For Wrath, page 4
Morgan scanned the room, her eyes flicking from face to face in search of Trevor Swanson. As she moved further into the gym, she couldn't help but notice how out of place she felt in her tailored suit and polished heels, surrounded by people clad in tight leggings and muscle-hugging shirts.
"Can I help you?" A tall, muscular man approached her, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in her attire. He had the air of authority, and Morgan guessed he was an employee.
"Actually, yes," Morgan replied, flashing her FBI badge. "I'm looking for Trevor Swanson."
"Uh, sure," the man said, clearly surprised but recovering quickly. "He's over there, talking to a client." He pointed towards a corner of the gym where a lean man in his early thirties stood, animatedly explaining something to a woman in workout gear.
"Thank you," she said, nodding at the man before making her way over to Trevor.
As Morgan approached, she took in the details of the man who Amelia believed killed her mother. He was attractive, with short-cropped dark hair and an easy smile that seemed to charm his client. She watched as he gestured enthusiastically, his hands flying through the air to emphasize whatever point he was trying to make. Could this charismatic man really be responsible for Sheryl's brutal murder? Morgan could see it. The vanity she’d seen on his social media translated directly to real life.
"Excuse me," Morgan interrupted, her voice steely and professional. "Trevor Swanson?"
The man turned to face her, his eyes wide with surprise. "Yes, that's me," he replied cautiously. "Can I help you?"
Morgan's gut clenched, and her resolve hardened. This was the man Amelia believed had killed her mother, and now it was time to find out if she was right.
"Special Agent Morgan Cross," she replied curtly, flashing her FBI badge. "I need to talk to you about Sheryl Stewart."
"Sheryl, who?" Trevor feigned ignorance, attempting to appear nonchalant as he stepped away from his client. "Uh, hold on a minute, Jenny, I just have to grab something from the back."
His client, Jenny, blinked cluelessly as Trevor took off. Morgan lifted a brow. Was this guy stupid?
He then made a beeline for a door labeled "Staff Only" at the back of the gym.
Morgan wasn't fooled for a second. She quickened her pace, easily keeping up with him as he ducked into the back room.
"Hold on, Trevor," Morgan said.
"Look, I don't know any Sheryl Stewart," Trevor insisted, looking increasingly nervous as he backed further into the brightly lit room. Morgan was losing patience fast.
"Wrong day to test me," Morgan growled, advancing towards him. Her jaw tensed as she fought the urge to grab him by the collar and shake the truth out of him. "You were married to Sheryl Stewart. You remember now?"
He hesitated for a brief moment before shaking his head, trying to maintain his act of denial. "Never heard of her."
Morgan's inner rage simmered, threatening to boil over. Amelia's tear-streaked face flashed in her mind's eye, spurring her on. How dare he continue to lie?
"Your ex-wife, Trevor," she spat, her voice barely restrained. "The one who ended up mutilated and dead on her living room couch."
Trevor's face paled, but he still wouldn't admit it. Morgan could see the wheels turning in his head as he searched for an escape route. She had him cornered now, both physically and mentally. And she wasn't about to let him slip away.
"W-what do you mean, dead?" Trevor asked.
Just as Morgan was about to lose her patience entirely, a young woman with a lithe figure and dark curls entered the room. Trevor's eyes darted towards her, relief flooding his features for a moment. "Natalia," he said urgently, trying to regain control of the situation. "This is a private conversation. You need to leave."
"Who is she?" Natalia demanded, eyeing Morgan suspiciously.
"Shut up, both of you," Morgan snapped, her voice cold as ice. She glared at them--now wasn't the time. "I'm not playing games here. One more word from either of you, and I'll arrest you both for conspiracy to murder."
The room went still, the air heavy with tension. Trevor's eyes widened in genuine shock while Natalia stared at Morgan in confusion. "Murder?" Trevor choked out, his voice barely audible.
"Sheryl Stewart is dead," Morgan confirmed, watching their reactions carefully. "Someone mutilated her face and left her sitting on her living room couch like some twisted work of art, and I think you know something about it, Trevor."
