Page 33 of For Silence

"Murders?" Sandy's voice pitched high with incredulity. "You think Theo killed those women? The defense attorneys and that judge? I don’t live in Dallas anymore, but I read about that…"

"Right now, we're exploring every possibility," Morgan replied, her voice as neutral as she could make it.

Silence crackled over the line before Sandy spoke again, her words laced with a bitter edge. "Look, I won't lie—Theo can be a real piece of crap. He cheated on me, lied, made my life hell... But murder? That doesn’t sound like him."

"Are you certain?" Morgan pressed, her instincts alive with the dance of suspicion and doubt.

"God, I don't know." There was a shakiness now in Sandy's voice, a vulnerability that Morgan knew well—the fear of uncertainty. "I thought I knew him once, but after everything... You never really know what someone is capable of, do you?"

Morgan felt a flicker of empathy for the woman on the other end of the line. "No, you don't," she agreed quietly. But that flicker was quickly snuffed out by the pressing need for answers. "Was there anything in your time together that might suggest he was capable of violence?"

"Nothing more than the usual anger when he drank too much or we fought," Sandy admitted, her tone resigned. "But to strangle someone, to kill... No. I just can’t see it."

"Thank you, Sandy. Your insight is invaluable," Morgan said, her mind racing to fit this new puzzle piece into the ever-growing picture. She ended the call, the click sounding final in the quiet hallway.

Derik met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Well?"

"She's thrown, but she doesn't believe he could do it," Morgan relayed, the same uncertainty from the call reflected in her own voice now. "But she admitted the possibility, given their past. Not exactly a ringing endorsement."

"Still leaves us with no solid alibi for Nash," Derik remarked, the lines of his face tightening.

"Doesn't clear him either," Morgan added, feeling the weight of responsibility bearing down on her. Every decision, every hunch, could mean the difference between catching a killer and condemning an innocent man. And somewhere out there, the real murderer was watching, waiting.

"Interrogation round two?" Derik suggested, his eyebrows knitting together in contemplation.

"Let's turn up the heat a little," Morgan replied, her mind already strategizing the next move.

They were about to re-enter the interrogation room when the sudden urgency in the footsteps of Agent Ramirez sliced through the tension. Ramirez's face was flushed as he caught his breath.

"Cross, Greene, you need to see this," he said breathlessly.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lara’s fingers drummed against the ceramic mug, her eyes darting to the door every time it creaked open. The coffee shop buzzed with lunchtime chatter, but the hum of conversation only heightened her sense of disquiet. She took another jittery sip, feeling the warmth slide down her throat, failing to calm her frayed nerves.

Her friend, Gavin, leaned across the table, his voice animated as he recounted his latest foray into investigative journalism. "So there I was, in the mayor's office, and you wouldn't believe what I found—"

But Lara's mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of anxiety that seemed to tighten with each passing second. She was vaguely aware of Gavin’s lips moving, the enthusiastic gestures of his hands, but the words slipped past her like ghosts, intangible and distant.

"Hey." Gavin’s hand lightly touched hers, the sudden contact pulling her from the depths of her paranoia. "You're miles away. What's going on?"

She blinked, focusing on his concerned face, the crease between his eyebrows. "Sorry," she murmured, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just...a lot on my mind, I guess."

"Want to talk about it?" His tone was gentle, probing, and Lara hesitated. The secret she harbored lay heavy on her tongue, a truth that could undo her quiet life with the weight of its revelation. For a moment, she teetered on the brink of confession, the words clawing for escape.

Lara's fingers wrapped tighter around the ceramic mug, the heat seeping into her clammy palms. Across from her, Gavin was a steady presence, his journalist's mind always ticking, always analyzing. She envied that focus, that ability to compartmentalize—even now, as her own thoughts frayed and tangled like threads in the grasp of a storm.

"Can I tell you something?" she blurted, her voice a half whisper swallowed by the hum of the coffee shop. Her eyes darted to the door, the windows, the other patrons—anywhere but at Gavin's face.

"Of course," he said, setting down his cup with a soft clink. "You know you can tell me anything."

"It's just..." Lara hesitated, biting her lip. "I've been feeling paranoid since the news broke out about the murders. You've heard, right? The women killed—all worked in law. Two defense lawyers and a judge."

The words tumbled out, each one heightening the sense of dread that had taken root inside her. It clawed up her throat, constricting, choking. Gavin nodded. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice even further.

"Gavin, do you think I could be in trouble, too?"

His reaction was immediate, almost reflexive. Gavin shook his head, a short, sharp movement, and let out a breathy laugh tinged with disbelief. "Lara, come on. Why would you be a target? You're a secretary, not involved in cases directly, right? Besides, you haven't done anything to put yourself on someone's radar."

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