Page 8 of For Silence

“Yeah,” Morgan said. “I saw here there, last night… Gina.”

“What are you hoping to find here now?” Derik asked. “The cops have already done a sweep of the area.”

“I know, and we’ll go see what they have too. But I want to see it for myself. They could’ve missed something.”

Derik sighed, the sound tinged with resignation and a hint of admiration. "Right. Lead the way, Cross."

Exiting the car, Morgan took a moment to analyze the scene before her. The quaint suburban house projected an air of innocence that belied the horror that had taken place within. The lawn was neatly trimmed, flowers blooming in a riot of colors by the porch — a stark contrast to the somberness of death that hung in the air.

"Let's do this," she said, striding toward the sidewalk where Gina Bellwood had been found dead. A uniformed officer met them halfway, his eyebrows furrowing in recognition upon seeing them. Morgan flashed her badge, her face set in a stone-cold mask as she introduced herself.

"I'm Agent Morgan Cross, and this is my partner, Derik Greene. We've been assigned to review this case."

The officer, a young man with a smudge of dirt on his uniform, eyed them warily before giving a curt nod. "Everything's pretty much the same as last night. Crime scene guys didn't find anything new this morning."

As they stepped onto the sidewalk, her eyes immediately began surveying the area. Derik stayed on her heels, his own gaze scanning their surroundings.

"Want to share your thoughts?" he asked.

Morgan chewed on her lower lip, a rare sign of uncertainty. "I'm not sure yet." She knelt down, studying the ground and running a gloved finger across the cement where traces of dried blood still lingered. The rope had strangled Gina, but the roughness of it had caused some bleeding too. The brutal reality of Gina Bellwood's end. "But we're going to find out."

She moved to the grassy patch next to the sidewalk, crouched low, and squinted at something there.

"Derik," she called, never taking her eyes off the ground. When he approached, she pointed at a small object nestled amongst blades of grass—a piece of fabric. It was black and almost blended with the shadowy patches on the lawn.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Fabric," she replied curtly, retrieving a plastic bag from her pocket. With careful precision, she picked up the tiny scrap using tweezers and placed it in the bag. "We need to get this back to forensics."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You think this is related?”

“I don’t know yet,” Morgan said as she stood. “But anything could be the smoking gun here. I want to get this to forensics, then see what the police have on their end.”

"Agreed," Derik said, a note of admiration in his voice. "Let's get to it, then."

CHAPTER THREE

Morgan stepped out of the car, her boots clicking on the precinct's asphalt like a metronome. Derik closed the passenger side door with a soft thud, then caught up to her in two long strides. They exchanged a brief glance, a silent agreement passing between them; this case was theirs now, and every tick of the clock mattered. Morgan needed everything she could get from the police if they were going to do this thing right.

The precinct doors swung open to the buzz of fluorescent lights and the undercurrent of radio chatter. Morgan's eyes, sharp as flint, scanned the room before settling on Officer Smith. He stood by a desk cluttered with coffee cups and case files, his posture straightening as he recognized her approach.

"Agent Cross," Smith greeted, eyebrows knitting together in surprise. "Didn't expect to see you so soon after last night."

"Time's not on our side, Officer," Morgan replied curtly, her voice carrying the weight of urgency. She glanced at Derik, who nodded subtly, his green eyes reflecting the gravity of their task.

Smith shifted, discomfort etching into the lines of his face. "Heard you got the case transferred to the FBI. Figured the local PD was doing a decent job..."

"Two defense attorneys, both killed within a week," Morgan cut through the niceties, her words crisp and unyielding. "There's a pattern here, and it's not just the local scene anymore."

Smith rubbed the back of his neck, conceding with a reluctant nod. "I can see why you'd think that. So, what do you need from us?"

"Everything you've got," Morgan said, locking eyes with him. It wasn't a request—it was a demand. They were running against time, and she needed Smith to understand the stakes.

Smith pulled out a thick folder, the word 'Bellwood' stamped across it in red. As he handed it over, his gaze lingered on Morgan's tattoos, visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves of her dark blouse—a tapestry of ink that told stories of her past battles. "Here's the rundown," Smith began without preamble as he handed over a sheaf of documents. "The acquitted client, the one Gina got off the hook? We checked him out—solid alibi. He was out of state when it happened."

"Any other suspects circle back?" Morgan's voice was a cool blade cutting through the ambient hum of the precinct.

"None that stand out. It's like the killer ghosted in and out." The frustration in Smith's tone mirrored the tension etched in the lines of his face.

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