Trevor and Natalia exchanged horrified glances before gasping simultaneously. Their reactions seemed genuine, but Morgan knew better than to let her guard down. People lied all the time, and she had learned the hard way that even the most innocent faces could hide the darkest of secrets.
"Look, I didn't have anything to do with it," Trevor stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. "We had our problems, sure, but I never wanted her dead."
"Then you'd better start talking," she warned, her eyes narrowing as she locked her gaze onto his. "Because right now, you're my prime suspect, and I won't hesitate to put you behind bars if I find any reason to believe you're guilty."
Trevor swallowed hard, the fear evident in his eyes. But as much as he tried to hide it, Morgan could see a flicker of defiance in his expression. He wasn't going to give up without a fight.
"Fine," he muttered, finally breaking eye contact. "But I'm telling you, you've got the wrong guy."
Morgan nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had no way of knowing whether Trevor was telling the truth or not, but one thing was for certain: she was going to find out who had killed Sheryl Stewart, and she wouldn't rest until justice was served.
"Start talking," she demanded, her voice unwavering. "And don't even think about lying to me."
Trevor held up his hands defensively. "Alright, I was married to Sheryl," he finally admitted, his voice cracking under the intensity of Morgan's unwavering stare. "But I didn't kill her, I swear! I didn't even know she was dead!"
"Then why were you lying before?" Morgan asked. She didn't buy his whole clueless act.
"Because... I never loved her," Trevor confessed, looking away in shame. "She was too old for me, and after all those plastic surgeries, I couldn't even stand to look at her anymore. All I wanted was some cash to start this gym, which I got out of the divorce."
Morgan stared at him, disgusted. Trevor was pathetic, willing to lie and manipulate others for his own gain, with no regard for the consequences. But was he capable of murder?
"Okay, so where were you last night?" she demanded, not quite ready to rule him out as a suspect.
"Here, at the gym," Trevor replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "I was here all night, I swear."
Natalia, who had been standing silently in the corner, suddenly spoke up. "Wait, what?" she said, her voice thick with suspicion. "I thought you went to your mother's last night."
Trevor paled, his eyes darting between Morgan and Natalia as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He had been caught in a lie, and Morgan could see the panic setting in.
"Look, I didn't go to my mom's, alright?" Trevor stammered, trying to regain control of the situation. "I stayed here, at the gym. I can prove it."
Morgan crossed her arms, her instincts telling her that something wasn't adding up. Part of her wanted to believe that Trevor wasn't the killer, but another part--the part jaded by years behind bars--warned her not to trust him.
"Alright," she said finally, her voice a mix of skepticism and determination. "Show me your proof."
"Fine," Trevor muttered, his face a mix of dejection and shame. "I was here with Jessica, one of my employees. We have security footage to prove it." He glanced at Natalia, who glared back at him, her eyes filled with hurt and betrayal.
"Of course you were," she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. With a huff, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
"Show me the footage," Morgan demanded, her voice firm. She knew that Trevor's infidelity had nothing to do with Sheryl's murder, but if he was lying about this, what else was he hiding?
"Alright, follow me," Trevor said, leading Morgan through the gym and into a small, cluttered office. He clicked through several screens on the computer before finally pulling up the security feed from the previous night.
"Here," he said, gesturing to the screen, where he and another woman--Jessica--could be seen entering the gym together. "This is us arriving around 9 PM." Amelia had last seen her mother after nine, she had mentioned, which meant if Trevor was here at that point and never left, then he couldn't have killed Sheryl.
Morgan watched the footage closely, noting how Trevor and Jessica seemed comfortable with each other – perhaps too comfortable. They laughed and joked as they walked around the gym, occasionally stopping to demonstrate exercises to each other.
As the night went on, their interactions grew more intimate. Trevor quickly skipped past a few moments where he and Jessica were clearly more than just friendly coworkers. Morgan raised an eyebrow but didn't comment; she was focused on finding evidence that could clear or condemn Trevor, not judging his personal life.
