For Rage, page 4
"According to the database," Morgan said, getting Derik's attention, "Grace's husband, Jim, works as a construction worker. Think he'd have the knowledge and access to the Bleeding Woodbine?"
Derik shrugged. "It's possible, but it could also be a coincidence. We don't know if Jim had any interest in botany or if he had access to the plant."
Morgan sighed, frustrated. She wished they had more concrete evidence to go off of. The fact that they were still grasping at straws made her feel uneasy. They needed to be methodical, to gather evidence and build a case against the killer brick by brick. But the sense of urgency was weighing heavily on her, knowing that they could be running out of time to save the next victim if they didn't act fast.
"We could be looking for a chemist with a unique knowledge of plants," Derik pointed out.
"A horticulturist, maybe," Morgan agreed. There could be a lot of different motives for someone to commit such heinous crimes, but the choice of poison seemed like it could tell them everything, if they knew where to look.
She looked at the photo of Grace's autopsy, spread out on the table before her. She slid it closer to her to get a better look at the bruises. She didn't want to draw any conclusions, but if Grace Alba's husband was abusive toward her, then he might fit the bill; a bitter, deranged husband, looking to enact revenge on his wife, playing out fantasies until he took the real deal. Morgan had seen a lot of domestic abuse cases in her day, and those bruises on Grace looked a lot like marks from an angry husband.
"What do you think about the husband?" Morgan asked Derik.
"I don't know, Morgan. It's still too early to point fingers," Derik replied. "We need more evidence before we can make any accusations."
Morgan nodded, but the nagging feeling in her gut wouldn't go away. She knew they had to tread carefully, but they couldn't ignore the possibility that Grace's husband could be the killer.
Morgan grabbed her laptop and went into the FBI database, looking into Jim Alba. Real name: James Timothy Alba, age thirty-eight. No criminal record. Worked for a construction company and made a good salary doing it. He'd married Grace ten years ago. Grace, on the other hand, worked as a school teacher. They had one child, eight years old.
That was another thing the victims all had in common. They had children.
Morgan focused on Jim's file. His bank statements could help build a picture of what he'd been up to the past few days, maybe show if he'd been anywhere near where the killings happened. They had the amusement park killing, then, more recently, the governor's estate.
Morgan looked through Jim's bank statements. Jim had made a large withdrawal from his account a few days before Grace's murder. The amount was in the thousands, and it seemed unusual for someone like Jim, who didn't have a history of making large withdrawals.
She kept scrolling. On the day Mia had been killed at the amusement park, Jim had apparently gone to a motel. Assuming he was alone, and Grace wasn't with him, then he might not have an alibi for that night at all.
Morgan continued on, but one transaction from the following day made her pause.
A charge at a gas station near the amusement park, the day after Mia was found.
She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she realized that Jim Alba might actually be the Maze Killer.
She looked over at Derik, who was going over the autopsy reports. "Derik," she said, her voice shaking slightly, "I think we need to bring Jim Alba in for questioning."
Derik looked up at her, his expression wary. "Why? What do you have?"
Morgan hesitated for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. "I found some charges on his bank statements near the locations of the other victims. And ... I have a feeling about him. I think he might be the killer."
Derik leaned back in his chair, studying her carefully. "You always did have top-notch intuition."
"Let's bring him in for questioning," Morgan said, standing up. "I want to know everything about their relationship, their history."
"You really think it could be him?" Derik asked, standing up. "Why would he kill three separate women before his own wife?"
"Some sort of murder fantasy until he took the real thing, obviously," Morgan said. "Just because a killer starts with non-related victims, doesn't mean they won't eventually target someone close to them. Maybe he was working up to it, or maybe Grace discovered something about him, and he had to silence her. But there must be a reason why he chose these women. They all have red hair, they're all around the same age, and they all have children. It's possible that he has some sort of grudge against women with these characteristics. Such as his wife."
Derik nodded. "Alright, let's bring him in. But we need to be careful. We don't want to spook him before we have enough evidence to make an arrest."
Morgan nodded in agreement. They had to be careful not to let Jim Alba slip through their fingers. She grabbed her coat and headed out the door, with Derik following close behind.
***
Morgan let Derik drive on the way to Grace Alba's house. As he cut through the dreary afternoon, Morgan sat in the passenger seat, listening to the windshield wipers swipe across the windshield. Her mind wandered, going over the details of the case, then lingering back into her time in prison, always hanging over her like a cloud.
Then, there was Derik. Working together again felt strange but right. Morgan had to admit that she still admired Derik Greene. He was always good-looking back in the day, but he'd aged well, with delicate crow's feet on his pale face around his blue eyes. She wasn't sure why she was noticing it now, but he looked good. Part of her had always wondered if the two of them would ever end up getting together, even as a fling, but it had never happened.
Then Morgan went to jail.
She sighed, pushing it aside, reminding herself it wasn't appropriate.
