Page 28 of For Silence

"Pull what you can on him," Morgan instructed, her voice low and intense. "I want to know every inch of Nash's life. Friends, habits, routines. If he’s our guy, there’ll be something that ties him to these scenes."

Morgan hovered behind Sanders, her presence a silent weight as the young agent's fingers flew across the keyboard. The hum of the office faded into a distant murmur while they waited for the screen to reveal the secrets of Theodore Nash. A gaunt face flashed onto the monitor—his courthouse ID photo. Those hollow blue eyes stared back at them, etched with an intensity that was hard to read. Could this be the face of a killer? Morgan pondered, her instincts prickling.

"Clean record," Sanders said, breaking the silence. "Fifteen years at the courthouse. No disciplinary actions."

"Good employee, then," Morgan observed, her voice even, betraying none of her skepticism. She studied Nash's image, tried to glimpse any hint of malice in his features. Surprisingly handsome, she noted, despite the lean cheeks and the shadows beneath his eyes. But looks could be deceiving; she knew that better than anyone.

"Pull up the custody documents," Morgan instructed, still locked on Nash's photo as if it might suddenly confess.

"Got them," Sanders replied, a new window popping up on the screen. She began reading aloud, "Nash was proven to be an adulterer during the divorce proceedings. That's why he lost custody."

"Keep going," Morgan urged, her gaze now fixed on the text scrolling before her.

"Shows signs of misogyny... behaved poorly in court..." Sanders' voice faltered slightly. "Claimed bias from the female judge towards his ex-wife."

"Anything else?" The question came out sharp, a blade slicing through the air.

Sanders shook her head. "That's the gist of it."

Morgan's fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the tabletop, her eyes darting across the sea of faces in the crowded briefing room. The stark fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows over the whiteboards, each one a grim mosaic of crime scene photos and notes. The air was thick with the tension of unanswered questions and the bitter tang of too much coffee.

"His job was on the line," she began, voice steely as she addressed the team, "but Nash managed to keep his position at the courthouse." A click of a button, and Theodore Nash's life post-divorce splashed onto the screen: a timeline of loss and bitterness. "He's still here in Dallas while his ex-wife and daughter moved away. All this happened recently—enough turmoil to trigger someone into a killing spree."

Derik leaned in, his brow furrowed. "We're talking about a man who’s had his life upended. Could be looking to even some perceived score."

The room hummed with murmurs of agreement, agents hunched over laptops, their fingers flying over keys. Morgan's gaze swept the assembly, searching for that spark of intuition, that leap of logic that could tie a suspect to the heinous acts they were investigating.

"Okay, listen up!" Morgan's command cut through the low chatter. "Nash has access to areas others don't—he has the keys to the kingdom, so to speak. It's possible he got his hands on those private documents about Mariana Torres."

"Could be our guy," someone chimed in from the back.

"Maybe," Morgan conceded, her instincts prickling with uncertainty. Nash fit the profile in many ways—a man scarred by loss and betrayal—but something didn't sit right with her. She knew better than to trust an easy answer. "Agent Sanders, what else do we have on him?" Morgan's question was a lifeline thrown into the digital sea of data.

Sanders swiveled her chair around, her youthful face alight with the glow of the computer screen. "Well, there's this." She clicked on a link, and social media pages filled the display. "Theodore Nash is quite the boating enthusiast." Pictures of Nash, wind-swept and grinning broadly aboard a sleek vessel, scrolled past.

Morgan's gaze lingered on the last photo of Gina Bellwood, displayed starkly amidst the clutter of crime scene images on the corkboard in the room. It was a haunting reminder — the rope, marine-grade and coarse, looped into a noose that had sealed the young prosecutor’s fate. They had chased down the sales of such rope to a dead end; every lead evaporated like morning mist under the relentless sun of inquiry. The killer hadn’t just acquired it; he owned it, knew its knots and binds as intimately as a sailor knows the sea.

"Derik," Morgan said, her voice slicing through the hum of activity in the HQ, "the marine rope. The list was a bust. He already had it."

Derik looked up from his notes, green eyes sharp with the realization. "You think Nash?"

"Boat owner, access to the courthouse...and now this?" She tapped on Gina's photo. "It fits, doesn't it?"

A moment passed between them, heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Then, as if an invisible signal had passed, they both stood. Decision made.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Morgan's eyes narrowed as the Dallas morning sun glittered off the serene waters of the pier. It was a scene she'd witnessed countless times, but today, it held a chilling undertone. Beside her, Derik adjusted his tie, a nervous habit that surfaced when they were on the brink of something big. They had traced Theodore Nash to this haven for boating enthusiasts, his absence from home leading them straight here.

They stepped out of the car, crisp air filling their lungs as they approached the boathouse pier with purposeful strides.

"Morning," Morgan greeted the young receptionist, a girl named Tina with wide, observant eyes. Derik flashed their badges, all business. "We're looking for a boat registered to a Theodore Nash."

"Of course, Agents." Tina's fingers danced across the keyboard, pulling up records with efficiency. She pointed toward Dock C. "His slip is at the end, the white sailboat with blue trim—The Siren's Lullaby."

"Has he been around today?" Derik queried, his gaze sharp and assessing.

Tina nodded. "He checked in about thirty minutes ago."

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