For Rage, page 3
Maybe all of this was a trick, a diversion tactic of some kind. Maybe there was never any hope of finding this young woman alive.
Morgan stood up, her eyes fixed on the lifeless body of the victim. She felt a sense of failure wash over her. They were too late to save this woman. She wondered how many more would be taken before they caught the Maze Killer.
A sense of anger took over her. This was personal now. The killer had called the FBI here directly, taunted them, dangling this woman's life over their noses, and Morgan couldn't let that slide. It was as if the killer wasn't satisfied by the police's incompetence, so he wanted more of a challenge. As if people's lives were simply a game to him.
Morgan took a deep breath, wiping the rain from her face. She had to keep her emotions under control, had to stay focused on the task at hand. She couldn't let the anger consume her, not now, not when they were so close. She had to find a way to stop the Maze Killer, to end this madness once and for all. Morgan knew that the only way to catch this sick and twisted individual was to get inside his mind. She had to think like him, to understand what made him tick. It wasn't going to be easy, but he'd made a mistake by choosing to mess with the FBI.
"Cross!" a voice called, and Morgan turned to see Derik rushing up with a crew of officers. The rain lightened, but the damage had been done to the crime scene. Like the last one, Morgan was sure they'd find nothing.
"Hey." Morgan nodded at Derik.
His face darkened as he walked up to the body. "We couldn't save her," Derik said, his voice low and filled with regret.
Morgan nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the victim's face. She felt a deep sadness wash over her, a feeling of loss that she couldn't quite shake off. This woman had been someone's daughter, someone's friend, someone's sister. And now, she was gone, taken by a killer who seemed to relish in the pain and suffering of others.
"We need to catch this guy," Morgan said firmly, her jaw clenched.
Derik nodded, his eyes burning with determination. "We will," he said. "In the meantime"—he gestured to the officers around him—"let's get this scene extracted. We need all the forensic evidence we can get."
Morgan watched as the officers moved around the crime scene, snapping photos and collecting evidence. She couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness wash over her as she realized how little they had to go on. The Maze Killer was cunning, and he seemed to always be one step ahead of them.
But Morgan refused to give up. She'd spent ten years in prison, and she'd survived it.
She could survive this too.
Just then, a voice boomed over the sound of officers' voices and the rain. "Let me through, let me through!" A man pushed his way through the crowd.
The governor.
This was his estate, after all, and the officers had clearly failed to keep him out of the maze. A small, mousy officer tried to hold him back, but he pushed his way through. The governor was a tall man, towering over the other officers at the scene. His hair, a mix of salt and pepper, was cut short and neatly styled. He had a strong jawline and piercing eyes that surveyed the situation with authority. His posture was authoritative, and his presence commanded attention.
"Sir, please, you shouldn't—" the officer began, but the governor's eyes had already fallen on the dead body half-buried in his garden maze. His face went pale, but only for a moment. He looked right at Morgan and Derik; unlike the other officers on the scene, they were dressed in basic black, and he must have sensed they were the FBI agents in charge.
"Do you have any idea how big of a scandal this could be for me?" the governor asked.
Morgan glowered. This was what he cared about at a time like this? "A woman is dead on your property, governor."
The governor's eyes narrowed at Morgan's tone, but she held his gaze firmly.
“I know you,” he said, and Morgan’s jaw clenched. “You’re that criminal FBI agent.”
Morgan’s blood burned at his words. “I was exonerated, sir,” she said. And if he really watched the news, he’d know that most of the media had taken Morgan’s side. But that didn’t change the reality that there would always be people who looked at her like she was a criminal.
The governor peered at Morgan, his eyes narrowing. "I don't care what the media says. You were locked up for a reason."
Morgan resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "With all due respect, sir, I don't think that's what we should be focusing on right now. We need to catch the Maze Killer, and fast."
The governor shook his head, his eyes fixed on the victim's body. "This is a disaster," he muttered. "A complete and utter disaster. I can't have this kind of negative publicity on my property."
Morgan gritted her teeth, struggling to keep her anger in check. "I think you're missing the point here, sir. A woman is dead. We need to find her killer. That's all that matters right now."
"I understand that, Agent Cross, but I have a reputation to uphold here. Do you understand me?"
Morgan took a deep breath, fighting to keep her voice even. "I understand, sir. But right now, we need your full cooperation if we're going to catch the Maze Killer."
"I understand that, Agent Cross," he said slowly. "But this is my property, and I need to know that this won't become a media circus."
Morgan gritted her teeth, but before she could respond, Derik stepped in.
"Governor, we're doing everything we can to catch the killer," he said firmly. "But right now, our priority is to collect all the evidence we can. We need your cooperation to do that."
The governor hesitated but eventually nodded. "Fine. But I want to be kept in the loop about what's happening here," he said. "I don't want any surprises, and I don’t want cameras here. You got that?”
Morgan exchanged a glance with Derik. As if they didn't have enough on their plate already with the Maze Killer, now they had to deal with a politician who cared more about his reputation than the dead woman in his garden. But all they could do was nod and agree to keep him informed.
