CHAPTER EIGHT

Morgan's eyes felt like they were filled with sand, each blink a gritty reminder of the long day spent chasing ghosts. The sterile light of the briefing room flickered above, casting shadows that seemed to mock their lack of progress. Beside her, Derik slumped over the table, poring over the list of names they had compiled – every soul who'd purchased that damned marine rope.

"Nothing," he groaned, pushing away a stack of papers with a sense of finality that resonated through the quiet room. "They all have alibis tighter than Fort Knox."

"Of course, they do," Morgan muttered, scanning the list once more, as if the killer's name might magically reveal itself through sheer willpower. "Because why would it be easy?"

She knew the frustration gnawing at her was a hungry beast, but she couldn't afford to feed it – not when lives were at stake. She glanced sideways at Derik, his face drawn tight with fatigue and something else... guilt, maybe? He caught her gaze, and for a moment, there was a silent understanding between them. They were both haunted by their own demons, yet here they were, united in pursuit of someone else's monster.

Morgan flipped a page on the clipboard, her eyes scanning the endless rows of names and transactions. She could feel the fatigue gnawing at her bones, yet her mind churned relentlessly, refusing to succumb to rest. "You know," she started, her voice slicing through the silence of the briefing room, "this killer might've had the rope all along. Or maybe they didn't buy it—could've stolen it."

Derik leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. His green eyes met hers, weary but sharp. "I've been thinking the same," he admitted. "It doesn't exactly expand our suspect pool, though."

"Nothing ever does," Morgan muttered under her breath. She tossed the clipboard onto the table, the sound echoing sharply. Then, as if remembering something, her expression softened slightly. "Hey, you did good today with the press. Kept your cool, got the message out. Thanks for handling that mess."

"Anything to keep us from being hounded every step of the way." Derik managed a tired smile. "Just hope it's enough to stop another headline with 'murder' in it."

"From your lips to God's ears," she said, her voice tinged with a bitter edge.

A frustrating dead end loomed over them, but Morgan's resolve only hardened. She stood, pacing like a panther in a cage, her dark clothing blending into the shadows.

"Look at this profile," Morgan began, her tone shifting gears. "Our perp is a man obsessed with retribution. The teddy bear fibers... I can't shake the feeling they mean something personal. A child, lost and mourned."

"His own twisted sense of justice," Derik murmured, following her train of thought. "He's targeting those who he thinks failed that child. Defense lawyers who walked a guilty man free."

"Exactly." Morgan stopped pacing and fixed her gaze on Derik. "Someone whose grief turned into madness. And now he's dealing out punishments where he believes the law fell short."

"Vigilante justice," Derik nodded. "But there's no pattern to the when or how. Makes anticipating his next move a shot in the dark."

“We should try to check the court records, see if there’s anyone in there who has a story like that. Child died, culprit got off free or too easy… something like that.”

Morgan went onto her laptop, the screen's glow casting an eerie pallor on her face as she scrolled through the endless digital pages of court documents. The clock was inching towards midnight, and the usual cacophony of the FBI headquarters had dwindled to a distant hum, leaving only the sound of their own frustrated breaths.

"Look for anything involving child endangerment, custody battles... anything that could have snapped," Derik said, his voice tinged with fatigue as his fingers flew over the keyboard. "We're looking for someone pushed over the edge."

A sudden creak of the door broke the silence, causing them to look up sharply. Agent Matthews stood there, his normally composed features twisted into a scowl of frustration. "There’s been another one," he announced grimly.

"Tell me you're joking," Derik said, half-rising from his seat.

"I wish I was," Matthews replied, stepping fully into the room. "Body's been found—looks like our guy might be connected."

"Damn it," Morgan cursed under her breath as she stood, the weariness momentarily forgotten. "Where?"

"Suburb just outside the city," Matthews informed them. "Looks like a car accident at first glance, but there's more to it."

"Always is," Morgan said tersely, grabbing her jacket. She met Derik's gaze, and without a word, they both knew—their profile, the court documents, all of it would have to wait. There was a new crime scene calling, and it could not be ignored.

***

Morgan and Derik approached the chaotic scene, red and blue lights slicing through the darkness of the late night suburb. The air buzzed with the low murmur of police radios and the distant wail of an ambulance siren fading into silence. A crushed car, pinned beneath a fallen pole, lay at the heart of the turmoil like a grim centerpiece.

