Page 29 of For Silence

Morgan lingered, her gaze steady on the young receptionist. "One more thing, Tina," she said, her voice low and measured. "Theodore Nash... what's his reputation around here?"

Tina hesitated, biting her lip as she glanced at the dock through the window. "Well,” she started, fidgeting with a pen, “he can be... difficult. Gets into arguments a lot. Some folks try to avoid him."

"Difficult how?" Morgan probed, sensing the reluctance in the girl's tone.

"Hot-tempered, I guess. He doesn't really take well to being told 'no', or when things don't go his way." Tina's eyes darted away, and she shuffled some papers unnecessarily. "He’s had fights with other boat owners. Calls it 'defending his territory’.”

"An asshole, then," Morgan concluded, her suspicions growing like weeds in an untended garden.

"Basically, yeah." The word slipped out before Tina could censor it, and her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fear.

Derik leaned against the counter, his demeanor gentle, designed to disarm. "Ever feel unsafe around him, Tina?"

She paused longer this time, her fingers trembling slightly. "Sometimes he looks at me funny, you know? It's probably nothing but..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the unsaid to hang heavy between them.

"Scary," Derik finished for her, his tone sympathetic.

"Right," she whispered, nodding.

"Thank you, Tina. You've been very helpful." Morgan's gratitude was genuine, but her mind was already racing ahead, piecing together a profile of a man who seemed all too comfortable with conflict.

"Stay safe," Derik added, casting a concerned glance at the girl before leading the way out.

As they stepped outside, Morgan felt the weight of the bright morning press against her. They were close, she could feel it in her bones. But closeness mattered little without capture, and Theodore Nash was still just a shadow they were chasing. She squared her shoulders, ready to bring that shadow into the light.

Morgan’s gaze swept over the pier as she walked alongside Derik, both scanning for Theodore Nash. The boardwalk creaked under their brisk steps, the sounds mingling with the slap of water against moored boats. The morning sun cast long shadows and glinted off polished hulls, but the scene's tranquility felt deceptive.

"Every victim connected to the courthouse, and this guy works there," Morgan mused aloud, her voice carrying an edge sharp enough to cut through the mild air. "He lost a daughter, has access to marine rope, and now we find he's not just a hothead but potentially dangerous."

Derik nodded, his eyes narrowed in thought. "And the teddy bear parts... could be something a grieving father would hold onto."

"Exactly." There was a grim set to Morgan’s mouth. "If it's not him, he's still someone we can't ignore."

They continued in silence until they reached the section of the pier where Tina had directed them. The boat named "Serenity" stood out among the others, its sleek lines bearing the mark of frequent and meticulous care. And there, on the dock, was a tall figure moving about with deliberate, almost defensive motions—Theodore Nash.

"Mr. Nash?" Derik called out first, holding up his badge as they approached. "FBI. We need a moment of your time."

Nash didn’t bother looking up from his work. “I’m busy,” he replied curtly, dismissing them without a glance.

"Important FBI business, Mr. Nash," Morgan pressed, stepping closer to the edge of the dock. Her presence commanded attention, yet Nash seemed intent on ignoring them as he coiled a line with practiced hands.

"Can't it wait?" Nash’s tone was laced with impatience, though he finally deigned to give them a fleeting, irritated look.

“No, it can’t.” Morgan locked eyes with Nash, her stare unyielding. “We’d appreciate your cooperation.”

"Fine," Nash grudgingly conceded, setting down the rope. He straightened his tall frame, turning to face them fully. His blue eyes were cold, his expression one of annoyance rather than concern. "Make it quick."

Morgan squared her shoulders, the bright Dallas sun doing little to dispel the chill of suspicion that clung to her. "We need to talk about Mariana Torres," she began, voice sharp as a scalpel, "Gina Bellwood, and Elaine Harrows."

The names hung in the air between them, like bait cast into still waters. Nash's previously dismissive demeanor faltered, his gaze sharpening on Morgan as if seeing her for the first time. The line of his jaw tensed, a muscle ticking beneath the gaunt pallor of his cheek.

"Those women," he said slowly, almost cautiously, "they were killed, weren't they?" There was a flicker in his blue eyes, something that might have been knowledge—or fear.

"Murdered," Derik corrected, his tone softer than Morgan's, but laced with an undercurrent of steely resolve. It was a dance they had mastered over time; Morgan's hard edge complemented by Derik's more empathetic approach.

Nash looked out across the water for a moment, as if searching for an escape. "I heard about it. The courthouse talks." His voice was flat, betraying nothing.

"Talks about what, exactly?" Morgan pressed, taking a step closer. She could feel the weight of her badge against her chest, a symbol of the justice she pursued with relentless determination.

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