Page 9 of Her Last Promise

CHAPTER SIX

Rachel drummed her fingers against her desk, staring at the empty search field on her monitor.She and Novak had been back at headquarters for about twenty minutes now, and she already felt like this case was getting away from them.Looking through court records for any red flags as to who might have had it out for Judge Smith was already daunting and she feared that getting bogged down in research might be the worst thing possible.

As she did her best to keep herself motivated, her eyes quickly darted to a picture of Paige and Grandma Tate sitting on the far side of her desk.They were flying kites out at Bell Isle, their smiles bright and carefree.Something twisted in her chest—a familiar guilt she'd been carrying since returning to full-time work.

Her gaze drifted to another photo, this one older, showing Paige and Peter outside on a snowy day, Paige had been five and Peter had been…well, things had still been good between them.It was hard to think of him now…not just as her ex-husband but as herdeceasedex-husband…another victim of Alex Lynch after his escape from prison.But looking at that picture also reminded her of a time before the cancer, before Alex Lynch and Alice Denbrough, before everything changed.Sometimes she missed those simpler days, when the hardest part of balancing work and home life was making sure she had enough energy left to help Paige with homework after a long day.

"You still with me, Gift?"Novak's voice cut through her thoughts.He sat perched on the edge of her desk, his phone on speaker between them.He wasn't Jack—would never be Jack—but she had to admit he was growing on her.He had good instincts, even if he sometimes tried too hard to prove himself.

"Yeah, sorry."Rachel straightened in her chair, forcing her attention back to the case.As of about five minutes ago, Novak had Bob Pleskin on the line, trying to get him to help in narrowing down their search.He’d gone quiet for a moment as he’d not only gone looking through the database on his end, but also continued to field calls in Judge Smith’s absence.

“You still there, Mr.Pleskin?”Novak asked.

“Yeah.And I’m doing what you asked…focusing on cases from the past five years.Anything involving sedatives, medical malpractice, or kidnapping."Static crackled through the speaker as Bob Pleskin shuffled papers on his end."Looking at cases involving sedatives or kidnapping certainly narrows it down," he went on, "but the judge presided over hundreds of cases in that timeframe.This could take—" He broke off suddenly.

“What is it?”Rachel asked.“You got something?”

"Hot damn, yeah, I think I do.I think I might have one for you.Hold on...let me email this file to you.Where should I send it?”

Rachel recited her bureau email address and just a handful of seconds later, the email notification popped up on her laptop screen.But she hesitated before opening it.Cases like this always meant long hours, missed dinners, bedtime stories read over FaceTime instead of in person.She'd promised herself—promised Jack and Paige—that things would be different this time around.Part-time work had been an option, but she knew what that meant: fewer major cases, less chance to make a real difference.The cancer and recovery had already stolen enough time from her career.

She thought about the time she’d spent volunteering at the hospice, about Scarlett and all the others she'd watched fight the good fight.She'd told herself that returning to work full-time was about justice, about making the world safer.But sometimes, in quiet moments like this, she wondered if she was just running from death, trying to outpace the shadows that still haunted her.She supposed that could be the case because she always felt like she was running faster when she was working a case rather than sitting at home—even if shewasspending quality time with Paige.

“You good?”Novak asked her, clearly not understanding why she’d not yet opened the email.

“Yeah, I’m fine.Sorry…”

She opened the email and leaned over a bit as Novak squeezed in look over her shoulder as she opened the attachment.She could smell his coffee breath—third cup of the day, at least.Another thing that was different from working with Jack, who had always preferred tea.It was small things like this that often made her miss working with Jack, and they often took her by surprise.

The case file detailed a malpractice suit against Dr.Gregory Porter, an anesthesiologist at Memorial Hospital.According to the file, six months ago, Porter had been accused of negligence during a routine appendectomy.The patient, a twelve-year-old boy named Joseph Chen, had suffered severe complications due to improper dosing of anesthesia.The boy had survived but sustained permanent neurological damage.

"Judge Smith's ruling was particularly harsh," Pleskin explained to them through the speaker."He didn't just find Porter liable—he recommended a full review of all his recent cases and suggested his license be suspended pending investigation."

Rachel scrolled through the documents, the story becoming a bit more dramatic as she read Porter's testimony.He'd blamed equipment malfunction, claimed the dosing computer had malfunctioned, but the evidence heavily suggested he'd been drinking before the surgery.The strongest bit of proof was that a nurse had reported smelling alcohol on his breath, but he'd intimidated her into staying quiet initially.

"The nurse who reported him," Rachel said, scanning the document."Sarah Jensen, it says here.What happened to her?"

"Transferred to another hospital," Pleskin replied."Porter made her life hell before he was fired.Spread rumors about her competency, tried to get her fired.A real piece of work."

Rachel felt a familiar anger burning in her chest.She'd seen it too many times—men like Porter, so convinced of their own superiority that they viewed any criticism as a personal attack.The type who would rather destroy someone else's career than admit their own mistakes.

"It was the start of a spectacular downward spiral," Pleskin continued."After that, Porter lost his job at Memorial, couldn't get hired anywhere else.Started self-medicating with stolen hospital supplies.Last month, the medical board permanently revoked his license."

Novak met Rachel's gaze, and she saw her own thoughts reflected in his eyes.A medical professional with access to sedatives, a personal grudge against the judge,andnothing left to lose—it fit.Maybe too perfectly, a voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Regardless, Rachel felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that came with a solid lead, coupled with a wave of resignation.She glanced at her phone—4:07 PM.Paige would have just gotten home and would be starting homework soon, and Jack was supposed to be making his signature lasagna tonight.In a strange flash of normalcy and nostalgia, she could recall picking up fresh basil for him when she went to the grocery store over the weekend.The grocery store bag was still sitting in her car, probably wilting in the heat.

"I'm running his information through our database now," Novak said, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard."His last listed address is in Oakwood Heights.”

“Maybe try him there, then,” Bob said.“According to everything I know, it’s not like he’s going to be at work right now.”

"Thanks, Bob," Rachel said, reaching for the phone."We'll keep you posted."

As they headed for the elevator, Novak punched the address into his phone.At the same time, Rachel pulled out her phone to call Jack.Her thumb hovered over his name for a moment before she tucked the phone away.Better to wait until they checked out Porter's room.It would probably be another dead end, and then she could head home, spend some time with Paige, maybe still salvage part of the evening and enjoy dinner with her family.

But deep down, Rachel knew better.The way this case was unfolding—the layers they had only just started to peel back and the medical knowledge required for the sedation—it all pointed to someone with a grudge.Someone like Porter, perhaps.

The elevator doors closed with a soft ding, and Rachel watched the floor numbers tick down.She thought about the photos of Joseph Chen in the case file—a bright-eyed kid in a baseball uniform, then later in a wheelchair, his face slack and unresponsive.She thought about Judge Smith's body, found posed in his own car as if sleeping.And she thought about Paige waiting at home, probably already wondering why her mother was late again.

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