Just then, there was a knock at the door. Derik poked his head in. Morgan took the hint and left Johnson, who said, "Think about it, Special Agent!" in a taunting way as she slipped out of the room.

  She met Derik in the hallway. "I hope this is important," she said.

  "It is. We have a problem."

  Morgan's chest sank. She prayed it wasn't another victim or another note.

  But Derik said, "Johnson has an alibi for the time Grace Alba was killed, when we were in the maze. He was in a lecture. Witnesses and cameras confirmed it."

  Morgan's mind raced. If that were the case, then maybe Johnson was telling the truth. Then again: "We already know he can threaten people to do work for him," she said. "Remember Steven Jolie?” Plus, why would Johnson have run if he were innocent? Maybe he had just been concerned that he’d been caught for creeping on the women in general, but Morgan had a hard time buying this guy’s innocence.

  "Of course," Derik muttered.

  "But ..." Morgan trailed off. Grace Alba's death had seemed fresh, not to mention that the killer likely had to move very quickly to evade them and bury her at the same time. She’d profiled the killer as an able-bodied man. Johnson was in his late fifties and overweight. Clumsy. He'd only been able to escape Morgan because he'd gotten in his car first.

  "I don't like it, either," Derik said. "But he might not be our guy."

  "I still think we need to keep an eye on him," Morgan said. She formulated a new plan. This could work to her benefit. "Okay," she said, "Johnson was trying to tell me he can give me a name to look into if I let him go. Obviously, I was not going to do that, but if we think he might not be our guy anyway, we can make it seem like we're cutting him a deal."

  Derik raised an eyebrow. "What kind of deal?"

  Morgan smirked. "We'll tell him we'll consider letting him go if he gives us the name of the person he thinks might have something to do with the Bleeding Woodbine in the victims' systems. We'll make him think he's getting something out of it, but when he's out, we'll keep our eyes on him. Just in case."

  Derik nodded, understanding the plan. "It's risky, but it might work," he said.

  "It's worth a shot. Give me a couple minutes with him."

  Morgan went back into the interrogation room, where Johnson sat with a smug look on his face.

  "Changed your mind, I see," he said.

  Morgan didn't bother with pleasantries. "We're willing to make a deal," she said, pressing her hands on the table and looking down on him. "You give us the name of the person you think might have something to do with the Bleeding Woodbine, and we'll consider letting you go."

  Johnson leaned forward, his eyes lighting up with a greedy look. "You're serious?" he said.

  Morgan nodded. "Deadly serious."

  Johnson's face cracked into a wide smile. "Well then, you have yourself a deal. Have a seat, Special Agent Cross."

  Morgan didn't want to listen to a word he said, but she settled into the chair across from him.

  "One person does come to mind," he said. "A former student of mine. A strange guy. His name was Jerry Jameson. He always had a fascination with poisons, especially Bleeding Woodbine. I caught him experimenting with it in the lab one day, and I reported him to the Dean. I thought that was the end of it, but maybe he's still up to his old tricks."

  Morgan's heart raced. This was it. They finally had a lead. "Do you have any idea where he might be now?" she asked.

  Johnson shrugged. "Last I heard, he dropped out of college and disappeared. But if he's still playing with poisons, I'm sure he'll turn up sooner or later."

  Morgan jotted down Jerry Jameson's name on a notepad, a plan already forming in her mind. "Thank you for your cooperation," she said, standing up. "We'll take it from here."

  Johnson raised an eyebrow. "So, that's it? You're letting me go?"

  "A deal's a deal, Johnson," she said. "But your behavior toward your female students will be reported to the school."

  Johnson's expression turned sour. "You can't prove anything," he spat. "It's all hearsay."

  Morgan glared at him. "Maybe not, but it's enough to make sure you never work in education again. Something tells me the board will listen to the FBI over you."

  Johnson's face went pale, and Morgan couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She had played him at his own game. As she walked out of the interrogation room, Derik was waiting for her.

