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Morgan's heart raced as she scanned the area, trying to catch a glimpse of the man again. She knew it couldn't be a coincidence, not anymore. Too many things were adding up, too many clues pointing towards someone with inside information.
"I'm gonna go see if he's in the bar," she said, her voice low and urgent. "You stay here."
"You sure? I can come with."
"No," Morgan said, "it's probably nothing. Just make sure we cover all our bases here."
"Roger that. Be careful."
Morgan nodded, turning her gaze toward the bar. Without a second thought, she took off up the street.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Determined to pursue her gut feeling, Morgan strode toward the bar. With each step, her hangover seemed to fade, replaced by a steely resolve. This was the moment – the one that would either confirm her suspicions or finally put them to rest.
The bar's door creaked as it swung open, revealing a dimly-lit dive with the unmistakable scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. A handful of patrons nursed their morning drinks at the counter, heads buried in plates of greasy breakfast food. Behind the bar, a grizzled bartender wiped down glasses with a stained cloth, his eyes watchful beneath a furrowed brow.
"Excuse me," Morgan said, catching the bartender's attention. "I need to ask you about someone."
"Who might that be?" The barman replied, setting down the glass he was cleaning.
"Someone was watching from outside just now," Morgan explained, her voice steady despite the unease she felt. "A man, but I didn't get a good look at him. Did you see him?"
"Can't say I did," he responded, shaking his head. "Lots of people come and go around here."
Morgan bit back her frustration. She knew he was hiding something. But how could she prove it? She glanced around the room, searching for any clue – any sign at all – that might help her understand the connection between the man outside and this grimy bar.
"Look," she said, leaning in closer to the bartender. "I'm an FBI agent investigating a series of murders. If you know anything, I need you to tell me."
The bartender hesitated, his gaze shifting nervously between Morgan and the other patrons. Finally, he sighed. "Look, I didn't see anyone," he said. "And no one's walked in here in thirty minutes, so I don't think the guy you're looking for is one of my regulars."
Damn. Morgan bit her lip, disappointed. She glanced around the bar. It was early, but even now, people were drinking. She saw a man spilling his guts to another man over a beer.
"And yeah, I did cheat on my wife, but she deserved it, didn't she?" he said.
"You should probably keep that to yourself, man," another man said back.
He was right. Drunk people often spilled their secrets.
Secrets...
Each one of the victims had a darker secret. Morgan had been stumped, trying to figure out how the killer could have been finding them out.
But maybe...
Maybe he did it by hanging around a place like this.
It was probably a shot in the dark, but Morgan had to try.
Morgan's heart raced as she dug through her pockets, pulling out a stack of photographs she'd taken from the case files. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was a connection between the man who had been watching and this bar.
"Can I ask you something else?" she inquired, holding up the photos like a deck of cards. "Have you seen any of these people before?"
The bartender eyed the images warily, taking one from her hand and studying it for a moment. Morgan could see the gears turning in his head, the faintest flicker of recognition dancing in his eyes.
"Actually, yeah," he admitted, pointing to a photo of a red-haired woman with a bright smile. "She used to come in here all the time. Always sat at the end of the bar, near the door. Ordered the same thing every week: a cheeseburger with extra pickles, and a rum and Coke."
Morgan felt a chill run down her spine as she studied the woman's face, wondering what had brought her into the killer's crosshairs.
