Page 29 of For Blood

"Someone's copying the original murders," Derik finished.

"Exactly," Morgan said, turning back to him."But here's the kicker – whoever it is has details that were never made public.The positioning of the bodies, the specific wounds...That's not something you'd find in old newspaper clippings."

Derik's eyes widened slightly."So we're looking at someone with inside knowledge.A cop?Maybe someone close to Keller?"

Morgan's mind raced with possibilities."Could be.Or someone obsessed with the case who managed to get their hands on confidential files.Either way, they're sending a message."

"But what message?"Derik asked, frustration evident in his voice.

Morgan didn't answer immediately.Instead, she stared out into the darkness of the parking lot, her mind swirling with questions and half-formed theories.The weight of twenty years of secrets and lies seemed to press down on her, making the interior of the car feel claustrophobic.

Morgan rubbed her temples, feeling the exhaustion settle deep into her bones."God, I need coffee," she muttered, glancing at the dashboard clock.It glowed an unforgiving 3:17 AM.

Derik yawned in response."I think we both need more than coffee at this point.How about some sleep?"

Morgan nodded, her shoulders sagging."You're right.We're not going to crack this tonight."She paused, her brow furrowing."But I can't shake this feeling that we're racing against the clock."

"The killer's methodical," Derik agreed, his voice tight with concern."They're picking off witnesses one by one."

Morgan's fingers tightened on the steering wheel."And they know things.Secrets.Things these witnesses might have been hiding for twenty years."

She closed her eyes briefly, picturing the faces of those they'd spoken to.Gregory Phillips, with his haunted eyes and trembling hands.Sarah Winters, bitter and angry after two decades of disbelief.And now Vanessa Shaw, hesitant and evasive even over the phone.

"At least Sarah is under protection," Derik offered, though his tone lacked conviction.

Morgan nodded, but her stomach churned with unease."And Vanessa's out of town.She should be safe enough for tonight."The words felt hollow even as she said them.

"We should head home," Derik said softly."Get a few hours of sleep before we dive back in."

Morgan knew he was right, but the thought of leaving the case, even for a few hours, made her skin crawl."Yeah," she finally conceded."You're right.We're no good to anyone if we're running on fumes."

As she started the car, Morgan couldn't shake the nagging feeling that they were missing something crucial.The pieces were there, scattered like breadcrumbs, but the full picture remained frustratingly out of reach.

"First thing tomorrow," she said, pulling out of the parking lot, "we need to dig deeper into Keller's past.If he was the original killer, we might be looking at a copycat after all, someone who was able to connect the dot between the crimes themselves.If he wasn't..."

"Then the real killer's been out there all this time," Derik finished grimly.

Morgan nodded, her eyes fixed on the empty road ahead."Either way, we're dealing with someone who's willing to kill to keep old secrets buried.And I've got a feeling they're far from finished."

CHAPTER TWELVE

The first rays of dawn crept through the gaps in the venetian blinds, painting thin stripes of light across the oak dining table.The killer's gloved fingers traced the edge of a yellowed newspaper clipping, savoring the brittle texture beneath their touch.Their dark attire blended seamlessly with the shadowy corners of the room, a second skin they'd grown accustomed to over the years.

They inhaled deeply, drinking in the stillness of the early morning.The air felt thick with possibility, with the promise of what was to come.Their heartbeat quickened ever so slightly, a familiar thrill coursing through their veins.

"Today's the day," they whispered, their voice barely above a breath."Everything changes today."

With methodical precision, they arranged the newspaper clippings before them, each one a piece in the intricate puzzle they'd been crafting.Some were faded relics from decades past, while others bore the crisp black ink of recent publications.Together, they formed a tapestry of terror that represented years of careful study and execution.

The killer's eyes moved methodically across the headlines, memorizing each detail.These weren't mere stories of tragedy and loss to them—they were instructional, educational.Each clipping represented a lesson learned, a technique perfected over time.The investigators who had failed to solve these cases had missed the connections, the artistry that linked them all together.

Rising from the chair, the killer began to gather their tools.Each item had been carefully selected, cleaned, and prepared for the task ahead.The familiar weight of the knife brought a smile to their lips.The past hung heavy in their mind—a time when control had been stripped away, when they had been powerless.But those days were long gone.Now they were the author of this story, the master of each carefully orchestrated scene.

The killer's attention returned to the carefully arranged clippings, satisfaction evident in their posture.Everything was in place.Every detail accounted for.There would be no mistakes, no loose ends.Just another masterpiece to add to their growing collection.

Their fingers skimmed over a headline that read: "Nurse Found Dead in Hospital Parking Garage—Possible Link to Cold Case?"The memory of antiseptic and squeaking shoes on linoleum flooded back.The killer had been invisible then, overlooked and underestimated.That had been their advantage.

Another clipping caught their eye: "Local Man Discovers Grisly Crime Scene in Reverchon Park."Pride surged through them as they studied the article.That scene had been a particular triumph—a challenge they'd set for themselves to not just match but surpass their previous work.The positioning, the careful arrangement of evidence, the deliberate absences—all of it had been executed with precision that elevated it beyond mere murder to something approaching art.

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