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"May we comein?" Morgan asked her question more a courtesy than a request. There wassomething there, in the depths of Joe's eyes—a flicker of fear, or was itinnocence? Time would tell, and time was what they had the least of.
Morgan steppedinto the dimly lit confines of Joe Wright's living room, the air thick with thesmell of dust and old smoke. Derik followed, closing the door behind them witha soft click that seemed to echo in the silence. Joe had retreated to anarmchair that had seen better days, its fabric fraying at the edges. He satdown slowly, like every movement cost him something, his hands fidgetingnervously in his lap.
"Joe,"Morgan began, her voice a calm anchor in the stagnant room. "We need totalk about Sarah Thompson." Her dark hair fell over one eye as she leanedforward slightly, scrutinizing his reaction.
"Sarah?"His voice cracked a note of recognition there. "She... she works at thecommunity center. Always kind, she was..." Joe's face softened at themention of her name, something akin to warmth briefly passing through hishollow gaze.
Morgan drew abreath, steeling herself for the impact of her words. "Sarah is dead,Joe."
For a moment, theworld seemed to pause, the only sound the distant hum of traffic from outside.Joe's face drained of what little color it had, his eyes widening as he staredat Morgan in disbelief. A hand went to his mouth, covering it as if to stifle thetruth from entering his reality.
"Dead?"It was a whisper, tinged with horror. "But… how?"
"Strangled,"Morgan said quietly, watching him carefully for any signs of recognition orguilt. But all she saw was shock—a genuine, raw shock that seemed to rock himto his core.
"Strangled?"Joe repeated, the word seeming foreign on his lips. "No... no, notSarah..."
"Where wereyou last night, Joe?" Morgan shifted gears, knowing time was against them.The question was direct, necessary.
"Lastnight?" Joe blinked, confusion clouding his features before he gatheredhis thoughts. "I was at the shelter... across town. I missed the last busafter bingo night at the community center. Didn't want to walk home in thedark, so I stayed there." His words tumbled out in a rush, the memorygrounding him.
"Can anyoneverify that?" There was an edge to Morgan's voice, a hardness born from adecade behind bars for a crime she didn't commit. She needed the truth—the realtruth.
"Sure,"Joe nodded eagerly, almost relieved at the question. "The folks there knowme. I... I sleep there often when I can't get home."
Morgan made amental note to check his alibi, but her gut told her that the man in front ofher, with his timid demeanor and worn-out clothes, wasn't capable of violence.Not like this. Not like the monster they were hunting. She exchanged a glancewith Derik, who remained silent but watchful and knew that their search for thekiller wasn't over yet.
Morganscrutinized Joe, taking in the erratic movements of his hands as they flutteredlike caged birds. His gaze darted around the room, never settling for more thana fraction of a second on any one thing. In the dim light of the cramped space,his eyes were wide and unseeing—lost in some private world that Morgan couldnot fathom. The hollows of his cheeks seemed to echo the emptiness in hisstare.
"Joe,"she said softly, attempting to tether his attention back to the here and now."Do you understand what's happening? You're not in trouble; we just needto know about last night."
"Trouble?"he repeated, the word slurring slightly as if it was an effort to form thesounds. "No trouble... I just played bingo and then slept. Safe at theshelter."
"Okay,Joe." She nodded, trying to project calm. "We're going to check withthe shelter. You're sure they'll remember you being there?"
"Alwaysthere," he muttered, his fingers tracing an unseen pattern on the agedwood of the door frame. "They know me..."
Morgan shared alook with Derik, who stood a step behind her, his presence a silent bulwark.They both knew the drill: corroborate the alibi, rule out the suspect. But theman before them was a far cry from the cold-blooded killer profile they'dconstructed. Joe Wright’s dishevelment spoke of neglect, not malice. Hisactions weren't those of a predator stalking Sarah, but rather of a man lost inthe labyrinth of his own mind.
"Joe,"she said again, softer this time, her detective's mask slipping just enough tolet empathy color her voice. "Did you know Sarah well?"
"Sarah..."He looked up, a flicker of clarity in his eyes. "Nice... always nice toJoe."
The admissiontugged at something within Morgan—the hardened agent with ink-stained skin anda past that clung to her like a shadow. She saw vulnerability mirrored in Joe,a reflection of her own struggles when the world had turned its back on her.
"Thank you,Joe," she said, stepping back. "We may have more questions later, butfor now, just take care."
As they walkedback to their car, Morgan's thoughts churned. Joe's mental state added layersof complexity to verifying his statements. Yet, beyond the procedural work thatawaited them, she felt a pang of guilt for suspecting him, even briefly. If hisalibi checked out, someone else had taken Sarah from the world, someone stillout there, moving through the city like a specter.
"Derik,"Morgan began, her voice steady despite the maelstrom of thoughts. "Let'smake sure that shelter confirms his story quickly. Until then, this case iswide open."
"Understood,"Derik replied, his tone matching her urgency.
As they droveaway, the image of Joe Wright's haunted expression lingered with Morgan.
CHAPTER SIX
Jennifer Clarkeslid a steaming mug of coffee across the counter with practiced ease, her smileas warm as the beverage she served. The café bustled with the midday rush, asymphony of clinking dishes, murmuring patrons, and the hiss of the espressomachine weaving through the air. A glance at the clock promised freedom in ascant half-hour; the afternoon sun would be her companion on the walk home.