  "Well?" he asked.

  Morgan handed him the notepad with Jerry Jameson's name. "I'm on this."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Morgan sat in the briefing room alone with her laptop open and a cup of black coffee. Derik was tailing Johnson to see where he'd go next, but Morgan was happy to leave that in his hands. She needed to know everything she could about this Jerry Jameson guy, starting with everything the FBI had on him in their database.

  Taking a sip of her bitter drink, she read through the file. Jerry Jameson was thirty-eight, a former student, like Johnson had said. But where he went after he dropped out of university was more cryptic. He never went back to school, and he had a history of mental illness. Morgan frowned at the screen. This was going to be a tough one to crack. She dug deeper, searching for any potential leads.

  After a few minutes, she found something that caught her attention. Jameson had been arrested for possession of illegal substances two years prior. But it turned out it was just marijuana.

  A couple years after that, he launched his own business. Morgan dug up old social media posts advertising none other than gardening services.

  Gardening services ...

  Her heart raced. She remembered the flier she'd seen on Grace Alba's fridge. The trimmed hedges, the well-maintained garden at Mia Jones's house even after her death.

  Not only was Jerry Jameson previously interested in poison, but he had his own gardening business. It wasn't officially registered—in fact, it seemed he was mostly paid under the table and in cash and didn't report most of his income. He was performing shady business practices.

  Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that she was onto something. She searched for any connections between Jameson and the victims by going into the victims' phone records. Grace Alba had contacted Jameson's business from her land line. Mia, Nelly, and Patty too—all four victims, at one point or another, had called Jameson's business number.

  All four of them had almost certainly employed him at one point or another.

  Morgan's pulse raced faster than her thoughts could keep up with. It all felt so real, like a building toppling over on her head. Jerry Jameson could answer everything—the gardening theory, the Bleeding Woodbine, and now, the connection between all four women. Maybe this was how Grace and Mia knew each other; they shared the same gardener. They could have met each other in the neighborhood and talked about it.

  She was sure of it now. All four women had let Jerry into their homes.

  And he had killed them.

  ***

  Morgan held her breath as Derik drove them, full speed ahead, toward Jerry Jameson's last known location. Apparently, he was living with his sister, Mary, on the outskirts of town.

  "I can't believe we didn't see this sooner," Derik said, sweat on his brow as he drove the car toward Mary's house. It was getting later into the day, and long shadows stretched over the road. It was sunny, but Morgan felt cold.

  "It doesn't matter," Morgan said. "We've got him now. We'll take him in."

  Derik nodded, his jaw clenched. "Let's just hope he's there."

  As they pulled up to the small house, Morgan's heart raced in her chest. This was it. The moment of truth. Derik parked the car, and they both got out. As they approached the house, Morgan saw a figure in the window. She couldn't tell who it was, but her gut told her it was Jerry Jameson. She had no idea what to expect, but she knew that this was their chance to bring an end to the case.

  The house's garden was immaculate, to be expected. There was a work truck in the driveway and children's toys all over the lawn. It was a remote house on a large plot of land, and the kids belonged to Jerry's sister, not him.

  They crept up to the door and knocked. Morgan waited a beat—no answer—then knocked again.

  Finally, it opened.

  But it wasn't Jerry—it was his sister, Mary. She looked up at them with wide eyes. She had brown hair and blue eyes, looking nothing like the victims.

  "Can I help you?" she asked.

  Morgan flashed her badge, along with Derik.

  "Is Jerry home?" she asked.

  Mary frowned. Behind her, children's toys littered the grass. "My brother is out back playing with my kids. What's this all about?"

  "We need to see him, ma'am," Derik said. "Please, if you could show us to him."

  Mary's frown deepened, but she stepped aside and gestured for them to follow her. They walked through the house and out to the back yard, where two young children were playing on a swing set. Jerry stood back, watching them with a proud smile on his face. He looked like a normal man on the surface—tall, slim, with dark hair and a clean face. Able-bodied, that was for sure. He had the look of a worker.

