Page 61 of Not This Soon

Rachel blinked. Doctoring the books? Motive, then... she had motive now too. "Did he have any access to the information regarding your husband’s meeting with Rebecca and the cartel?"

“Cartel?”

“Mrs. Morris. Please. Now’s not the time to cover for your husband. We already know about Diego Sanchez.”

A long sigh. Then, "Yes," Mrs. Morris admitted reluctantly. "He would've known about it. But he was fired months before that meeting took place." She paused. “He… he had this weird sense of justice… Or like, like he felt like he was on a mission from God.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when… he found out what my husband had done… chosen to do, he started making threats. Said how he was trained as a priest. HowGodneeded him to do the merciful thing.” She wrinkled her nose. “His exact words were, ‘what’s more merciful’ than freedom from sin?”

Rachel frowned. “He was a priest, then?”

"He said he was, but I looked into it. He was let go before ordination."

“So… you think he wanted to harm your husband because hesinnedby getting in bed with the cartels?”

The woman released a long breath. “Something is wrong with that man.”

Rachel's heart pounded in her chest. She had a name now. A face to put to the monster who had torn apart so many lives.

"Thank you, Mrs. Morris. I know this wasn't easy for you. I promise I'll do everything in my power to find him."

She ended the call, her mind already racing ahead to the next steps. She needed to run a background check on Atticus Silver, dig into his past and see what skeletons he had in his closet.

Rachel's fingers flew across the keypad on her phone, her eyes locked on the glowing screen. Atticus Silver's name yielded hit after hit, each result painting a darker picture of the man she now suspected of murder.

Born in El Paso. Parents killed in a cartel shooting when he was just a child. Bounced between foster homes and juveniledetention centers. A troubled past that seemed to follow him into adulthood.

She clicked on an article from a local newspaper, dated five years prior. "Former Priest Fired from Hospital Amidst Controversy," the headline read. Rachel scanned the text, her brow furrowing as she absorbed the details.

Atticus had been working as a chaplain at a hospital in San Antonio, providing spiritual guidance to patients and their families. But there were whispers of inappropriate behavior, of Atticus taking a particularly keen interest in terminally ill patients.

The hospital had launched an internal investigation, and Atticus was promptly dismissed. He seemed to vanish after that, resurfacing only recently as an accountant for the Morris family.

Rachel leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. What had driven Atticus to leave the priesthood and pursue a career in finance?

She thought back to Mrs. Morris's revelation about Atticus's knowledge of the meeting with the cartel. Had he seen an opportunity for revenge, a chance to strike back at the very people who had taken his parents from him? Or to protect… Rebecca from the same fate as his parents?

She shivered.

The pieces were falling into place, but Rachel knew she needed more. She had to find a way to connect Atticus to the murders, to prove that he was the one behind the wheel of that green sedan.

She nodded. Atticus was the one to look into.

Rachel pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found Ethan's number. She hit the call button, but it went straight to voicemail. A flicker of unease stirred in her gut.

She tried again. Still no answer.

"Ethan, it's me. I've got a lead on our suspect. Call me back as soon as you get this."

Rachel ended the call, her fingers tightening around the phone. Something wasn't right. Ethan always answered his phone.

She looked around, her senses on high alert. The crime scene was nearly deserted now, just a few stragglers from the forensics team packing up their gear. No sign of Ethan.

She broke into a jog, heading towards the parking lot where she had last seen him.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she wove between the parked cars, scanning for any sign of Ethan's familiar silhouette. Nothing.

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