Page 31 of For Silence

"Turn around," Morgan commanded. Her voice was devoid of emotion, but inside, the cogs of justice were turning, fueled by adrenaline and the relentless pursuit of truth.

Nash's shoulders slumped as realization sunk in, yet he was still bristling with indignation. "You can't do this to me," he growled, but the fight was leaving his voice, replaced by the hollow sound of defeat.

"Actually, we can," Derik chimed in, grabbing Nash's arm and twisting it behind his back. Nash winced at the sudden movement, his resistance crumbling like the facade of innocence he tried to maintain.

The click of the cuffs echoed off the water, a grim punctuation to the ordeal. Morgan watched as Nash's face contorted—a mix of rage, fear, and something else she couldn't quite place.

"Let's go," she said, her voice cutting through the morning calm that had been shattered by their arrival. They began to lead Nash away from the dock, the clatter of footsteps on weathered wood marking their exit.

As they moved, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that they had just peeled back the first layer of a deeply disturbing narrative. But for now, they had a suspect in custody—and a new set of questions that begged to be answered.

The pier faded behind them, the sounds of the harbor swallowing up the echoes of confrontation. Ahead, the path wound on, twisting into the unknown.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in the interrogation room, casting stark shadows across Theodore Nash's gaunt face. Morgan studied him from across the table, her dark eyes narrowing as she gauged his every twitch and scowl. Derik stood behind her, a silent sentinel, his green eyes fixed on Nash.

"Let's get one thing straight," Nash spat out, breaking the silence, "I didn't kill anyone."

"Is that so?" Morgan replied, her voice even, betraying none of the skepticism churning inside her. She slid a photograph across the table—Gina Bellwood, lifeless, a noose around her neck. "You expect us to believe that's just a coincidence?"

Nash's eyes flickered to the photo before returning to Morgan, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I work at the courthouse, Agent Cross. You think I'm the only one with grievances?"

"Where were you the past two nights, Theodore?" Derik interjected, leaning forward. His tone was softer, almost coaxing, but the hard edge of an experienced interrogator lingered beneath the surface.

"Like I said, not killing anybody." Nash sneered, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

Morgan leaned in, her tattoos peeking out from under her sleeves as she folded her arms. "Funny, considering your... history with women. Seems like you have more than enough motive."

"Having a crappy divorce doesn't make me a murderer," he shot back, defiance etched into the lines of his face.

"Three women are dead, Nash. All connected to cases similar to what you went through," Morgan pressed, her gaze unwavering. "And here you are, working where all the details are kept. It's not looking good for you."

"Coincidences and bad luck, that's my life story," he retorted, but there was a hint of uncertainty now, a slight falter in his brash facade.

"Enough games, Nash," Morgan's voice was steel. "We found marine rope at Gina's scene—the same kind you have access to at the pier. Care to explain that?"

"Rope is rope," Nash shrugged, but sweat had begun to bead at his temples.

"Your aggression towards me during your arrest didn't help your case," Derik added, circling the table to stand beside Morgan.

"You got in my way," Nash retorted, tilting his chin defiantly.

"Seems to be a pattern with you," Derik murmured, exchanging a glance with Morgan.

Morgan watched Theodore Nash's gaunt face twist into a sneer, the corners of his mouth pulling taut over clenched teeth. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed defensively across his chest.

“Where were you last night?” Morgan asked.

"Alone," he spat out, "like every damn night since she left me."

"Who left you, Nash?" Morgan pressed, tapping her pen against the metal table for emphasis.

"My wife! Sandy!" His voice cracked, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Took my little girl and ran off. What do you think I've been doing? Hosting wild parties?"

"Loneliness can drive people to do extreme things," Derik chimed in, skeptical.

"Ah, so now I'm a killer because I miss story time with my kid?" Nash's blue eyes were icy as they met Morgan's gaze. "That it?"

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