Page 20 of Her Last Warning
"That's fine."Barret's voice was hollow."I don't have anything to hide.I just...I wish I hadn't been so damned mean in those posts.But when you're hurting this bad..."He pressed his palms against his eyes, his whole body trembling with the effort of containing his emotions.
Novak's voice softened with compassion."Mr.Barret, have you considered seeking help?A support group, perhaps?"
Barret's laugh was bitter, tinged with fresh tears."No, no…I’m done with support groups," he said, dropping his hands to reveal reddened eyes."Jacqueline and I, we went to them while she was fighting for her life.Groups for terminal illness, for families dealing with loss.None of it helped.She still died, and all we got out of it was a ton of sad stories."
Rachel's investigator's instincts perked up at the mention of support groups, even as her heart ached for the broken man before them.Could their killer be finding victims through these gatherings?Places where people shared their stories of recovery and survival?
“Mr.Barret, I wonder…during these groups, did you ever come across anyone by the name of Marcy Connors or Robert Hayes?”
He thought about it for a moment but in the end could only offer a frown and a shrug.“I don’t know.I don’t remember the names.Jacqueline was the one who made a point to talk to some of the others after the meetings.I just…I couldn’t do it.Sorry.”
"Thank you for your time, Mr.Barret," she said softly, standing to leave.He barely seemed to notice their departure, already lost again in his private ocean of grief.“What’s the name of the plant where you work, and your manager?”
“Tubman Paper.My manager is Derrick Flowers.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said.“And really…maybe you should consider trying to find some help.”
Barret tilted his head and shrugged again.He didn’t even walk them back to the door, simply giving a little wave goodbye as they headed back through the living room.
Outside, the morning had fully arrived, the street now alive with the sounds of cars and children heading to school.Novak shook his head as they walked back to their vehicle."There's no way he's our killer.Not in that state."
Rachel nodded, already pulling out her phone to look up the paper plant's number."I agree, but we still need to verify his alibi."She knew what they would find—Barret would have been at work during the murders, and they would be back at square one.But something nagged at her mind, a possibility taking shape around what Barret had said about support groups.
As they pulled away from the curb, Rachel found herself glancing back at the house in her side mirror as the front office phone for Tubman Paper started ringing in her ear.The house’s state of not-quite deteriorating but not-yet rescued was a pretty stark picture of the man inside.She thought about her own brush with mortality, about the unfairness of who lives and who dies, about the mysterious ways fate seemed to choose its victims.
The support groups Barret mentioned tugged at her thoughts.Places where people gathered to share their darkest fears and brightest hopes, where miraculous recoveries were celebrated and devastating losses mourned.
Perfect hunting grounds for someone with a twisted sense of justice about who deserved to live and who deserved to die.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rachel opened the email on her laptop as soon as it came through.She’d already known what it would say—she’d gotten vocal confirmation from Tubman Paper manager Derrick Flowers—but visual confirmation was the final nail in the coffin, Flowers had sent her the sign-in logs from the past week and there, sure enough, was James Barret’s name over the past four nights.Clocking in around 6:55 and clocking out at 7:00.Seven to seven, exactly as scheduled.Their most promising suspect had just evaporated into thin air.
They’d come back to the field office after leaving Barret’s home, eager to start digging into the many support groups Rachel knew were offered throughout the city…some by professional organizations and others just ragtag groups cobbled together by fighters and survivors of all kinds.The early morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the conference room desk..Having Barret eliminated as a suspect left her feeling unmoored, that familiar anxiety creeping in at the edges of her consciousness.Somewhere out there, their killer was planning their next move, and they were back at the beginning.
"Barrett's out," she said, turning to Novak.He was hunched over his own computer, the glow of the screen highlighting the concentration in his eyes."Full shifts at work during every murder."
"Damn."Novak leaned back, running his hands through his hair."Back to square one?"
"Not quite."Rachel pulled up the browser window where she'd run a search for local support groups.It was a bit overwhelming and she knew at once she was going to have to refine her search.The list sprawled down her screen, each entry representing countless stories of pain, hope, and everything in between.Cancer survivors.Addiction.Grief counseling.Terminal illness support.Gambling addicts.The names and locations blurred together, a tapestry of human suffering and resilience.
Her throat tightened as she remembered her own brief foray into support groups back when the tumor had first been diagnosed.She'd sat in the back of church basements and community centers, listening to others share their stories while keeping her own locked away.The fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a large eavesdropping insect, coffee growing cold in Styrofoam cups, and voices cracking with emotion as people shared their deepest fears.
She remembered one woman in particular – Sarah, maybe?– who'd broken down while describing how her young children asked when mommy would be well enough to play again.Rachel had gripped the edges of her plastic chair so hard her knuckles turned white, fighting the urge to run from the room.The vulnerability had been too much, too raw.She'd stopped going after three sessions, throwing herself into work instead…until she’d gotten too sick to work, even from a research perspective from home.Now, looking at these listings, she wondered if that had been a mistake.
The cursor blinked on her screen, and she found herself thinking about Scarlett, about the times they'd spent together at the hospice.That had been different somehow – one-on-one connection rather than group sharing.But wasn't it all part of the same human need?The desire to be understood, to not face the darkness alone?
"It's kind of beautiful, isn't it?"Novak's voice pulled her from her thoughts.He'd rolled his chair closer, peering at her screen."In a weird way, I mean.So many groups."
"Beautiful?"
"All these groups.All these people coming together to help each other through the worst moments of their lives."He gestured at the screen."Drug addiction, alcoholism, terminal illness, grief...there's literally a support group for every kind of pain imaginable."
Rachel nodded slowly, surprised by the insight from her usually stoic partner."It's like a map of human suffering, I guess.But also human connection."
"Exactly."Novak's voice softened."My sister went to NA meetings for years.Still does, actually.She always said the only people who truly understood what she was going through were the ones who'd been through it themselves."He grew solemn after saying this, as if he wondered if he’d shared too much.
Rachel turned to look at him, really look at him, for perhaps the first time since they'd been partnered.She'd been so focused on missing Jack, on resenting this replacement, that she'd failed to see the depth behind Novak's quiet exterior.The way his shoulders tensed slightly when he mentioned his sister, the careful way he chose his words – here was a man who understood pain, who'd watched someone he loved struggle through darkness.
