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An hour later, Morgan pulled up at the crime scene, still reeling from her close call on the road. The flashing red and blue lights of the police cars cast lights across the face of the building where they had congregated, the stark contrast of light and darkness reflecting the turmoil inside her. It was getting late, and the sun had already long set.
"Alright, Skunk," she said as she turned off the engine, her voice wavering with exhaustion. "You stay here for now, okay? I'll come back and take you home as soon as I can."
Skunk whined in response as Morgan left him in the car. She had come straight here after talking to Irvin on the phone and getting more details, and he made it sound a lot more urgent than he had earlier.
The crime scene was a frenzy of activity, agents and officers moving with a sense of urgency that only came with fresh leads and a killer on the loose. Morgan took a steadying breath, pushing aside her personal struggles as she stepped into the fray, determined to bring justice to those who needed it most.
She spotted Derik, his dark hair slicked back, hands in the pockets of his slacks. Morgan jogged over to him, her heart pounding not just from exertion but also from the awkwardness of seeing him again. She had told him to focus on his son, and yet here he was, still entrenched in the case. His presence was a reminder of betrayal, and Morgan knew she needed time before she could trust him again. Maybe she never would.
"Hey," she muttered, her voice barely audible above the distant hum of traffic.
"Hey," Derik replied, his sharp green eyes avoiding hers, his face paler and gaunt with slight stubble growing in. "You're here... I'm glad. You should see this."
He led her through the crime scene tape and into the dark alley, where the sinister glow of emergency lights illuminated the young woman's lifeless form. She couldn't have been much older than twenty, sprawled on the cold, unforgiving pavement, her dressing robe draped around her like a shroud. The delicate lace gloves that adorned her hands, which were seemingly glued together, seemed incongruous against the brutality of her fate.
"Beauty pageant contestant?" Morgan asked, unable to suppress a shudder as she took in the tragic scene.
"Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Meadows," Derik confirmed, his voice tight with anger. "Seems like she was taken right out of her dressing room. Disappeared last night. Nobody knew where she was, until we got a call that someone had found her in this alleyway... that was only a couple hours ago, but we presume she died last night."
Morgan tried to make sense of the senseless. What kind of monster would abduct a vulnerable young woman, only to discard her so callously in an alley? And what did the gloves signify, some twisted trophy for the killer?
"Any leads on a suspect?" Morgan asked, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.
Derik shook his head, frustration etched across his features. "Nothing solid yet, but we're working on it."
"Good," Morgan replied, her voice steely with determination. "We need to make sure whoever did this pays for it."
With a deep breath, Morgan crouched down next to the lifeless form of Lizzie Meadows. Her eyes traced over the body, searching for any clues that might lead them closer to the killer. The dressing robe pooled around her on the grimy pavement, and Morgan couldn't help but think of how out of place its soft fabric seemed in such a harsh environment.
"Her gloves," Morgan murmured, more to herself than to Derik. She reached out with gloved fingers and gingerly prodded the lace that encased Lizzie's hands. Her eyebrows furrowed as she felt something odd beneath the delicate material. "They're glued to her hands."
"It appears that way," Derik said. "I doubt she did it herself."
Morgan shook her head, frustration coursing through her. They were dealing with a twisted individual, that much was clear. But what was the significance of the glued gloves? Were they meant to be some sort of message?
"Wait until you hear this," Derik said, attempting to catch Morgan's attention. "The strangest part is that there's no sign she struggled or fought back. It's like she just... collapsed here. We can't see a cause of death, at least not yet."
Morgan's brow creased further as she processed this new piece of information. Every instinct she had screamed that something was off about this whole situation. But what could cause a perfectly healthy young woman to drop dead without a struggle? And how did the killer manage to glue the gloves onto her hands without leaving a trace?
As she mulled over these questions, Morgan felt an unsettling sensation creep up her spine - the nagging feeling that she was missing something crucial. She glanced at Derik, who seemed just as lost as she was, before focusing back on Lizzie's body.
"Let's get forensics in here to finish this up," she told Derik.
***
The shadows cast by the towering buildings on either side of the alley seemed to reach out, clawing at the small group of investigators who stood huddled together, their breath misting in the cold air. Morgan leaned against the wall, arms folded across her chest as she watched forensics comb through the scene. The muted hum of activity was punctuated by the occasional snap of a camera shutter and the quiet murmur of voices.
"Derik," she said, turning to her partner. "What makes the FBI think this is the work of a killer?"
"Based on witness accounts, someone saw Lizzie with a man just before she died," Derik replied, his voice low and serious. "We haven't been able to locate him yet, but the circumstances surrounding her death are... strange, to say the least."
Morgan nodded, recalling the glued gloves and the lack of struggle. A shiver ran down her spine, though she wasn't sure if it was from the chill in the air or the unsettling nature of the case. "No visible wounds, no signs of a struggle... It's like the killer just willed her to drop dead."
"Exactly," Derik agreed, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "It's baffling."
In her mind's eye, she pictured Lizzie collapsing to the ground, her life slipping away without so much as a whimper – and it made her sick to her stomach. Who could do such a thing? And why?
"Whatever happened here," Morgan muttered, more to herself than to Derik, "we need to find that man and bring him to justice. No one should be able to kill so effortlessly and walk away without a trace."