  When Jerry noticed Morgan and Derik, he turned to them, frowning.

  "Jerry Jameson?" Morgan called out, flashing her badge, and Jerry's eyes went wide.

  "Yeah?"

  "We'd like to have a word with you in private, if that's okay," Morgan said. "Would you mind coming with us?"

  "Why?" Jerry leaned away. "Is something wrong?"

  The kids now looked on, curious, and Morgan thought about Milly, Jim Alba's daughter. She didn't want to see another kid put through something traumatic, and she hoped Jerry would just come willingly.

  "If you come with us to the station, we can explain everything," Morgan said.

  "The station?" Jerry frowned. "I haven't done anything illegal, have I?"

  Morgan knew he had. He'd not declared all his income on his taxes, but that wasn't what this was about. Still, Jerry wasn't outright resisting, so she kept calm.

  "We'll explain everything if you come with us," Morgan said.

  Jerry's eyes flicked between the agents and then over to his sister and the children. He seemed to be weighing his options. Finally, he nodded and turned to Mary. "I guess I'll be back later," he said.

  "Of course, Jerry," Mary said, looking worried.

  Jerry followed the agents to the car, his shoulders hunched and his eyes darting around as if he expected police to be waiting for him. He got in the back of Derik's car, and Morgan and Derik hopped in the front. Morgan watched as Derik pressed the lock; it was childproof in the back, so Jerry wouldn't be able to get out if he tried.

  As they drove, Morgan could see Jerry's nervousness increasing. He fidgeted in his seat, and his eyes darted around as if he were looking for a way out. Morgan could tell he was trying to come up with a story to explain everything away.

  But she wasn't going to let him. She would get to the truth, no matter what it took.

  ***

  When they arrived at the FBI HQ, Morgan and Derik led Jerry to an interrogation room. They sat down at the table, and Morgan placed a photo of the Bleeding Woodbine in front of Jerry. "Do you know what this is?" she asked.

  He looked down on it, frowning. "Yeah, of course. I studied horticulture in university, before I dropped out and realized I'm really more of a hands-on worker. What's this all about?"

  Morgan glanced at Derik, then said to Jerry, "We understand you had quite the fascination with the plant when you were in school."

  "Did I?" Jerry frowned. "I don't think so. No more than any others. I know that shit is poisonous so you gotta be able to identify it, make sure the kids don't eat the berries."

  His clueless attitude almost made Morgan believe him. Was there a chance Johnson had made the whole thing up?

  "We heard from one of your former professors that you got in trouble for experimenting with the poison found in the plant," Morgan said.

  "I never did that," Jerry said. "Honestly, it kind of scared me a little."

  Morgan leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "We also know that you had access to all four of the victims' homes."

  Jerry's eyes widened, and he shifted in his seat. "This is about those killings, isn't it? I was waiting for someone to talk to me."

  "You were?" Morgan lifted a brow. "Then why not just come forward?"

  "I was afraid it was gonna get pinned on me," he said. "I mean, four of my clients drop dead—it doesn't look good. Can you blame me for not wanting to throw myself onto the fire?" Jerry's face went pale, and he looked like he was about to be sick. "I-I didn't kill anyone," he stammered. "I swear on my life. I'm just a gardener."

  Morgan sat back in her chair, considering Jerry's words. He seemed genuinely scared and confused, but he had motive and opportunity. Maybe Johnson had just thrown Jerry under the bus to get himself out, but all of this seemed too convenient.

  But Morgan had to be sure. She leaned forward, fixing her gaze on Jerry's face. "Can you explain what you were doing at each of their houses?"

  Jerry swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. "I was doing maintenance work on their gardens. All four of them were my clients. I was just making sure their plants were healthy and well-maintained."

  Morgan narrowed her eyes, studying Jerry's face for any signs of deception.

  Morgan sighed, tapping her pen against the table. "Jerry, we need to know the truth. Was anyone else involved? Did someone hire you to do this?"

