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Morgan watched him warily as they found their way to the exit. A man squatting in Lorenzo's old building might be too much of a coincidence for her to ignore. Morgan reminded herself to stay sharp.
This man--whoever he was--could be the one who killed Mary Jenkins too.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sun dipped low in the sky, reflecting off the cracked pavement as Morgan followed the man through a rougher part of Dallas. The neighborhood was filled with dilapidated houses and overgrown yards, making her feel like she had stepped into another world. She cast a side-eye at Skunk, who stuck close to her side, his ears perked and alert.
"Hey man, slow down," Morgan called out to the addict, who was walking ahead of her. He glanced back at her, hesitating for a moment before slowing his pace.
"Sorry, just... I want this to be over with, you know?" he replied, scratching nervously at his arm.
Morgan nodded. She weighed the pros and cons of calling for backup. Two suspects, both unpredictable and dangerous in their own ways. She felt like Amos Lorenzo was a much stronger perp than this guy, but she couldn't deny that finding a criminal man squatting in Lorenzo's old dentist clinic was a coincidence. It was an odd place to squat, surrounded by all those reminders of... teeth, everywhere.
But in the light of the day, Morgan could also make out more details of the man. He was very wiry and thin, and she doubted he would even be capable of transporting even a small elderly woman's body. The only reason he'd gotten the upper hand on Skunk was because of the knife, but Morgan knew for a fact that Mary was killed in her bed, then moved to the sandbox at the beach.
Stranger things had happened, though, and she had to keep her wits about her. If she called in backup, the element of surprise would be gone. She made a silent decision to hold off on the call, hoping it wouldn't come back to haunt her.
"Almost there," the man said, turning down a particularly rundown street. As they moved, Morgan noticed how the few people they passed avoided eye contact, clearly wary of strangers.
"Easy, boy," Morgan murmured to Skunk when he growled at the addict. She could sense his unease, which only heightened her own. This wasn't their territory, but they needed to find answers.
Feeling the tension in the air, Morgan studied the man’s face as he walked.
"What's your name?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.
"Skipper," he responded with a grin that revealed his missing teeth. "That's what people call me."
"Alright, Skipper." Morgan nodded. "What were you doing at that old building?"
"Best spot for me," he replied, shrugging his bony shoulders. "The crazy old man who owned the place, the dentist, can't afford it no more. But the state ain't sold it yet, either. It's my hideaway."
Morgan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the mention of Amos Lorenzo once again. "Tell me about this dentist. What do you know about him?"
"Amos? Not much," Skipper admitted, scratching at his scraggly beard. "He was a dentist. I guess not a very good one. Now, he stays at one of the squatter houses nearby. Don't go out much, which makes sense, considering...well, you'll see."
"Considering what?" Morgan pressed, but Skipper simply shook his head, pointing to a dilapidated house down the street.
"Over there," he said cryptically, and Morgan knew she'd have to proceed with caution.
Morgan stared at the dilapidated house before her, the broken windows like dark hollow eyes and graffiti covering the crumbling walls like scars. She couldn't believe that Amos Lorenzo, once a respected dentist, could be living in such a place. Deep down, a nagging suspicion gnawed at her – was this a trap?
"Can't say it's the Ritz, but it's home for some," Skipper mumbled, his voice shaky as he scratched at his arm. "Amos is in there."
"Stay here," Morgan ordered. She glanced down at Skunk, who looked up at her with concern. The Pitbull seemed to sense the tension in the air. "You too, Skunk. I don't want you getting hurt."
As she took her first step toward the house, Skipper suddenly bolted, sprinting down the street as fast as his emaciated legs would carry him. Skunk barked, straining against his leash, but Morgan held him back.
"Easy, boy." Morgan's eyes followed Skipper's retreating form, weighing her options. If the man she really wanted to see was in this building, then she had to talk to him now... at the same time, Skipper was getting away, and Morgan didn't even have a real name. She bit her tongue in frustration before she decided that Skipper wasn't worth the trouble. He was a frail drug addict, not the sick criminal mastermind she felt she was looking for...
She just hoped she was right.
Skunk whined but obeyed, his sharp gaze still on Skipper. Morgan took a deep breath, trying to quell the unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. She knew she had to proceed with caution, but something about the house – or rather, the possibility of what lay within – frightened her more than she cared to admit.
"Okay, Skunk. You stay here. I need to do this alone, and I can't risk you getting hurt again." Her voice wavered just slightly, betraying her inner turmoil. Morgan steeled herself, pushing the fear aside. She'd faced far worse during her time in prison – whatever awaited her inside that house, she could handle it.
Morgan faced the house, its broken windows and graffiti staring back at her like a gaunt, haunted face. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nagging feeling that this could be a trap.
"Skunk, I said stay here," she commanded, her voice firm but gentle. The loyal pitbull looked up at her with concern in his eyes and whined softly. Morgan reached down to give him a reassuring pat on the head. "I'll be careful, buddy. I just don't want you getting hurt."
