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CHAPTER SEVEN
The interrogation room was stark and sterile, its walls painted an oppressive shade of gray. Morgan sat across from Sam, her dark eyes fixed on the portly man as he sweated and fidgeted in his seat. Derik stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold before him.
Morgan took a deep breath, studying Sam carefully. Could this anxious, unassuming man really be the killer? It seemed almost too easy – but the connection to exotic birds and his desperate attempt to flee were impossible to ignore.
"Tell me about your dealings with exotic birds, Sam," Morgan began, her voice icy and composed. "Why were you so desperate to get away from us?"
"I-I can explain," Sam stammered, wringing his hands nervously. "It's not what you think..."
"Then enlighten us," Derik interjected, his voice cold and hard.
Sam took a deep breath, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "I was just trying to make a living," he said finally. "I've been in the bird business for years, but it's not exactly a lucrative field. I was just trying to keep my head above water, you know? I thought... I thought you were there to take them away from me."
"And why did you think we'd do that?" Morgan inquired, not buying Sam's innocent act at all.
Sam’s eyes darted around the room nervously as he shifted uneasily in his seat. He licked his lips before finally speaking. "I...I didn't want any trouble," he said, his voice shaky. "I was just scared. You have to believe me."
Morgan leaned forward, her gaze fixed on Sam's face. "We'll believe you when you tell us the truth," she said firmly. "Now tell me about your connection to exotic birds."
Sam's eyes flickered nervously as he took a deep breath. "I just… I have some birds that… well, they're not exactly legal."
"Go on," Derik prompted, his expression steely.
Sam shifted in his seat, his eyes downcast. "I import them. From South America. They're rare and highly sought after by collectors, but... they're not exactly legal."
Morgan raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "What kind of birds?"
"Macaws," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They're beautiful, you know? And people will pay top dollar to have them in their collection."
Morgan exchanged a look with Derik. His story was almost too ridiculous to be fake.
"Look, I know it was wrong," Sam continued, sweat beading on his brow. "I just sell the birds to collectors who pay a good price for them. That's all, I swear."
Morgan exchanged a glance with Derik, her mind racing. If Sam was telling the truth, then what did this mean for their investigation? And if he wasn't, what other secrets was he hiding?
Morgan leaned in closer, her eyes fixed on Sam's panicked expression as beads of sweat rolled down his temples. He squirmed uncomfortably in the dimly lit interrogation room, avoiding her intense gaze.
"Sam," Morgan said softly but firmly, "I need you to take a good look at this photo." She slid a picture of Melissa across the table and tapped it with her index finger.
Sam hesitated for a moment, then glanced down at the image. His eyes widened briefly before he shook his head. "I don't know who that is," he stammered, looking back up at Morgan.
"Her name was Melissa Grayson," Morgan replied, her voice steady. "And she's dead."
"Wha- I've never seen her before!" Sam protested, his voice cracking with desperation as he met Morgan's unwavering stare. The poor lighting cast shadows across his face, adding to his already disheveled appearance.
Morgan wasn't convinced. She pulled out another photograph, this one showing the red feather found tangled in Melissa's hair. She held it up, making sure Sam got a clear view of the evidence. "Do you recognize this?"
He swallowed hard, examining the photograph closely before shaking his head again. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like I told your partner, we haven't had any red birds in a while."
Morgan studied Sam's face, trying to decipher whether he was lying or genuinely ignorant. She knew his connection to exotic birds couldn't be a coincidence, yet something about his demeanor suggested he might not have been involved in Melissa's death. But if not him, then who? And what did the red feather mean?
The silence in the interrogation room grew heavy as Morgan weighed her options. Though Sam seemed sincere in his claims, she couldn't afford to let a potential lead slip away. She had to press further, dig deeper into Sam's world, and uncover the truth behind Melissa's murder – no matter what it took.
Derik came over to the table and leaned his palms on it, a furrow forming between his brows as he studied Sam's face. "If you didn't kill Melissa, then why did you run when we showed up at your store?"
Sam shifted in his seat, avoiding Derik's gaze. "I... I told you, I thought you were gonna take my birds away. They're worth a lot of money!"
"Is that so?" Morgan interjected, her voice dripping with skepticism. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, scrutinizing Sam's every move.
