AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Derik,"she called out, her voice steady despite the rising storm within her."It's him. Our perp's consistent—a signature almost. He's methodical,deliberate."
As Derikapproached, Morgan replaced the photos with care, her mind already mapping outthe next move in this deadly chase. Whoever was responsible had left atrail—one that Morgan was determined to follow, no matter where it led.
"Looks likeit," Derik said, his face grim. "What now?"
"We need tofind out everything we can about her," Morgan said, eyes lingering on thebody. "Let's head to her workplace."
***
Morgan strodethrough the narrow corridors of Sarah Thompson's workplace, the muted clack ofher boots on the linoleum floor setting a rhythm to her thoughts. Her arrivalhad caused a ripple of hushed whispers and furtive glances among the staff, butMorgan's focus was unwavering as she made her way to the small break room whereseveral of Sarah’s coworkers had gathered at her request.
The break roomwas a tight, cramped little space that smelled of burnt coffee and staledonuts. Under the harsh, fluorescent lighting sat a handful of somber faces -coworkers and friends of Sarah. Her tragic end had cast a long, dark shadowover them.
"Thank youfor meeting us," Morgan started, her voice strong and unwavering. Foryears she'd learned to mask the storm inside her – a tempest born out ofinjustice and betrayal, now fuelled by this gruesome case. Derik hovered behindher, his green eyes scanning the room for any signs of discomfort or deception.
She scanned theirfaces—an array of expressions from grief to nervousness—and settled into thechair that seemed least likely to collapse under her.
"Sarah wasinvolved in volunteer work, correct?" Morgan asked, her dark eyes keenlyobserving their reactions. A woman with a tired face nodded, wringing her handsas she spoke.
"Yes, shehelped out at the community center here. After-school programs for kids,"she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She... she loved doing it.Wanted to make a difference, you know?"
Morgan could seethe strain behind the woman's eyes, the shared pain of loss that came with theterritory of caring. "Did she ever mention anyone unusual? Anyone whomight have taken an unhealthy interest in her?"
The question hungin the air, and for a moment, there was only the hum of the aging fluorescentlights above.
Then a youngerman, his posture rigid with tension, cleared his throat.
"There wasthis one time," he started, hesitant. "She mentioned someone followedher after she left the center one evening. Said the person kept a distancebut... she got this eerie feeling, like they were watching her."
"Did she sayanything about who it was? Did she recognize them at all?" Morgan probed,leaning forward slightly.
The man shook hishead regretfully. "No, she didn't know them. Sarah figured it was justsome local from the neighborhood, but she was spooked enough to take adifferent route home after that. But I did see a guy who I’m pretty sure washim, lurking around here at least a couple times.”
"Did shereport it? To anyone at the center or the police?" Morgan pressed, hermind already turning over the significance of this new information.
"Sarahdidn't want to make a fuss," another coworker interjected softly."She thought it was nothing. That maybe she was just beingparanoid..."
Morgan turned tothe young man. "And you said you saw this man? Would you be willing towork with a sketch artist to come up with a composite?"
The young manhesitated for a moment before nodding, his lips pressed tightly together.“Yeah, I could do that,” he answered, his voice firm. “I want to help any way Ican."
Morgan gave himan approving nod, her mind already racing with the implications of this newinformation. This could be the break they had been looking for—the beginning ofan unraveling thread in the dark tapestry that had mysteriously resulted inSarah's brutal death.
***
Inside theprecinct, the air was cool compared to the heat outside. Morgan watched as theeyewitness sat across from the sketch artist, his hands fidgeting nervously onthe metal table. Derik observed from a corner, his gaze fixed on the scenebefore him, his mind likely sifting through every possible lead.
"Take yourtime," the artist encouraged, his pencil poised above a blank sheet."Start with the overall shape of the face."
As the witnesshesitated, Morgan leaned in. "Think about any distinguishing features. Wasthere anything unique about him? A scar, perhaps, or the way he wore hishair?"
"Uh,yeah," the man stammered. "He had this...nose. It was kind ofcrooked, like it'd been broken before."
"Good,good," the artist murmured, his hand moving deftly over the paper.
Morgan watchedthe sketch take form, the lines sharpening into the ghost of a face. She feltthe familiar tightening in her chest, a mixture of anticipation and dread. Thiscould be the break they needed, or it could lead to another dead end.
"Think wegot something solid, Morgan?" Derik asked quietly, his eyes never leavingthe page.