  Jerry shook his head vigorously. "No! I swear, I didn't kill anyone, and I don't know who did. I had nothing to do with it!"

  Morgan looked at him skeptically. She had to admit that he seemed truthful, but she'd seen enough criminals to know that appearances could be deceiving. She decided to take a different approach. She leaned forward, softening her voice. "Jerry, look. We know this is tough, and we know you're scared. But we need to know the truth. We're not here to hurt you, we just want to solve this case and find the person responsible. Can you help us do that?"

  Jerry looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed. "I'll do anything to help," he said. "I swear, I didn't hurt those people. I couldn't even hurt a fly. Whoever's doing this—it's not me."

  Morgan glanced at Derik. She felt like this was going nowhere, and they needed to regroup, rethink their strategy. She stood up and said, "Give us a moment, please."

  Jerry said nothing, just sulked in the chair. Morgan and Derik left the room, meeting in the hallway.

  "What are you thinking?" Derik asked. "You don't really believe this guy."

  "I don't know," Morgan said. "All the evidence points to him. He's the one guy we can link to every person. But we don't know if Johnson was making up the Woodbine detail."

  The thought that Johnson really was the real killer, and they'd let him go, made her skin burn. Her head spun. This couldn't be it.

  Just then, AD Mueller appeared up the hall, looking flustered, his face red and angry. Morgan knew that look—something was wrong.

  "Cross," Mueller said, "I need you to come to my office now. Alone."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Morgan followed AD Mueller into his office, curious why Derik wasn't invited in too. She was sure it had to be about the case, but something in Mueller's standoffish demeanor made her feel like it was more than that. It almost reminded her of how she'd been treated when she was sent to prison. Like she'd done something wrong, when to the best of her knowledge, she hadn't.

  Mueller closed the door behind them and went behind his desk. "Have a seat, Cross."

  She did. Mueller looked at his computer screen before he turned it to Morgan.

  Her heart sank to the floor.

  On the screen were hazy, faraway pictures of Morgan with Skunk—and that connection she'd met in the rough end of town, the one who'd given her Eric Domino’s name.

  Morgan could hardly process what she was seeing. Someone had been following her. Those feelings of paranoia were real. Someone was following her and taking pictures of her, and now, those pictures were on AD Mueller's computer.

  "Sir, what is this?" Morgan asked.

  "I think you can see what it is," Mueller said, his voice cold.

  "Who sent you these?"

  "That's beside the point. Who is this man, Cross? Our data tells us his name is Clancy Smith, and he's a damn drug dealer. Why the hell are you meeting with him? Do we need to pass you through a drug test?"

  "No!" Morgan exclaimed, mortified. Of course, she hadn't been buying drugs, but her real reason wasn't so easy to explain, either. She was being backed into a corner, and she had to explain something. "Look," she said, "I was following a tip I got regarding what happened that night. The night I was arrested. I'm still trying to piece together what happened, sir."

  "That doesn't explain who this is," AD Mueller said. "You're risking the FBI's reputation with these shady meetings. Clearly, you're not as secretive as you thought."

  Anger flashed through Morgan. Mueller had no idea what she'd gone through. "I won't apologize for my sources, sir," she said, "not if they get me closer to the truth."

  "You are not above the law, Cross," Mueller said.

  "I know that, sir," Morgan replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "But I also know that sometimes, to catch a criminal, you have to get your hands dirty. I'm not doing anything illegal; I'm just trying to find the truth."

  Mueller looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "I won't have it. If you want to find out what happened that night, do it by the books. But honestly, Cross, if I were you? I'd let it go. You've already spent ten years locked up. Don't let yourself be punished for it now that you're out."

  Morgan felt a knot form in her stomach. She couldn't let it go. Not when there were still unanswered questions about that night. Not when she knew there was more to the story than what she'd been told. She had to find out the truth, no matter what it took.

 

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