Page 11 of For Silence

Derik's fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror where the road behind him stretched empty. It echoed the hollow feeling in his gut—something wasn't adding up. Morgan had always been an enigma, but her actions last night were out of character, even for her. A midnight drive alone? Stumbling upon a crime scene like some rookie beat cop?

His instincts buzzed with suspicion. He knew better than to ignore that nagging voice in the back of his head—the one that usually led to breakthroughs or, at the very least, kept him alive.

He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. Morgan was more than capable, yet the thought of her confronting Daniel Keen solo, the man potentially at the center of their investigation, sent a shiver down his spine. Keen had motive, opportunity, and now, thanks to a slip of paper detailing a purchase of rope, a tangible link to the killings.

With a deep breath, Derik pushed open the door, his feet hitting the pavement with determined thuds. The suburban air filled his lungs, crisp and clean, yet it did nothing to clear the fog of doubt clouding his judgment. He shook off the unease clinging to him like a second skin and started toward Debby Keen's front door.

Answers, he promised himself. That's what he needed—that's what he would get. Each step was a silent pact between him and the unknown; each stride a commitment to the truth, whatever form it might take. With every move, he left behind a trail of trust for Morgan, like breadcrumbs leading back to the faith they had in each other.

Derik raised his hand and rapped on the door, his knuckles sharp against the wood. It swung open swiftly, revealing Debby Keen. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her face free of the strain that often marked those entangled in marital discord. She wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, an armor of normalcy amidst the chaos of her crumbling marriage.

"Mrs. Keen? I'm Agent Derik Greene with the FBI." His voice held the practiced calm of countless interviews, but his eyes searched hers for signs of distress.

“Oh, hello,” Debby said. “Can I help you with something?”

"Can we talk about your husband, Daniel?" he asked, treading carefully. The question hung between them, a delicate thread ready to snap.

"Of course," she replied, stepping aside to let him in. "Please, call me Debby."

Her living room was a study in contrasts; cozy furnishings clashed with the stark reality that the man of the house was now just a ghost of accusations and legal paperwork. Derik took note of the neatly arranged space, a testament to Debby's attempt to maintain order in a life disrupted.

"Do you know where Daniel was last night?" he inquired, observing her closely. If she was surprised by the suddenness of the question, she didn't show it.

"No idea," Debby said, a hint of bitterness seeping through her composed facade. "I kicked him out. I think he's staying at some motel. God knows which one."

There was a finality in her tone that suggested a woman who had reached the end of her tether with a spouse who had drowned their vows in alcohol.

"I don't care where he is," she continued, her gaze steady on Derik's. "He's a drunk, Agent Greene, and I'm done with him."

The words were a punctuation mark on the life they once shared. They spoke of late nights waiting up, of arguments fueled by liquor, of love that had soured into something unrecognizable.

Derik shifted uneasily, his gaze lingering on the collection of garden gnomes lining the path to Debby's door. He cleared his throat. "Debby, do you know a Gina Bellwood or Elaine Harrows?"

She furrowed her brow, her fingers tracing the edge of her coffee mug. "Those names sound familiar," she mused. "Defense lawyers, right? Daniel’s mentioned them... complained about them. Said they made a fool out of him in court. Not like that was hard to do.”

"Right," Derik affirmed, noting the bitterness lacing her tone. He swallowed hard, the gravity of his next words pressing down on him like a physical weight. "Both of these women were found dead. Murdered."

Shock flitted across Debby's face, her hand tightening around the mug until her knuckles turned white. "Murdered?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"Unfortunately, yes." Derik watched her closely, gauging her reaction for any flicker of knowledge, any sign of complicity.

"Does... does that mean you think Daniel might be involved?" Her question hung between them, charged with implications.

"Is there any reason we should suspect he is?" Derik probed gently but firmly. It was crucial to tread carefully; to push too hard might shut her down completely.

Her lips parted, then closed as if the words fought to stay within. Finally, with a shudder, she confessed, "I filed for divorce because Daniel...he got violent when he drank."

"Violent?" Derik echoed, his pulse quickening. There was a lead here, something tangible amid the haze of speculation.

"Once, after a case he’d lost, he came home drunk and..." Debby trailed off, her eyes darting away. "He's never been good at losing. And after enough whiskey, he'd turn into someone else—someone I didn’t recognize."

"Did he ever threaten you?"

"It wasn’t just threats, Agent Greene." The facade of composure crumbled as she clutched the mug like a lifeline. "One night he...he just lost it. That's when I knew I had to get him out before it was too late. He was never like that when he was sober, but the alcohol…"

"Did he ever mention Gina or Elaine outside of work frustrations?" Derik pushed, his mind racing with the possibilities unfolding before him.

"Only to curse their names after another lost case," she said. "But to kill? Could he...?" Debby shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding off a chill.

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