CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Morgan's gaze was unwavering as she observed Henry Caldwell, his once-triumphant posture now slumped in resignation. The sterile lights of the FBI headquarters flickered overhead, casting a harsh glow on the journalist's drawn features. Beside him, a lawyer, all sharp angles and tailored suit, whispered something that didn't seem to penetrate the fog surrounding Caldwell.

"Mr. Caldwell," Morgan began, her voice steady and authoritative, "we regret the circumstances of your apprehension. However, given your focus on judicial corruption, it placed you squarely within our sights." She watched for a reaction, any hint of guilt or defiance, but found none.

Henry met her eyes, his passivity a stark contrast to the fervor with which he usually pursued his stories. "I get it, Agent Cross," he said, his voice devoid of its usual edge. "You're looking for a killer in my backyard. Just not me."

"Exactly," Derik chimed in, leaning forward. His green eyes searched Henry's face, seeking truth in every crease and furrow. "We have reason to believe someone at Dependence News is behind these murders."

Henry's brows lifted ever so slightly. "That's a serious accusation," he noted, but the statement lacked force.

"Serious times," Morgan replied curtly. She could sense the unspoken communication between Henry and his lawyer, a silent exchange of strategy and reassurance.

"Another victim was almost added to the list tonight," Morgan continued, letting the gravity of the situation hang in the air. "Lara Quentin was nearly killed in a hit and run. She survived."

Recognition flickered across Henry's features like a shadow passing. "Lara? Of course, I know her. She's around the courthouse often—"

"Any idea why anyone would target her?" Derik asked, his curiosity piqued as he leaned in closer.

"Can't say," Henry replied, shaking his head slowly. "She's just a secretary, isn't she? Why her?"

"Secretaries hear things," Morgan stated flatly, her mind already running through the possibilities. Lara Quentin had been on the periphery of their investigation, a name amongst many, but now she was a pivotal piece of the puzzle—a potential witness turned victim.

"Seems like this killer is trying to send a message," Derik suggested, glancing at Morgan, who nodded in agreement.

"Indeed," Morgan said, locking eyes with Henry, trying to shake loose any detail from the journalist's methodical mind. "The question is, what's the message, and who's really listening?" Morgan stepped closer to Henry, noting the weariness etched in the creases of his face. "Who else is close to Lara at the office?"

"Carrie, the receptionist,” he said first. "And Gavin," Henry added, a flicker of something undefinable crossing his features.

"Gavin?" Derik chimed in, flipping open his notebook.

Henry nodded. "Gavin Merritt. Young reporter. I took him under my wing when he started—showed him the ropes."

"Tell us about him," Morgan insisted, her gaze unwavering. She watched as Henry's eyes softened at the mention of his protégé.

"Passionate doesn't quite capture it," Henry began, leaning back in his chair. "Gavin... he has this zeal for exposing corruption, for setting things right." He chuckled lightly. "Reminds me of myself a decade ago. But murder?" Henry shook his head firmly. "No, that's not Gavin."

"Everyone has a breaking point, Henry," Morgan countered, her dark eyes searching his.

"Maybe so," Henry conceded, "But Gavin's driven by his ideals, not violence."

Derik scribbled notes before glancing up. "His work—has it ever gotten personal for him?"

"Journalism is always personal if you're doing it right," Henry replied, then paused, considering his words. "But Gavin keeps a tight lid on whatever brews underneath. He's focused, maybe even more now than ever."

"More now than ever?" Derik echoed, catching the implicit meaning.

"His drive," Henry explained. "It's like he's channeling everything into his work."

Morgan leaned against the cold, metal table, her gaze fixed on Henry Caldwell. "Gavin," she began, her voice level despite the gravity of her question. "Did he have any children? Or did he ever lose someone close to him?"

Henry's eyes flickered with hesitation, and for a moment, a heavy silence filled the sterile interrogation room. Then he nodded slowly, the faintest hint of sorrow creasing his brow. "Yes, actually," he answered. "He had a little brother. After Gavin's parents died in an accident, he fought tooth and nail to be the boy's guardian."

"Let me guess," Morgan interjected, her suspicion sharpening. "The system didn't see it his way?"

"Right." Henry's voice was tinged with bitterness. "They placed his brother in foster care instead. Tragic, really."

"Tragic how?" Derik prompted, leaning forward.

"His brother... he didn't make it. Died in the foster home, an accident on the playground or something like that," Henry confided, a pained look crossing his features.

Morgan felt a shock ripple through her. She straightened up, her tattoos stretching with the movement. "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely." Henry's certainty was palpable. "It only happened a few weeks ago. But Gavin—he seemed to cope surprisingly well. Threw himself into his work more than ever."

"More than ever," Morgan echoed quietly, a chill settling over her. She exchanged a glance with Derik, reading the same disquiet reflected in his eyes. The pieces were beginning to coalesce into a grim picture—one where loss and grief could morph into something much darker.

Morgan's mind whirred as she paced the sterile corridor outside the interrogation room, her footsteps echoing with a rhythm that matched the racing of her heart. No, Gavin wasn't coping—he was plotting. Each piece of evidence, every whisper of grief transformed in her head into a map of his descent. She could see him sitting alone, surrounded by the ghosts of his loss, his anger at the justice system boiling over into a silent scream for retribution.

"Derik," Morgan said, turning on her heel to face her partner, who had been trailing her with his own thoughts churning. "The teddy bear remnants at each scene—it's not just a twisted signature. It's symbolic. A lost child, a broken family... it's all personal for Gavin."

"Jesus, you think he's been planning this since his brother died?" Derik's eyes widened as the horror of the possibility settled between them.

"Think about it," Morgan pressed on, her tattoos almost coming alive with the intensity of her conviction. "A justice system that took everything from him, piece by piece. For Gavin, those victims represented the very institution that failed him. He's been punishing them, one by one."

"Damn," Derik muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But why Lara Quentin?"

"Because they were friends. She told him about the incident with John.”

"She became a target," Derik finished, his voice grim.

"Exactly." Morgan's gaze sharpened, and she pushed off the wall with newfound determination. "But he didn't finish the job. Lara survived. That means he'll try again—or worse, he'll move on to the next name on his list."

"Then let’s go,” Derik concurred, already moving towards the exit.

"Right behind you," Morgan confirmed, her dark clothing a shadow as she followed swiftly. The weight of urgency bore down on her shoulders like a physical force, propelling her forward.

They burst through the doors of the FBI headquarters, the cool night air doing nothing to temper the heat of the chase that burned within them. They had to find Gavin Merritt before the darkness in him claimed another life—before the justice he sought twisted into further injustice.

"Let's end this," Morgan vowed, her voice a low promise to the night, to the victims, and to a little boy whose death had set this tragic chain in motion. They stepped into the car, tires screeching as they peeled away from the curb, racing against the clock and a killer's rage.