"Doesn't seem our killer’s style," Morgan muttered, her eyes scanning the wreckage. But they’d been called in for a reason—she needed more details from the officers on site."

They ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, badges flashing briefly in the harsh light from the squad cars. Morgan moved closer to the vehicle, the sharp scent of spilled gasoline mingling with the metallic tang of blood in the air. She peered through the shattered windshield at the victim, a woman, her body slumped over the steering wheel, dark hair cascading down her shoulders.

"Looks like she never saw it coming," Derik observed quietly, his gaze locked on the figure in the front seat.

"Or couldn't stop it," Morgan added, noting the angle of the car, as if it had been driven straight into disaster. There was something eerily deliberate about it all—the way the pole cradled the mangled metal, the silent stillness of the woman who now seemed almost part of the wreckage.

Morgan's boots crunched on broken glass as she approached the twisted wreck, her breath a fog in the cool night air. The stench of burnt rubber and spilled fuel hung heavy, mingling with the faint coppery scent of blood. She spotted a tall, familiar figure among the sea of uniforms.

"Officer Smith," she called out, her voice cutting through the cacophony of crackling walkie-talkies and murmuring first responders.

The uniformed officer turned, his young face drawn tight with the gravity of the situation. "Agent Cross," he greeted, stepping away from the huddle of his colleagues. His eyes flickered to the crushed vehicle, then back to Morgan. "This is Mariana Torres," he said, gesturing towards the wreckage. "New judge at the courthouse."

Morgan's mind whirred, piecing together the implications. A judge meant widening circles, expanding threats. "Your team was first on scene?" she asked tersely, her gaze never leaving the car.

Smith nodded. "We got here fast, but..." He trailed off, a shadow of doubt clouding his features. “She was dead on site. Thought it was just an accident at first, but we found something.”

"Found something?" Morgan pressed, reading the hesitation like a telltale sign.

"Inside the car. Passenger seat." Smith gestured for her to follow.

They moved closer, the flashing lights from the emergency vehicles casting an eerie dance over the scene. Morgan leaned in, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her face as she peered through the shattered window. There, amidst the chaos of debris, lay the small, plush foot of a teddy bear—ripped off, its stuffing exposed like entrails.

For a moment, silence roared in Morgan's ears, the noise of the scene fading into the background. The innocent remnant was an accusation, a signature left with cruel intention. Her jaw clenched, the revelation etching itself onto the hard lines of her face.

"Anything else?" she asked, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

"Still processing," Smith replied, watching her closely. "But the brakes... there's talk they might've been tampered with."

Morgan's heart raced as the gravity of the situation took hold. The teddy bear’s larger, more conspicuous limb was a brazen departure from the subtlety of previous tokens—a taunt left in plain sight. She felt the weight of every decision pressing down on her shoulders as she turned to Officer Smith.

"Your thoughts?" Her voice cut through the din of activity, crisp and demanding.

"Looks like sabotage to me," Smith said grimly, gesturing towards the twisted wreckage. “She might not have even noticed the item in her passenger seat. Maybe she was just going for a drive…”

The words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a confirmation of their worst fears. Morgan nodded curtly, filing away the information with clinical precision. This was no accident; it was a message.

"Thanks, keep me posted."

Morgan's eyes flicked back to the car one last time before she pivoted on her heel, seeking out Derik in the sea of uniforms.

"Derik," she beckoned, her tone urgent but composed as they stepped aside, away from prying ears.

"Torres wasn't just another attorney—she was a judge," she stated, watching his reaction closely. "It means this killer isn't just targeting defense lawyers. He’s escalating, hitting the whole justice system."

Derik's eyes darkened, the implications of her words sinking in. "It broadens the scope," he murmured, "puts anyone involved on the potential hit list."

"Exactly," Morgan affirmed, her brain already sifting through the ramifications. They weren't just hunting a murderer; they were up against someone challenging the very pillars of their society.

"Let's get back and dig into those court documents. We need to find a connection before this spirals out of control," she instructed, her resolve steeling.

Derik nodded, his own determination mirroring hers. They had entered uncharted territory, where the line between hunter and hunted blurred. As they made their way back to their vehicle, the night seemed to close in around them, filled with shadows and untold threats.

Morgan could feel the unsaid words hanging between them—the fear that they might already be too late to stop the next attack. But she pushed it aside; hesitation was a luxury they couldn't afford.