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"Save it for the interrogation room." Derik's retort was cold and unforgiving. He had seen enough criminals try to squirm their way out of justice. But all that mattered now was catching this potential killer before he could strike again.
Johnny's desperation grew, fueling a last-ditch effort to escape. He lunged towards a chain-link fence at the end of the alley, hoisting himself up with surprising speed.
"Damn it!" Morgan cursed under her breath. She couldn't let him get away now. Not after everything they'd gone through to catch him.
As Johnny made it halfway over the fence, Morgan sprinted after him. She could feel the frustration and anger from her past boiling up inside her, giving her the strength she needed to reach him. Her hand shot out, grasping onto Johnny's ankle just as he was about to clear the top.
"Gotcha," she muttered triumphantly, yanking him back down to earth. Johnny screamed in protest, but Morgan held tight. She could feel the adrenaline rush coursing through her veins, almost overpowering her senses.
"Johnny," she said, her voice steely and resolute, "you're under arrest."
Derik reached them just as Morgan secured Johnny in handcuffs. He looked at her with a mixture of admiration and relief. "Good job, Morgan," he said, panting slightly. "Looks like we've got our man."
"Let's hope so," she replied, her mind racing with the implications of their discovery. As they led Johnny away from the alley, Morgan couldn't shake a nagging feeling that something was still amiss.
***
The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room flickered, creating a sickly glow on the cracked linoleum floor. Johnny's hands shook uncontrollably as he rested them on the cold metal table, his eyes darting around the room like a cornered animal.
"Look," he stammered, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, "you've got it all wrong—I'm not a killer!"
Morgan leaned back in her chair, arms crossed and eyes locked on Johnny. She could feel the weight of ten years behind bars pressing down on her own shoulders, fueling her determination to see justice served. Derik sat beside her, his jaw clenched and his gaze piercing through Johnny like a laser.
"Then explain to us why you were tossing antique broaches behind the morgue and running away when we approached?" Morgan demanded, her voice steely. "You had access to Mildred Bennett's body and those teeth that were mailed to us."
Johnny swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I—I don't know anything about the teeth, I swear!"
"Convenient," Derik grumbled, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table. "You have a history of manipulating elderly patients for money, and now you expect us to believe you're innocent?"
As Johnny struggled to form a coherent response, Morgan studied him carefully. His fear was palpable, but something in his eyes suggested there was more to the story. She found herself questioning whether he was truly capable of murder or simply caught up in a twisted game beyond his control.
"Tell us everything," she urged, her tone shifting from accusatory to almost empathetic. "We want to understand. But if you keep lying to us, things will only get worse for you."
Johnny hesitated, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He looked up at Morgan, desperation etched on his face. "I didn't kill anyone, I swear. I—I don't know what else to say."
Morgan's eyes narrowed as she weighed his words against the evidence stacked against him. The truth was murky, hidden beneath layers of deception and fear. But she knew one thing for certain: they were far from unraveling this twisted mystery, and Johnny was just the beginning.
Morgan leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studied Johnny's trembling form. There was something almost pitiable about him, but she knew better than to let her guard down. "So you admit to charming elderly patients for personal gain, but you claim you're not a killer," she said, her voice cool and measured.
"Y-yes, that's right," Johnny stammered, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. "I used to do it, but I stopped. I swear."
"Tell me more about what you did," Morgan probed, watching his every move with hawk-like precision.
Johnny sighed, his shoulders slumping as if weighed down by the weight of his confessions. "I guess you could say I charmed them," he said hesitantly. "They were lonely, and I was... well, I was there. They'd tell me I reminded them of their husbands or their sons, and sometimes they'd give me things. It wasn't like I forced them or anything."
"Did you ever consider the impact of your actions on these women?" Morgan asked, her eyes never leaving his face. She wanted to understand the mind behind the crimes, no matter how distasteful she found it.
"Of course I did," Johnny replied defensively, a hint of indignation creeping into his voice. "But I didn't kill anyone. I just... took advantage of the situation, you know? But I stopped. I realized it was wrong."
"Yet you still threw away those antique brooches," Morgan pointed out, her tone sharpening. "Why?"
"Because I panicked when I saw the FBI around," Johnny admitted, his gaze flickering towards the floor. "I thought I would get caught for stealing from patients, that's all."
"Is that all you have to say?" Morgan asked, searching his eyes for any hint of deception. She could feel her skepticism waning, but there was still something about the case that niggled at her.
"Please," Johnny whispered, desperation lacing his voice. "You have to believe me. I'm not a killer."
Morgan sighed, her mind racing as she tried to reconcile Johnny's words with the evidence against him. Was he just a petty thief caught up in something far more sinister? Or was he a cunning murderer trying to evade justice? One thing was certain: this case was far from over, and Morgan would stop at nothing to uncover the truth.
