Page 16 of For Silence

Harriet gestured to the slide under her microscope. "The fabric you brought in from Gina Bellwood's scene—it's peculiar. So, initially, I thought we were looking at typical clothing material. But these fibers here," she pointed with a precision tool to the magnified image on her screen, "are indicative of something else entirely."

"Something else?" Morgan prompted, her arms folded across her chest, the ink from her tattoos seemingly pulsating with her rising pulse.

"Right. Small, synthetic, consistent with what you'd find in a child's plaything. Specifically," Harriet paused for effect, "a stuffed animal or similar object."

Morgan's breath hitched imperceptibly, her mind racing back to Elaine Harrows' case file. The fluff found there, innocuous as it had seemed, took on a new, sinister significance. "We found something like that at Elaine's scene too," she said, her voice a low growl of realization.

"Seriously?" Harriet seemed momentarily taken aback by the revelation.

"Yes," Morgan affirmed, with a gravity that left no room for doubt. She leaned closer to Harriet, her gaze piercing. "I need you to compare both samples, right down to the microfiber. We have to know if they came from the same object."

"Will do, Agent Cross." Harriet nodded with renewed vigor. She understood the implications as well as Morgan did—if these fibers matched, they were looking at a signature element of a serial killer's MO.

"Keep me posted, the minute you have something," Morgan instructed, turning to leave, the shadows of the lab seeming to press in around her.

"Absolutely," Harriet replied, already absorbed in the process, her hands deftly preparing the samples for comparative analysis.

***

Morgan paced the length of the briefing room, her dark eyes locked onto the fiber evidence photos pinned across the whiteboard. Each step was measured, a physical manifestation of the mental gears churning relentlessly in her mind. Derik stood nearby, his posture stiff with anticipation. Across from them, Assistant Director Mueller perched on the edge of the table, an immovable bastion of authority.

"Explain," Mueller's voice broke the heavy silence, his tone commanding yet expectant.

"Two women, both defense attorneys, both dead," Morgan began, her words crisp as she pointed to the images of Gina Bellwood and Elaine Harrows. "Different methods of killing, but the same twisted signature—items related to their previous cases used to murder them.”

"Coincidence isn't your style, Agent Cross," Mueller observed, his scrutinizing gaze never wavering.

"No, it's not," Morgan conceded, turning to the crucial piece of evidence. She tapped a finger on the enlarged photo of the fluff—a seemingly innocuous detail that had been the key to linking the murders. "Teddy bear fibers found at each crime scene, confirmed by forensics to originate from the same object."

Derik chimed in, "It's like the killer's leaving a calling card, only it's subtle, easy to overlook."

Mueller leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. "And because of this, you're certain this is the work of a serial killer?"

"Without a doubt," Morgan affirmed. "This is orchestrated, deliberate. He's targeting these women because of what they represent to him—not just for what they've done."

Mueller's expression shifted; the slightest upward twitch of his lips signaled a rare approval. "Impressive work," he said, standing tall, his presence filling the room. "You two have managed to connect the dots where others saw only random points."

"Thank you, sir," Derik replied, relief evident in his tone.

Mueller's nod was curt, businesslike. "This gives us the grounds we need. You’re right—we have a serial killer at large." His voice hardened with the gravity of their task. "Find him before he takes another life. We can't afford to let this predator roam free any longer."

"Understood, sir," Morgan responded, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders like a mantle. Her mind raced with strategies and next moves, the hunt now officially sanctioned and more pressing than ever.

"Time is of the essence," Mueller added, his steady gaze locking onto Morgan's. "I expect regular updates. Stay sharp, agents."

As Mueller exited the room, his footsteps echoing a silent urgency, Morgan turned to Derik. "We've got the green light, and now it's a race against the clock," she stated, determination etched into every syllable.

Morgan hunched over the stark whiteboard, scrawling notes with a fervor that betrayed her inner turmoil. Beside her, Derik watched, his own countenance grave as they confronted the task ahead. "We need to alert them," she said curtly, tapping the marker against the list of potential targets—women in law who might as well have bulls-eyes painted on their backs.

"Agreed." Derik stepped closer, his green eyes scanning the names. "A media release is risky, but necessary."

"Exactly." Morgan's voice was clipped, efficient. "It'll scare people, but better scared than dead." She capped the marker with a decisive snap and turned to him. Their gazes locked, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation.

"Let's draft it. We'll need to be careful with our wording, cautious not to incite unnecessary panic," Derik suggested, reaching for a laptop.

"Keep it factual. Stick to the evidence we have." Morgan leaned in, her tattoos shifting with the movement of her muscles, a vivid contrast to the sterile environment of the FBI office.

"I'll handle the press release," he assured her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. "You focus on coming up with a profile.”

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