Morgan gritted her teeth, staring back at the body as the governor took off. Good riddance; Morgan could think more without him breathing down her neck.
She approached the body, noting how much effort the killer had put in to half-bury her like this. They weren't dealing with a simple killer here, that much was obvious. This man had an agenda, and he wanted attention. The Maze Killer was getting bolder and more twisted with each new victim, and they needed to stop him before he struck again. She wondered what kind of man would go to this much trouble to be so theatrical. He must have been a lonely person, an attention-seeking person, maybe with some sort of personality disorder that remanded attention, although that was purely speculative. She tried to build up an image in her mind of who he could be; a middle-aged man, probably someone who had been rejected by society and was now taking his revenge on it. Or maybe he was a younger man, someone who had been deeply traumatized in his childhood and was now acting out his pain on other people. Morgan couldn't be sure, but she knew that they needed to catch him fast. They had to find a way to get inside the killer's mind, to understand his motives and his methods.
Right now, only one thing was certain: based on the Maze Killer's track record, the next body to drop would be in another maze entirely.
Morgan clenched her teeth, eyes lingering on the body of the victim.
Not if I find you first.
CHAPTER THREE
Back at HQ, Morgan looked down at her desk as Derik slapped another stack of papers down. She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, but Derik's face was completely unfazed.
"Really?" Morgan asked, shoving the paperwork aside. She focused back on her computer, taking in the screen in front of her. She was in the middle of learning everything she could about the Maze Killer and would rather not break her concentration. "Can't you deal with the paperwork?" she asked.
Derik sighed and sat down. "We both need to sign off on some of these," he said. "It'll only take a sec."
Morgan rolled her eyes but grabbed the stack of papers and began signing where needed. As she went through the paperwork, her mind couldn't help but drift back to the case. She wasn't sure how this guy was pulling off these crimes—killing these women and burying them so publicly and not getting caught at all or leaving any shred of DNA. The Maze Killer was too good, too careful.
Frustration rinsed over her. They were running out of time. How many more women would have to die before they caught him? She knew that they needed a breakthrough, something that would give them an edge in the case. They needed to get ahead of the Maze Killer.
"There." Morgan handed the papers back to Derik. He stood up, gripping them, but then hesitated to leave. Morgan looked up at him; she could tell he wanted to say more.
"What have you learned?" he asked.
She let out a sigh. "Well, so far, this guy has killed four women. Really, the case should've gone to us after the second, before the media storm, but we can't change that now."
"Agreed," Derik said. "I wish we'd had our eye on it sooner, but we were busy."
Busy. That was an understatement. Morgan had been swept right back into the case of the Seven Signs killer when she got out of prison, so she hadn't exactly been on the hunt for other serial killers to track down.
But the Maze Killer's timeline had unfolded rapidly. Four women in the past month, and the last two were the closest together. That was an aggressive timeline, and Morgan was sure it was only the beginning.
Most notably, though, was that the killer clearly had a type. All the women were in their mid to late thirties, red-haired, and were killed with blunt force trauma to the back of the head—a fairly clean hit that did the job quick. That aside, the crime scenes became so messy because of the way he buried them, which caused blood to get everywhere. And yet not a speck of the actual killer's DNA—at least not yet—had been found.
"Why do you think he's going after red-haired women in their thirties?" Morgan asked, hoping to pick Derik's brain.
He eased back into the seat, letting out a breath. "Let's see here ... maybe he's pissed off at a wife? A mother? Sister? Ex-lover?"
Morgan considered this for a moment. "It's possible. Maybe it's a twisted fantasy he has. Maybe he's hurting women who look like someone in his life."
Derik nodded. "That's definitely another possibility. We won't know for sure until we catch him. The pool of red-haired women in the city is, well, broad."
Morgan leaned back in her chair, running a hand over her face. "God, I hate this feeling of being so helpless. Every lead the cops have followed have led nowhere."
Derik offered a smile. "Hey, don't get discouraged yet. We're in this now. It's in our hands."
She smiled faintly at him, grateful for his support. In the midst of all the chaos and frustration of the case, she was glad to have someone like Derik by her side. But she had to admit that the fear of getting it wrong was still present in her.
"You remember back in the day?" Derik suddenly said, and Morgan lifted a brow. It still felt weird to talk about the past with Derik, after she'd been out of the picture for ten long years behind bars for a wrongful conviction.
"What about back in the day?" she asked.
"We tackled some of the toughest cases out there," Derik said. "You were always one of our best, and I was honored to work with you."
Morgan turned away, her face warming with embarrassment. Reconnecting with Derik after so long wasn't a walk in the park. She felt awkward sometimes, other times a little resentful. He might not have put her behind bars, but he didn't get her out, either.
Still, he was right. They had history in the FBI. They'd cracked some of the hardest cases in the history of the Bureau, and they had cracked them open together. It had been a time of great success and accomplishment, before everything had gone wrong with her conviction.
"Yeah, those were some good times," she said, a wistful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Derik grinned. "We can have those times again. We just need to catch this guy, put him away, and move on to the next case. It's what we do."
