide note, the untouched home, the careful arrangement of Carla's body in the woods – none of it matched the profile of a typical suicide. Someone had gone to great lengths to make Carla's disappearance look like a suicide, only to murder her months later.

The question was: why?

CHAPTER SEVEN

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 itlooklike 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 frontdoor 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.

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