"Look," Trevor said, pointing to the screen. "We fell asleep on the couches in the break room around 3 AM. We didn't leave until the morning when the gym opened again."
Morgan studied the footage, weighing the implications of what she saw. Her gut told her that Trevor was telling the truth, at least about his alibi.
Morgan's gaze lingered on the screen for another moment, a sour taste in her mouth as she tried to reconcile the man before her with the brutal crime scene she had witnessed earlier. She sighed, accepting that despite being a real piece of work, Trevor was not responsible for Sheryl's death.
The real killer was still out there, and time was of the essence.
"Alright," Morgan finally said, tearing her eyes away from the footage. "It seems you have an alibi, but that doesn't mean you're off the hook completely. I'll be in touch, and I'd advise you not to leave town while the investigation is still ongoing."
Trevor swallowed, his face pale and sweaty. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Agent Cross." He looked like a man who knew his life was unraveling, and Morgan couldn't help but feel a pang of satisfaction at the thought. She made a mental note to follow up on Amelia's accusations; if Trevor wasn't directly involved in Sheryl's murder, he might still know something valuable.
Just as she turned to leave, her cell phone rang, the sound cutting through the noise of gym patrons grunting and clanking weights. She glanced at the caller ID, recognizing the number as Mueller's.
"Excuse me," she said to Trevor, already moving toward the exit as she answered the call. His eyes followed her, a mixture of relief and fear etched onto his face.
Morgan stepped out of the gym, squinting against the harsh midday sun that glared off the pavement. The summer heat hit her like a wall, and she could feel beads of sweat beginning to form along her hairline. She sighed as she answered the call, not particularly eager to hear Mueller's voice again.
"Cross here," she said, irritation seeping into her tone.
"Cross, it's Mueller."
"I know," Morgan said. They hadn't spoken since their last sour conversation, and Morgan wasn't thrilled to talk to him again. But it was for the case, she reminded herself.
"We've got some new intel on Sheryl Stewart's murder." His voice was strained. "You're not going to believe this."
"Go ahead," Morgan replied, her impatience mounting.
"Alright," he said. "The coroner just finished examining the body. Cause of death? Silicon injections in all major nerves. The victim had already undergone successful plastic surgeries, but these injections were recent."
Morgan's brow furrowed as she processed the information. Silicon injections? It didn't make sense. She glanced back at the gym, her mind racing with possibilities. If Trevor wasn't the killer, then who was?
"Silicon injections?" she echoed, incredulity creeping into her voice. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," Mueller confirmed. "Looks like someone injected silicon directly into her nerves. It must have been excruciatingly painful."
Morgan felt a cold shiver run down her spine, despite the heat. This wasn't the work of an average killer; this was something far more sinister. "This means our perp has surgical expertise," she mused aloud, the pieces slowly falling into place.
"Seems that way," Mueller agreed. "We're dealing with someone who knew exactly what they were doing – and how to inflict maximum pain before killing their victim."
Morgan stared at the bustling street, suddenly feeling very alone. A doctor or a surgeon would have easy access to silicon and the knowledge of how to use it. But who would want to kill Sheryl in such a horrific manner? And why?
"Alright, Mueller," Morgan said, determination creeping into her voice. "I'll find out who this monster is."
"Roger that, Agent Cross," Mueller replied. There was a quiet pause on the other end. "And thanks for doing this."
With that, he hung up.
Morgan stood there on the street, clenching her phone in her hand. She wanted to tell Mueller not to thank her--she wasn't doing this for him, or the FBI, or even Derik. She was doing it for the victims.
But this new piece of information helped build up a profile in her mind. She had an idea of who to look for now--someone with surgical expertise. As much as she didn't trust him right now, she needed to run this by Derik. He was technically still her partner, so she set out toward the hospital.