As they pulled up to the house, Morgan took a deep breath and steeled herself for the conversation ahead. It was a modest, ranch style house with white siding and a red, shingled roof. The front lawn was impeccably manicured, with a garden full of vibrant red roses and pale pink tulips. A white picket fence encompassed the back yard, and a pair of rocking chairs sat on the porch. Morgan could see the body she'd seen earlier—Grace—alive here, happy here. Then she saw the bruises on Grace's arms during the autopsy, and she wondered if life wasn’t so perfect after all.
Still, she had to keep an open mind. They didn't know what type of man Jim Alba would be, not yet.
They got out of the car and breezed through the stormy afternoon. Morgan felt the light drizzle on her clothes before she took refuge under the awning of the porch.
Morgan knocked on the door. Moments later, they were greeted at the door by a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a solemn expression. Morgan recognized him from his file: Jim Alba. He didn't have much emotion on his face, barely even looked upset, considering his wife was murdered today.
"I'm Special Agent Morgan Cross with the FBI," Morgan said, showing her badge. "This is Special Agent Derik Greene. Are you Jim Alba?"
He nodded. "I'm assuming this is about my wife."
"We're sorry for your loss," Morgan said.
Jim nodded, then stepped aside to let them in. Morgan and Derik followed him into the living room, where they took a seat on the couch. By all accounts, it looked to be a charming home. The living room was a cheerful and inviting space with two comfortable couches in a sunny yellow hue, a modern coffee table with glossy black finish, and cream-colored walls dotted with bright, abstract art pieces. On the mantle was a photo of Grace, smiling, and Jim, smiling, too, but with more darkness in his eyes. Morgan eyed Jim up as he sat down on one of the couches, gesturing for Morgan and Derik to do the same. Morgan sat down on the stiff couch, breathing in the smell of the vanilla candle on the end table beside her.
"I'm sorry to bother you at home, Mr. Alba," Morgan said. "We just have a few questions about your wife, Grace, if you don't mind."
Jim nodded, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "Of course. Anything to help find who did this to her. I already told the police everything I know, but ..."
"It won't take long," Derik said.
Morgan noticed Jim's eyes flicker toward the door, as if he were thinking about making a run for it. She leaned forward, her eyes locked on his. "We just need to clear up some details, Mr. Alba. Can you tell us about your relationship with your wife?"
Jim cleared his throat. "We had our ups and downs like any marriage. But we were happy. I loved her."
"And did she ever mention if she was having any problems, or if anyone was bothering her?" Morgan asked.
Jim shook his head. "No, she didn't say anything like that. She was pretty private about those sorts of things."
Morgan leaned back, studying Jim's face. There was something off about him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "Can you tell us where you were this morning?"
"I was here," he said. "I drove Milly to school. Grace was supposed to be at work, but obviously, that never happened."
"You don't seem very torn up about that," Derik pointed out. "Your wife has just been murdered, Mr. Alba."
Jim glanced around, but his expression remained dull. "I was raised in a household where showing emotion is considered a weakness. I have my own way of coping with this. I'm more concerned about my daughter."
"Where is your daughter?" Morgan asked.
"I dropped her off with her babysitter," Jim replied. "She doesn't know what's happened yet. I'm still getting everything prepared."
Convenient, Morgan thought. "Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts at the time Grace was murdered?" she asked.
Jim's eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"
"They're just standard questions," Derik intercepted.
"It sounds like you're accusing me of murdering my wife," Jim said plainly, and Morgan was taken aback by his calm, yet blunt nature.
She could work with this, though. She could be blunt too.
"Were you aware of the bruises your wife had at the time of her death?" Morgan asked. "They were far too old to have been done the same day she died."
"I know nothing about that," Jim snapped back. He stood up, his domineering aura seeping into the room like dark water. "And I think I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Morgan stood, too, unwavering. "Is that because you're guilty, Mr. Alba?"
"We're just asking questions," Derik cut in, attempting to cool the tension, but it was too late for that.
Morgan stared down Jim, unafraid. She didn't trust this guy, not for a second.
"You can speak to me when I have a lawyer," Jim said. "Now, get out of my house."
Morgan nodded, keeping her gaze locked with Jim's as she slowly made her way toward the door. Derik followed behind her, tense and ready for anything. Just as they reached the threshold, Jim called out to them.
"You two may want to watch your backs," he said icily. "People who ask too many questions sometimes end up in trouble."
Morgan turned around, her eyes narrowing. "Is that a threat, Mr. Alba?" she asked.
Jim shrugged. "Take it as you will. I'm just an ordinary man who lost his wife."
He slammed the door behind them.
Morgan and Derik left the house, the tension palpable between them. It was bold, brazen, to threaten two FBI agents like that, as vague as it might be. There was something off about him, something that didn't quite add up. As they got back into the car, her thoughts turned to the bruises on Grace's arms. Were they a sign of domestic abuse or something else entirely? And what about Jim's strange behavior? He seemed too calm for someone who just lost his wife. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but there were still too many gaps.
"What was that all about?" Derik asked once they were inside the car.
"I don't know," Morgan replied, still thinking over the encounter. "But I don't trust him. Something about him just doesn't add up."
"I agree," Derik said. "But we need more evidence before we can make any accusations. He'll be bringing in a lawyer, so we better have a case."
