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Morgan'sinstincts nudged at her, whispering that Reed's alibi could be the key theywere looking for. If he'd truly been at school each day, then Jennifer Clarke'smurder, occurring in the stark light of afternoon, would have been impossiblefor him to commit.
"Wouldanyone in particular be able to vouch for your presence?" Derik asked,stepping closer to Morgan's side, his own senses tuned to the exchange.
"Severalfaculty members, and all my students," Reed replied promptly. "I'malways in class during the day, except for lunch, which I spend in theteachers' lounge. There's always someone around."
"Thank you,Mr. Reed. We'll follow up on that," Morgan said, her tone professional butnot unkind. As they parted ways with the art teacher, she stole a glance backat him, watching as he re-entered the classroom and the murmur of resumed activityfiltered out into the hallway.
"Seems tooneat," Derik murmured, echoing Morgan's inner caution.
"Maybe,"she conceded. Her mind raced through the events of the week, cross-referencingReed's potential alibi with the timeline of the murders. Each victim had beenoutspoken against the occult, a common thread weaving them together in the darkestway possible.
"Let'sdouble-check his story," Morgan decided, already reaching for her phone topull up the contacts for the school administration. "If he's telling thetruth, we can scratch him off our list and keep looking. But if there's even ahint of discrepancy..."
"Then wemight just have found the crack in his story," Derik finished for her.Together, they headed back to their car, the morning sun climbing higher asthey navigated through the possibilities that lay ahead.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Morgan steppedout of the school building, the weight of her leather jacket offering littlecomfort against the chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The heavydoor swung shut behind them with a definitive thud, as if sealing away theirlatest dead end. Derik was at her side, his face drawn in a mask of exhaustionthat mirrored her own.
"Anotheralibi checks out," she muttered, watching a group of students laughingcarelessly nearby, a stark contrast to the gravity of their investigation. Shecould almost envy their ignorance of the darkness that lurked in their city'sunderbelly.
Derik ran a handthrough his slick black hair, which didn't quite manage to hide the furrows offrustration on his forehead. "Yeah," he sighed, "and here weare, back at square one. Whoever this guy is, he's not making it easy for us."
The case fileimages of Emily Harris, Sarah Thompson, Jennifer Clarke, and Nicole Lee flashedacross Morgan's mind—four lives snuffed out, four bodies left on display nearhistorical sites, each victim an outspoken critic of the occult. The patternwas clear, but the leads were as elusive as shadows at dusk.
"Fourwomen," Morgan said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her tattoos seemedto tighten around her arms, a network of inked memories from a past thatrefused to stay buried. "And nothing to show for it but sleepless nightsand miles on the car."
Derik nodded, hisgreen eyes scanning the area, as if hoping for a clue to materialize out ofthin air. "We haven't even had time to catch our breath since thisstarted. I can't remember the last time I got a full night's sleep."
"Sleep is aluxury we can't afford right now," Morgan replied, the determination inher voice belying the fatigue that clung to her every muscle. "Not whenthis killer is still out there."
They walkedtowards their unmarked car, parked under a canopy of trees that swayed gentlyin the autumn breeze. As they approached, Morgan caught sight of her reflectionin the window—a woman who had known betrayal and imprisonment, yet stoodunbroken. The dark circles under her eyes were a testament to her relentlessdrive and the restlessness of a predator on the hunt.
"Rememberhow we used to be, Derik?" she asked, unlocking the car with a click ofthe key fob. "Chasing down leads without a second thought about the houror the danger?"
"Seems likeanother lifetime," Derik admitted, his voice tinged with a weariness thatwent beyond physical exhaustion. "Sometimes, I wonder if we're any closerto redemption—or if it's just another ghost we're chasing."
"Redemptionisn't handed out; it's earned," Morgan countered, sliding behind thewheel. "And we'll earn ours by catching this bastard before he takesanother life."
As they buckledup, the silence between them was filled with unspoken agreement. This casewasn't just about justice for the victims; it was about proving their own worthin a world that had too often been unforgiving. They pulled away from the curb,the engine's low rumble a harbinger of the relentless pursuit that lay ahead.
The relentlesshum of the sedan's engine was the only sound as they navigated the grid ofstreets, a dull symphony to the fatigue that clung to them like a second skin.Morgan's hands were steady on the wheel despite the exhaustion that threatenedto close her eyes for just a moment too long. Derik slouched in the passengerseat, his gaze lost somewhere between the passing streetlights and the darknessbeyond.
"Every deadend feels like we're back at square one," Derik muttered, rubbing his eyeswith the heels of his palms. "We're missing something, Morgan, somethingcritical."
"Orsomeone's playing us," she replied, her voice edged with the kind ofsharpness born of too many hours chasing shadows. Her dark hair fell in wavesaround her face, a stark contrast against her pale skin that seemed almostluminescent in the dim light of the car's interior.
Morgan's phoneerupted suddenly, shattering the heavy silence. It danced across the dashboard,its shrill tone demanding attention. She snatched it up, her heart skipping abeat as she saw Mueller's name flash across the screen.
"Cross,"she answered curtly, primed for another round of bureaucratic sparring orworse, bad news.
"Morgan,it's Mueller. We've got a situation." His voice, normally an authoritativeboom, held an edge of urgency that immediately set Morgan's nerves on alert.
"What isit?"
"RachelKing. Reported missing by her husband just minutes ago. She didn't come homefrom her bookstore last night."
A chill tracedthe length of Morgan's spine. Another woman, another potential victim—thiskiller was relentless. "Do we think it's connected?" she asked,trying to keep the tremor out of her voice, the fear that this hunt might claimyet another life.
