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"Agent Cross, I swear on my life, I didn't kill her," he insisted, his voice cracking under the strain. "I just wanted to help her. That's all."
Morgan studied Roger's face, searching for any hint of deception in his tear-streaked features. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he seemed to shrink under her intense gaze. Derik stepped forward, his jaw clenched as if trying to hold back a torrent of anger.
"Tell us about the security footage at the concert hall," Derik demanded. "If you're innocent, there should be something to back up your story."
Roger shook his head, his voice barely audible. "There isn't any security footage. We... we never got around to installing cameras."
"Convenient," Morgan muttered under her breath. She could feel her patience wearing thin, the frustration gnawing at her from within. Her time in prison and with the FBI had taught her that people would say anything to save themselves, and she wasn't about to let herself be fooled again.
"Is there anyone who can corroborate your alibi?" Derik asked, his eyes narrowing. "Anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts the night Amy was killed?"
"I was home alone," Roger whimpered, his voice trembling. "No one else was there."
Morgan's mind raced with thoughts and suspicions, doubts clouding her every judgment. She couldn't shake the feeling that Roger was hiding something, yet there was no concrete evidence to prove it. In the silence that followed, she could hear the echo of her own heart pounding in her chest, a relentless reminder of the stakes at hand.
Just as Morgan was about to voice her suspicions to Derik, a knock at the door interrupted her train of thought. An officer poked his head in, urgency etched on his face. "Agents Cross and Greene, I need to speak with you two."
"Make it quick," Morgan replied, her eyes never leaving Roger's defeated figure.
"Outside, please," the officer insisted, his voice strained.
Morgan exchanged a glance with Derik before they both stepped out into the hallway, leaving Roger alone in the interrogation room. As soon as the door closed behind them, the officer began to speak rapidly.
"Another body has been found," he informed them, his voice hushed but tense. "Same MO--a woman with her hands glued together, just like the other victims. It looks like our killer is still out there."
Morgan's heart skipped a beat, her stomach twisting into a tight knot. A sickening realization dawned on her: they had been wasting precious time interrogating an innocent man while the real killer remained at large.
"Where?" Morgan asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Suburban residence. The address is being sent to your phone right now," the officer said, handing her a slip of paper.
"Thank you," she replied tersely, forcing herself to maintain composure despite the sudden tremor in her hands. They had to act fast, retrace their steps and find the true culprit before more lives were lost.
As they hurried down the hallway, Morgan couldn't help but replay the interrogation in her mind. How could she have been so blinded by her own assumptions? The killer was still out there, and it was up to them to put an end to this twisted string of murders once and for all.
The first stop had to be the crime scene.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Morgan stood in the doorway of the quaint suburban home, the stench of death hanging heavy in the air. She stared at the lifeless body of a woman in her forties, sprawled on the hardwood floor, her hands grotesquely glued inside oven mittens. Though there was no visible struggle, the victim's eyes were wide with terror, forever frozen in her final moments.
Derik was at the scene, along with Thomas, the cyber security expert Morgan had met earlier. Apparently, he was sticking around and working with them on this case. Several police officers were combing the scene, taking evidence photos and setting up crime scene tape.
"What the hell happened here?" Morgan asked.
"Alexa Fisher, forty-one," Thomas said, his face grim. "A neighbor came by to see her, saw her through the window and called the police... no one home but her."
Morgan's stomach bottomed out. The scene was so similar to the others, and yet different too. Why did the killer take her in her home? Was it because he knew she'd be alone at this time? The other women were killed at places they performed.
"Derik, Thomas, start searching for any evidence," Morgan instructed as they stepped into the room, their footsteps echoing through the eerily quiet house. The trio moved cautiously, their eyes scanning every inch of their surroundings.
"Looks like we've got another one," Derik muttered, his voice somber. He knelt down beside the victim's body, his gloved fingers gently probing for any possible clues.
"Same MO as the others," Thomas chimed in, studying the oven mittens that encased the woman's hands.
"Any traces of the glue used to bind the victim's hands?" Morgan asked, her voice barely masking the anger simmering within her at the thought of the killer still at large.
"Nothing yet," Derik replied, straightening up and looking around the room. "But this might be our chance to finally find a lead."
