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Morgan shot Lanceand his receptionist a look before she nodded and left the clinic, her mindbuzzing with thoughts and theories. The pressure was mounting; she could feelit in every tense muscle and furrowed brow. Sliding into her car, she startedthe engine and began driving toward Patty’s address.
As she weavedthrough the traffic, the radio announcer's voice cut through her thoughts."In breaking news today, authorities have confirmed that two women havebeen murdered, both victims found with their faces mutilated in a gruesomefashion that has prompted the name 'the Plastic Surgeon Killer.' Police areurging anyone with information to come forward."
Morgan grippedthe steering wheel tighter, her knuckles whitening. The story was out, and nowthere would be a media frenzy. The killer needed to be stopped before morelives were lost, and she couldn't help but feel the weight of that responsibilitybearing down on her.
She took a deepbreath, trying to calm herself. Focus, she thought. Find theconnections, find the motive, and you'll find the killer. That's what hertraining had taught her, and she had to trust in herself now.
As she pulled upto Patty's house, Morgan steeled herself for the conversation ahead. She neededto gather as much information as possible and quickly. The clock was ticking,and the killer was still out there.
"Alright,"she whispered under her breath, "let's do this."
Morgan steppedout of her car and took a moment to assess the modest, well-kept home in frontof her. The lawn was freshly mowed, and the cheerful yellow siding seemed todefy the seriousness of the investigation at hand. This house wasn't like theopulence of Sheryl or Bethany's homes. She straightened her jacket, preparingherself to face yet another person whose life might have been touched by thiskiller.
As she approachedthe door, she could hear the faint sound of laughter coming from inside. Thissimple, happy sound struck a chord within her—it had been a long time sinceshe'd heard such carefree joy, and it reminded her just how much was at stakehere. With a determined knock, she waited for an answer.
The laughterstopped abruptly before the door swung open, revealing a woman with wavy brownhair and a tentative smile. "Can I help you?" she asked, eyeingMorgan's badge with curiosity.
"Goodafternoon, ma'am. My name is Special Agent Morgan Cross with the FBI," sheintroduced herself, meeting Patty's gaze with a solemn intensity. "Are youPatty?"
"Uh, yes,that's me," Patty replied, her eyes widening slightly in surprise."Is something wrong?"
"I'm investigatinga case, and I understand you're a client of Dr. Lance Friedman's." Morgankept her voice steady, watching Patty's reaction carefully.
"Uh, yeah, Iam," Patty confirmed, her brow furrowing as she tried to figure out wherethis was going.
"May I comein? It's important."
"Ofcourse," Patty said, stepping aside to let Morgan enter.
Just then, a manappeared in the hallway behind Patty, his brow creased with concern. "Hey,babe, what's going on?" He looked from his wife to the agent, trying topiece together the situation.
"Dom, thisis Agent Morgan Cross from the FBI," Patty explained, her voice waveringslightly. "She's here about... Dr. Friedman?"
"Dr.Friedman? The 'whack job' surgeon?" Dom's face darkened, and Morgan tooknote of the anger simmering beneath his words.
"Whackjob" might have been a bit strong, but Morgan couldn't deny that somethingabout Friedman had put her on edge. However, she needed to stay focused on thetask at hand. "I'm investigating a series of crimes, and I'd like to askyou both a few questions about your experiences with Dr. Friedman."
"Ofcourse," Patty agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever wecan do to help."
"Is thisabout the murders?" Dom asked. "I heard about it on the news."
Morgan's eyeswidened in surprise as she processed Dom's words. "You heard about themurders on the news?" she asked, her mind racing with the implications ofthis information. "And it made you think of Dr. Friedman?"
"Exactly,"Dom replied, his expression grim. "I mean, I know it sounds crazy, butwhen they described what happened to those poor women... it just reminded me ofthat surgeon Patty had a consultation with a while back. The guy was reallypushing for her to get a facelift, even though she's only thirty-four."
Patty squirmeduncomfortably in her seat, avoiding Morgan's gaze. "He didn't seem like abad person, though," she insisted, her voice barely audible. "In theend, I only got some injections. No facelifts or anything like that."
Morgan studiedthe couple, taking in their body language and the tension in the room. Shecould sense Patty's embarrassment and reluctance to discuss her experience withDr. Friedman, and Dom's protective nature, his concern for his wife clear inevery word he spoke.
"Still, it'snot every day you hear about women being killed and their faces mutilated likethat," Dom continued, his voice tight with anger. "When I heard aboutit, my first thought was that sketchy surgeon who wanted to cut my wife openfor no good reason."
As Morgan listenedto Dom's words, her gut instinct told her that there was more to this storythan met the eye. Something about Lance Friedman was off, and if these victimswere connected to him in any way, it was crucial that she followed up on everylead. She couldn't let another woman suffer at the hands of this brutal killer.
"Thank youfor sharing your thoughts with me," she said, her tone sincere. "Yourinsights could prove invaluable to our investigation."
"Absolutely,"Dom said.
The conviction inDom's voice was enough to convince Morgan that Lance Friedman was a viablesuspect. She nodded her thanks to the couple, standing up and adjusting hercoat. "I appreciate your candor," she said. "You've given me alot to think about."