CHAPTER FIVE
Morgan's heels clicked against the sterile linoleum floor as she approached Derik's hospital room. Her mind raced with thoughts of the crime scene she'd left behind earlier, unable to erase the image of Sheryl from her thoughts. Morgan had seen a lot of crimes, but something about this one truly chilled her to the core. Sheryl's face was sliced and stretched into a grotesque facsimile of a facelift. It was disturbing.
But with her gold-digging ex-husband eliminated as a suspect, Morgan had to look forward. The coroner's report only deepened the mystery. Silicone injections in all of Sheryl's major nerves – Morgan was certain they were dealing with someone who had a surgical background.
Her confidence faltered as she neared the door. Seeing Derik again stirred up a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. The trust had been the foundation of their partnership, but lately, it had crumbled beneath the weight of unspoken secrets. She couldn't shake the memory of finding files on Darren La Roux – the man who'd tried to kill her, who she'd killed in self-defense – hidden in Derik's house. She needed to confront him, but how could she? Derik didn't know Morgan had killed Darren, and she couldn't let him find out.
Morgan took a deep breath, her fingers curling around the cold metal handle of Derik's hospital room door. The faint smell of disinfectant and stale air seeped into her nostrils as she pushed the door open. Her eyes immediately found Derik lying on the bed with an IV drip attached to his arm. Though his face was still pale, a hint of color had returned to his cheeks. He had lost a lot of blood on their last case, but he seemed to be recovering well.
"Hey," he said weakly, attempting a smile. "You made it."
"Of course I did," Morgan replied, forcing herself to return the smile. "I promised I'd keep you updated, didn't I?"
"True," Derik acknowledged, then winced as he shifted in the bed. "What have you got for me?"
Morgan hesitated for a moment, remembering her earlier thoughts about telling him what she found in his house. But now wasn't the time for that. Instead, she focused on the case at hand. Sitting down in the chair by his bedside, she pulled out her phone and opened the gallery containing photos of the crime scene.
"Sheryl Stewart," she began, her voice low and steady. "Her face was mutilated, cut up, and stretched into a makeshift facelift. The coroner confirmed the cause of death to be silicone injections in all her major nerves. We think we're dealing with someone who has a surgical background."
"Show me the photos," Derik said, his eyes darkening with determination. Morgan sensed his longing to be part of the action again, despite his weakened state. She handed him her phone, watching his expression as he scrolled through the gruesome images.
"God, this is sick," he muttered after a few moments, "We need to find whoever did this and make sure they never hurt anyone again."
"Agreed," Morgan nodded, her thoughts echoing his resolve. But in the back of her mind, the nagging question about Derik's connection to Darren La Roux still lingered, casting a shadow over their partnership.
Morgan watched as Derik's eyes flickered between the photos and her face, searching for answers. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast eerie shadows across the room, heightening the tension that hung in the air. Derik handed the phone back to Morgan, and Morgan tucked it away.
"Sheryl looks young for her age," Morgan commented. "Even with all those surgeries. Her ex-husband claimed she was too old, but in life, she certainly didn't look it."
"I guess that's what money can buy you," Derik said.
Morgan furrowed her brow, thoughts racing. She had been so focused on the gruesome state of Sheryl's face and the surgical precision of her killer that she hadn't considered the implications of her appearance. If the motive wasn't financial, then why would someone do this to her? And why take the time to ruin her face like that?
"Whoever killed her must have a different motive," Morgan murmured, mostly to herself. "If it were about money, they wouldn't have gone through the trouble of disfiguring her so brutally."
"Exactly," Derik agreed, visibly wincing as he adjusted himself in the bed. "We need to look at people in different circles, not just the ones who stand to gain financially from her death. Our perp obviously has some kind of medical background, given the MO, like you said."
"Right," she said, taking a deep breath. "So we're dealing with a killer who seems to be sending some sort of message. They have surgical knowledge and aren't afraid to use it. This is definitely someone who will strike again.”
Derik nodded, his gaze never leaving her face. "It's possible they're trying to make a statement about vanity or the lengths people will go to maintain their appearance. But we can't rule out jealousy or revenge either."
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