"It's what you did for ten years while I was locked up," Morgan corrected. She hadn't meant to come across so bitter, but she couldn't help it.
Derik's expression fell. "I know," he said softly. "And I'm sorry. I should've done more."
Morgan shook her head, trying to push the feelings of resentment aside. "It's not your fault, Derik. You at least tried to testify for me.”
“But it wasn’t enough. And … I guess, eventually, I gave up.”
Her heart sank, his words only confirming what she knew to be true. It hurt, she had to admit, but what good would getting angry do? Even though Morgan knew that if the same thing had happened to Derik, she never would have stopped fighting for him. “It wasn’t your job,” she said.
Silence hung between them for a few moments before Derik spoke up again. "Listen, Morgan," he said, his tone serious, "I know you're still adjusting to life outside of prison, but I want you to know that I've got your back. Whatever you need, I'm here for you."
Morgan felt a pang of guilt at her earlier bitterness. Derik had always been a good friend, even if she had been too stubborn to see it at times. "Thanks," she said softly. "It means a lot."
"I'm gonna go send this in," Derik said, holding up the paperwork. "Let's reconvene in a bit."
She nodded, and Derik left the room.
Morgan leaned back in her chair, trying to clear her mind. She needed to think about this case from a different angle, to see if there was anything they'd missed. She thought back to the timeline the killer had given them. If the victim had been alive when they'd started looking—which, according to the crime scene, it did seem like the kill was fairly fresh—then that would mean that if the blunt force trauma was what killed her, then the killer would have had to be present just moments before Morgan found the woman dead. Was that even possible? There was no way he could have escaped with all those officers and the helicopter in the sky. Someone would have seen him.
Just then, her phone rang on her desk. Morgan quickly swiped it up.
"This is Morgan Cross."
"Special Agent Cross?" a tentative voice said. "It's Amy from forensics. I ... I think you need to see something."
Morgan sat up, her heart racing. Maybe this was it—the one thing they needed to take the killer down. Their golden ticket.
"I'll be right there," Morgan said, then hung up and sped out of the room.
***
Morgan stood behind Amy, the forensic analyst, in front of a computer screen as Amy showed the toxicology results from the two previous victims. There had been a short break between the first two, but the last two had been killed within a couple days of each other.
"Check this out," Amy said. "The last victim, Mia Jones—the girl found in the amusement park maze—had trace amounts of a specific kind of poison in her bloodstream."
"What?" Morgan's heart sank. This hadn't been in the file.
"It's a recent find," Amy clarified. "It almost went undetected. We think she was force fed a high concentration of leaves from a Bleeding Woodbine, which is a type of plant with berries and leaves that are very toxic to humans. Normally, toxicity can take a while to be fatal, but if given a high enough amount, it could kill within an hour. We're checking to see if we can find it in our most current victim too."
The current victim. Right. The woman Morgan had found at the governor's estate. Grace Alba, thirty-four. She had a name. A life. A family. A husband. A—
"But that's not all I wanted to show you," Amy said. "Look."
Morgan focused on the screen. On it were pictures of Grace's autopsy. There were bruises along her arms.
"We didn’t see this type of bruising on any of the other victims," Amy clarified. "We're wondering if Grace already had the bruises when she died."
Morgan frowned. If it wasn't the killer who'd bruised Grace, then who?
"She had a husband," Morgan said.
Amy nodded, tight-lipped. "We can't say who did it for sure, but the bruises seem to be older."
Morgan's mind raced, connecting the dots as she thought about the latest victim's husband. Could he have been the Maze Killer all along? Was it possible that he was so cunning that he'd been able to disappear without a trace every time one of the murders took place?
But then again, why would he kill his own wife, after all the other girls? Maybe he was chasing the fantasy with the first three, then finished it off with the real thing.
"Can you run another check on this poison, see if it's in Grace?" Morgan asked, still staring at the photo of Grace's bruised arms.
Amy nodded. "We're already on it."
Morgan took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. She needed to keep her cool, to think logically and rationally. "Okay. Thank you, Amy. Keep me posted on any updates."
As she walked out of the lab, Morgan's mind continued to spin. The fact that the latest victim's husband might have been the one to bruise her arms was a strange coincidence. Was it a coincidence at all?
She needed to talk to him. She needed to find out more about their relationship, their history. Maybe there was something there that could give them a clue about the killer's motive.
And she would. But one other thing concerned her, and that was the fact that if what Amy was saying about the poison was true, then that meant the girls really were already dead before they even had a chance to find them.
When the killer sent the FBI that note, it was already too late.
If that were true, then that meant the next victim—wherever she was, whoever she was—might already be beyond saving.
CHAPTER FOUR
The toxicology reports confirmed it: Grace Alba had been poisoned, the same way the other women had.
Sitting in the conference room at HQ with Derik, Morgan worked through every file the police had on the previous victims—and everything they were learning about their latest. All of these victims had things in common. For one, their red hair. Two, their age, mid to late thirties. The manner in which their bodies were found suggested the killer was an able-bodied male. The botany aspect also added another layer to the killer's potential profile. The Bleeding Woodbine poison found, so far, in each victim.
_preview.jpg)
