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Derik's knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. "I don't know, Morgan," he said, his voice low and tense. "But they messed with me too. I got my ex-wife to get my son and herself out of the country, so they can't blackmail me anymore, and they know it. But they've been suspiciously quiet. I don't know what they're planning if they're going to target you... or I... again."
For a moment, Morgan felt like she and Derik were actually on the same team again. It was the first time in a long time that she didn't feel so cold toward him. As much as she didn't want to admit it, there was something comforting in knowing someone else was looking out for her.
Maybe there was hope that she and Derik could get on the same page again. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope.
"Thank you," she said quietly, feeling her walls around Derik begin to crumble once more.
Derik gave her a small smile, sensing the shift in her demeanor. "For what it's worth, I just want you to be safe, Morgan. That's all."
"I appreciate that," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned her gaze back to the window, watching the world outside pass by in a blur of color and motion. In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder if safety was something she would ever truly be able to grasp - or if it was just another illusion, like the fleeting shadows that danced across the dashboard, always just out of reach.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant hum of medical equipment filled the air as Morgan and Derik entered the hospital. The glass doors slid open to reveal a bustling waiting area with people in various states of distress. Morgan felt a pang of empathy for those who were suffering and reminded herself that every day she didn't solve this case, another innocent life was at risk.
"Let's get this over with," Morgan muttered, her jaw set with determination.
She approached the front desk, where a young receptionist was typing away on her computer.
"Excuse me," she said, flashing her FBI badge. "I'm Agent Cross, and this is Agent Greene. We need to speak with the morgue staff immediately."
"Of course, agents," the receptionist replied, her eyes widening slightly. "Right this way, please." She led them through a series of winding corridors, the fluorescent lighting casting harsh shadows on the stark white walls. Each step echoed through the empty halls, creating an eerie atmosphere that seemed fitting for their destination.
As they reached the morgue, Morgan's senses were assaulted by the cold, metallic scent that permeated the room. Stainless steel tables lined the walls, some occupied by shrouded bodies awaiting examination. A few technicians moved about, performing their duties with practiced efficiency.
"Excuse me," Morgan called out to the nearest technician. "We need to speak with your manager."
A middle-aged man with graying hair and a lab coat stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm Frank, the morgue manager. What can I help you with, agents?"
"Hi, Frank. We have some questions about the process you use to handle the bodies that come through here," Derik explained, his voice firm but respectful.
"Sure thing," Frank replied, motioning for them to follow him. He began to walk them through the process, explaining each step in detail as they passed various stations. Morgan made a mental note of everything he said, searching for any inconsistencies or red flags.
"Once the bodies arrive, they're tagged and cataloged before being placed in cold storage," Frank explained, gesturing to a row of refrigerated compartments. "From there, they're either prepared for burial or cremation, depending on the family's wishes and the circumstances of their death."
Morgan nodded, her eyes scanning the room for anything out of place. As much as she wanted to believe that this was just another routine investigation, her gut told her otherwise. There was a piece of the puzzle still missing, and she was determined to find it – no matter what it took.
Morgan took a deep breath, letting the frigid air of the morgue fill her lungs. It was now or never. "Frank," she began, her voice steady and deliberate, "we're working on a case involving elderly victims who've been found with their teeth extracted and replaced with other people's teeth glued into their mouths." She paused for a moment, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. "We recently received two human teeth at the FBI, which were identified as belonging to Mildred Bennett. She died here, in this hospital, and her body went through this morgue."
Frank's eyes widened, his face paling as he processed the information. He looked around the room as if searching for an answer that might be hiding among the stainless-steel tables and sterile equipment. "That's... that's impossible," he stammered. "We have strict policies in place to prevent any tampering with the bodies, especially those destined for the incinerator. If those teeth came from Mildred, they must have been removed before she arrived here."
Morgan studied Frank carefully, trying to gauge his sincerity. His shock appeared genuine, but she couldn't help but feel a nagging doubt in the pit of her stomach. She glanced over at Derik, who met her gaze with a silent nod. They both knew that something didn't add up.
"Can you tell us more about these policies?" Derik asked, his voice betraying none of the suspicion they shared. "How do you ensure that your staff doesn't tamper with the bodies?"
"Of course," Frank replied, visibly flustered by the line of questioning. He wiped his sweaty palms on his lab coat, then launched into a detailed description of the various security measures and protocols in place to protect the integrity of the deceased.
As he spoke, Morgan couldn't help but think back to the woman whose teeth had brought them here. Mildred Bennett, 79 years old, died from natural causes. Her life was over, but her body had somehow become a pawn in someone else's twisted game. A shiver ran down Morgan's spine, and she clenched her fists at her sides. Whoever was responsible for this sickening crime would not get away with it – not if she had anything to say about it.
Morgan's gaze narrowed, her eyes flicking back and forth between Frank and the rows of cold storage units. "So, you're saying that you have complete control over what your staff does with these bodies?" she asked, her voice taut with skepticism.
Frank shifted his weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable under Morgan's unyielding stare. "Well, nothing is ever foolproof, but it's extremely rare for any staff member to be alone with a body. We run a tight ship here."
"Rare, but not impossible," Derik interjected, his deep voice echoing off the sterile walls. He stepped closer to Frank, his tall frame casting an imposing shadow over the morgue manager. "Tell us more about your security measures. How do you ensure no one tampers with the bodies?"
As Frank launched into a detailed explanation of the morgue's procedures, Morgan's instincts began to tingle. Something was off. She knew from experience that people were capable of finding ways around even the strictest rules. The question was, who would want to? And why?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a young man in scrubs. He looked at them with confusion as if unsure whether he should enter or leave. His eyes darted from Morgan to Derik before he hastily retreated from the room.