"I think he's lying," Morgan said. "Did you notice how calm he was the whole time? And he didn't seem to care about his wife's death at all."
"I noticed," Derik replied. "But that doesn't necessarily mean he's guilty."
"I know," Morgan said. "But something about him just doesn't sit right with me."
"So, what now?"
Morgan stared out at Jim's house. Through the curtains, he peered out at them, glowering, before he pulled them shut. It was odd that his wife was dead, and the first thing he did was send his daughter away. It occurred to Morgan that even if Jim wouldn't talk—they could still get dirt on him and Grace's marriage.
And their child's babysitter could be just who they needed to talk to.
CHAPTER FIVE
The babysitter, a young woman named Lisa, lived in a small apartment complex on the other side of town. As they walked up to her door, Morgan felt a sense of unease. Something about the whole situation didn't sit right with her, and Jim's calm demeanor had left a bad taste in her mouth. She couldn't imagine how fun it had been for Grace to be married to a man who could be that cold. She wondered why Grace stayed, or why she'd fallen for him in the first place. There were so many things about her that Morgan—that no one—would ever understand about Grace Alba.
But the babysitter might be able to provide some window into the married couple’s lives.
Lisa answered the door, looking surprised to see them. She was a perky young woman, no older than twenty, with blonde hair in a high ponytail.
Morgan and Derik flashed their badges, and Lisa's eyebrows went up.
"O-oh, my," Lisa said. "Is this about what happened to—" She cut herself off, glancing behind her into the apartment. Morgan could see Milly, the eight-year-old girl, watching cartoons on the couch. Right; Jim had mentioned that Milly didn't know yet.
"It's about Grace, yes," Morgan said. "Can we come in?"
Lisa hesitated before stepping aside to let them in. Milly looked over, and the innocent look on the girl's face broke Morgan's heart. It reminded her of when she got home from prison and saw her dog, Skunk, for the first time in years. His big, innocent eyes, that still knew her, had no idea of the hell she'd gone through.
"Milly, you stay here, okay?" Lisa said. "I'm going to talk to the nice people in my bedroom."
Milly nodded, happy to keep watching TV.
Lisa led them into a bedroom and closed the door. Morgan noticed that Lisa's hands were shaking.
"Is everything okay?" Derik asked.
Lisa took a deep breath. "I'm just a little nervous. I've never talked to the FBI before, and it's so awful what happened to Grace ... when Jim told me, I was beside myself, but I'm trying to keep it together for Milly's sake. She'll be devastated when she finally finds out."
"We understand," Morgan said, trying to put Lisa at ease. "Can you tell us about Jim and Grace's relationship? Did they have any issues?"
Lisa hesitated. "I don't know if I should be talking about this. It's not really my place."
"We're trying to piece together what happened to Grace," Derik said. "Anything you can tell us could be helpful."
Lisa bit her lip, thinking. "Well, they had their problems like any couple, I guess. Jim could be a little controlling—he wanted things done his way, you know? And Grace was always so sweet, she just went along with it. But sometimes, I could see it got to her. Like when Jim would snap at her or get angry over little things. Jim loved Grace, I'm sure of it. But sometimes ... I don't know, it was like he didn't appreciate her enough. Like he took her for granted."
"That's helpful," Derik said. "Did Grace ever talk to you about any problems in their marriage?"
Lisa shook her head. "No, not really. She was always very private." Lisa bit her lip, looking hesitant. "I don't know if I should be saying this, but they did argue sometimes. And I did notice some bruises on Grace's arms one time when she picked up Milly. I didn't say anything, but I was worried. She just brushed it off and said she had fallen down the stairs."
Morgan's heart sank. It seemed like the bruises were a sign of domestic abuse after all.
"And how was their relationship with Milly?" Derik asked.
"They loved her," Lisa said, her eyes tearing up. "They were amazing parents. But I always got the feeling that something was off between Jim and Grace. Like they were just going through the motions."
Morgan nodded, taking in Lisa's words. It sounded like there was more going on than Jim had let on. She wondered if Grace had confided in anyone else about the abuse, or if she had kept it all to herself. Either way, they needed more evidence if they were going to build a case against Jim.
"Did you ever witness any of the arguments between them?" Morgan asked.
Lisa shook her head. "No, they never fought in front of me. But sometimes I could hear them arguing behind closed doors. It was always about little things, like money or chores, but sometimes it would escalate into yelling."
Morgan and Derik exchanged a glance. There was certainly more happening behind closed doors with Grace and Jim's marriage.
"Thank you for your help, Lisa," Morgan said, handing her a card with their contact information. "If you think of anything else, please don't hesitate to call us."
Lisa nodded, apprehension on her face. Morgan hesitated to leave. It seemed like they'd gotten all of the information they could from Lisa, but at the same time, they still didn't have enough. They needed something more solid to build a true case against Jim. Lisa never saw any of the abuse, so it still wasn't confirmed.
An idea suddenly struck Morgan.
Grace wasn't the only victim, after all. There were three others, all who shared a physical resemblance with Grace. It may have been a shot in the dark, but Morgan took out her phone and opened a picture of the victims, starting with the first: Nelly Swanson.
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