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"No," Darlene admitted, shaking her head. "She just said they were going out last night, but she didn't tell us where or who she was going with."
"Where does this church group meet?" Morgan asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite the growing knot in her stomach. She couldn't shake the memory of Stacy, another victim, seen leaving her AA meeting with an unidentified man shortly before her death. Could these cases be connected?
"St. Anne's, down on Elm Street," Mark supplied, his voice heavy with sorrow. But Morgan's resolve only steeled. She had a place to look now.
***
The sun was sinking low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over St. Anne's Church as Morgan pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. She stepped out of her car, taking a moment to survey the surroundings before making her way up the steps to the heavy wooden doors.
"Excuse me," she called out softly as she entered the church, the faint scent of incense filling her nostrils. The priest, an older man with kind eyes and a gentle smile, turned from his duties at the altar to face her.
"Can I help you, my child?" he asked, his voice soothing and compassionate.
"Father, I'm Agent Morgan Cross with the FBI," she said, showing her badge. "I'm here to talk to you about Megan Hart."
A shadow crossed the priest's face, his expression turning somber. "Ah, yes," he sighed. "Such a tragedy. Megan was a bright and talented girl. It's difficult to believe that she's gone."
"Did you notice anything unusual about her lately?" Morgan asked, scanning the rows of pews for any sign of other parishioners. "Anything at all?"
The priest shook his head sadly. "I wish I could say I did, but Megan seemed her usual self. She attended services regularly and participated in our youth group. I saw no indication that anything was amiss."
"What was Megan typically like?"
"She was a kind and gentle soul, always eager to help others," the priest replied, his eyes distant as he reminisced about the young girl. "She had a strong faith and a loving heart. It breaks my heart to think that someone could do this to her."
Morgan nodded, taking in the priest's words carefully. She couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration at the lack of leads. If there was a connection between Megan's death and Stacy's, they needed to find it soon.
"Father, do you happen to know if Megan attended any other groups or meetings outside of church?" Morgan inquired, her voice gentle yet probing.
The priest furrowed his brow in thought, as if trying to recall something from memory. "I don't believe so, no."
"Did you happen to notice any new faces in the congregation recently?" Morgan inquired, recalling the connection to Stacy's AA group. "Maybe someone who took a particular interest in Megan?"
The priest furrowed his brow, considering her question. "We have many people come and go, Agent Cross. It can be difficult to keep track of everyone. If there was someone new, I'm afraid I didn't notice."
Morgan nodded, feeling the frustration build within her. Another dead end, it seemed. But she couldn't afford to give up.
"Thank you for your time, Father," Morgan said, offering a weary smile. "I appreciate your help."
"Of course, Agent Cross," the priest replied solemnly. "We all want to see this monster brought to justice."
As she walked away from the church, Morgan's mind raced with possibilities. She couldn't shake the feeling that the killer was using churches and support groups as hunting grounds for his victims. But without any solid leads or evidence to work with, she felt like she was stumbling around in the dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Morgan stepped out of her car, the gravel crunching under her shoes as she made her way to the front door of her house. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a cool twilight. A slight breeze stirred her hair, but it did little to clear the fog of frustration that clung to her.
As she reached the mailbox, she noticed an envelope nestled inside. Her heart thudded in her chest, adrenaline surging through her veins. She knew it wasn't just another bill or advertisement. This was something else entirely – something that could potentially change everything.
She plucked the envelope from its resting place and examining it closely. It was unmarked, with no return address or postmark. Carefully, she slid her finger beneath the sealed flap, tearing it open with a soft ripping sound.
Inside was a single photograph, old and slightly faded. It depicted a group of stern-faced FBI agents arranged in a neat row, their expressions betraying nothing. Morgan's eyes lingered on each face for a moment before moving on, her mind racing with questions. Who were these people? Why had someone sent her this photo?
A flicker of recognition lit up her eyes as she identified one of the agents – a younger Assistant Director Mueller, his hair still dark and full. And then another face caught her attention, causing her breath to hitch in her throat.
"Is that...?" she whispered, her fingers trembling as they traced the outline of the man who looked so much like her father. But it couldn't be him, could it? He had never mentioned anything about being in the FBI, and she had no reason to doubt his word.
"Damn it," she cursed under her breath, frustration mounting as the questions multiplied. "What the hell is going on?"
