Page 11 of For Blood

The killer took a deep breath, composing themselves.Emotion was a luxury they couldn't afford, not when there was so much work to be done.They returned to the desk, surveying their handiwork one last time.

"Your lies won't protect you anymore," they said, their voice filled with grim determination."Justice is coming, and it wears my face."

With a final nod, the killer began to gather the marked photographs and documents.The time for planning was over.Now, it was time for action.As they moved about the room, a sense of anticipation filled the air.The hunt was about to begin, and the liars would soon learn the price of their deceit.

The killer's gaze drifted to the knife resting on the desk, its polished blade catching the light from the single lamp.They reached out, fingers wrapping around the smooth handle, savoring its familiar weight.

"Hello, old friend," they murmured, lifting the blade.The metal gleamed, reflecting the killer’s distorted image."We have work to do tonight."

CHAPTER FIVE

The bell above the coffee shop door jingled as Morgan stepped inside, the warmth enveloping her like a comforting blanket against the crisp autumn night.The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of cinnamon and pastries, a stark contrast to the weight of their investigation that already hung heavy on her shoulders.Her eyes scanned the dimly lit interior, settling on a lone figure in the corner booth.

Detective James Whitaker sat there, looking every inch the seasoned detective he once was.His steel-gray hair was neatly combed, but the deep lines etched around his eyes spoke of countless sleepless nights spent poring over case files.An untouched cup of black coffee sat before him, a silent testament to the gravity of their meeting.

Morgan felt Derik's presence at her side, steady and reassuring.She glanced at him, noting the slight furrow of his brow that mirrored her own apprehension.This meeting could be the break they needed, or just another dead end in a case that seemed to spawn more questions than answers with each passing day.

As they approached, Whitaker rose to greet them.His handshake was firm but carried a weariness that Morgan recognized all too well.It was the exhaustion of a man who had carried too many unsolved cases for far too long.

"Agent Cross, Agent Greene," Whitaker nodded, gesturing for them to sit."I appreciate you calling me.”

Morgan slid into the booth, her tattooed arms a stark contrast against the worn leather seats.She couldn't help but wonder what Whitaker thought of her – an ex-con turned FBI agent.Did he see the determination in her eyes, or just the marks of her past?

"Thank you for meeting us, Detective Whitaker," Morgan said, her voice low."We're hoping you might be able to shed some light on the Santos case."

"The Santos case," Whitaker began, his eyes distant."It's been twenty years, but I remember every detail like it was yesterday.Not because we solved it – God knows we didn't – but because it's haunted me ever since."

Morgan's jaw tightened.She knew all too well how an unsolved case could eat at a person's soul."What made this one stick with you?"she prodded, her voice low and gravelly.

Whitaker's gaze snapped back to the present, locking onto Morgan's."Because Maria Santos wasn't just another victim.She was the first.The start of something...darker."

A chill ran down Morgan's spine, but she kept her face impassive.Beside her, she felt Derik tense.

"What do you mean, 'the first'?"Derik asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Whitaker leaned in, his coffee forgotten."I believe the killer didn't stop with Maria.There were three more murders in the two years that followed.Different methods, different scenes, but connected.I could feel it in my bones."

Morgan's mind raced, piecing together the implications."We considered a serial killer.But the cases weren't linked officially, were they?"

Whitaker shook his head, frustration etched in the lines of his face."No.That's why it's eaten at me all these years.The brass couldn't – or wouldn't – see the pattern."

"What pattern?"Morgan pressed, her instincts on high alert.

Whitaker's voice dropped even lower."The personalization.Each murder scene, each victim...they were staged.Positioned in a way that reflected something about their life or death.The killer was...creating tableaus.Telling a story with each body."

Morgan felt a cold knot form in her stomach.She thought of Rachel Martinez, splayed out in that X shape, just like Maria Santos before her.Was this the killer's signature finally repeating after all these years?Or something more sinister?It seemed like whatever pattern he’d been creating before had now started over again.

Whitaker's weathered hands traced invisible patterns on the table as he spoke, his voice a low, intense murmur."Maria Santos, you know about.Found in that parking garage, arms and legs stretched out like an X.But there were others."

Morgan leaned forward, her coffee forgotten.She could feel Derik's tension beside her, mirroring her own.

"Thomas Burke," Whitaker continued."Young guy, maybe twenty-five.Found in Reverchon Park, curled up tight in a fetal position.Like he was trying to protect himself, even in death.There was strong evidence that the position was staged post-mortem, though."

Morgan's mind flashed to the crime scene photos she'd seen of Rachel Martinez.The stark contrast between Rachel's outstretched limbs and this new victim's closed-off posture sent a chill down her spine.

"Then there was Lucas Hayes," Whitaker said, his eyes distant with memory."Behind some dive bar off Lower Greenville.He was on his knees, forehead touching the ground.Child's pose, like in yoga.And Sadie Winters..."He paused, swallowing hard."Found her in a church parking lot.Hands clasped on her knees.Praying."

Morgan's pen moved furiously across her notepad, but her thoughts raced even faster.Four victims, four distinct poses.What was the killer trying to say back then?And what was he saying now, by starting again?

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