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"Uh, yeah. I was doin' my usual rounds, cleanin' up after last night's concerts," he began, his voice wavering slightly. "I came in here to sweep the stage and... there she was. Just lyin' there on the piano, like some kinda twisted art piece."
Morgan could hear the tremor in his voice and see the haunted look in his eyes. He had been going about his day, just trying to do his job, and then he'd stumbled upon a grisly scene that would be forever etched into his memory.
"Thank you for sharing that," she said softly, her empathy shining through. "I know it must be difficult."
"Yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "It ain't somethin' you expect to see, that's for sure."
Morgan nodded, her mind racing with questions and possibilities. This case was proving to be more complex than she'd anticipated, and she couldn't afford to miss any crucial details.
"Is there anything else you think I should know?" she asked, her gaze never leaving his face. "Anything that might help us figure out what happened to Ms. Sanderson?"
The janitor hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an answer.
The janitor looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "Well, now that you mention it," he began hesitantly, "I did hear something else. I was passing by Ms. Sanderson's rehearsal studio when I heard raised voices – an argument."
"An argument?" Morgan's interest was piqued. "Could you tell who was involved?"
"Pretty sure one of 'em was Roger – Mr. Walter, that is. The chairman." He paused, scratching his head. "The other voice must've been Ms. Sanderson's. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it sounded pretty heated."
Morgan's brow furrowed as suspicion bloomed within her. According to what Roger had told her earlier, he hadn't seen Amy since the day before yesterday. But here was the janitor, claiming to have heard them arguing just last night. Something wasn't adding up.
"Thank you," she said gravely. "That's very helpful."
"Sure thing, Agent Cross," the janitor replied, relief evident in his expression. "Just tryin' to do my part."
As Morgan walked away from the janitor, her mind raced. If Roger was lying about his interaction with the victim, what else might he be hiding? For now, he was her prime suspect, and she needed to dig deeper to uncover the truth.
She replayed the events of the day in her head, searching for any inconsistencies or clues she might have missed. The image of Amy's lifeless body, her hands encased in those pristine white gloves, haunted her thoughts. What twisted mind could have orchestrated such a horrific scene?
Morgan clenched her fists, determination settling over her like a cloak. She needed to find Roger, and he couldn't have gotten far.
Just as Morgan was about to head into the hallway, her phone buzzed. She took it out, only to see the coroner's name. She answered it and said, "This is Cross."
"Special Agent Cross," the coroner said, "we need to talk."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Morgan Cross stood just outside the concert hall, phone pressed to her ear, attention drawn away from the chaos of uniformed officers and crime scene investigators buzzing around the grand piano. The humid, early morning air bit at her cheeks, but she barely noticed it as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. It was the coroner, Steve McCabe, his words sending a shiver down her spine.
"Poison," Steve said, sounding almost as surprised as Morgan felt. "The cause of death for Lizzie Meadows wasn't blunt force trauma or strangulation. It was poison."
"Poison?" Morgan repeated, her brow furrowing. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of this new piece of information. "What kind of poison?"
"Still working on identifying it," Steve replied. "But it seems to have entered her bloodstream through her hands. Some sort of a powder, maybe, although I can't say for sure yet. We're running a chemical analysis on the gloves the victim was wearing on her hands."
"Poison?" Morgan asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What kind of poison are we talking about here, Steve?"
"Something potent," Steve replied on the other end of the line. "A rare and fast-acting compound that targeted the nervous system."
Morgan's mind raced as she tried to make sense of this new information. The killer had gone through the trouble of gluing the victim's hands together, only to poison them. It seemed like a bizarre method, but she knew better than to underestimate the twisted minds of criminals.
"Steve," she pressed, "how did the poison enter her bloodstream? Was it ingested or injected?"
"Neither," he replied, his voice tense with concern. "It appears the poison was some form of powder that was used beneath the gloves and glue. The substance seeped into the victim's skin, eventually making its way into her bloodstream."
Morgan's heart pounded in her chest as the full gravity of the situation sank in. If the killer had used the same method with Amy Sanderson, they needed to act quickly to prevent further harm.
"Steve, we have a new victim here," Morgan said urgently. "I need you to run the same tests on her ASAP. We're sending her down to the morgue now."
