Page 40 of For Rage

"A deal's a deal, Johnson," she said. "But your behavior toward your female students will be reported to the school."

Johnson's expression turned sour. "You can't prove anything," he spat. "It's all hearsay."

Morgan glared at him. "Maybe not, but it's enough to make sure you never work in education again. Something tells me the board will listen to the FBI over you."

Johnson's face went pale, and Morgan couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She had played him at his own game. As she walked out of the interrogation room, Derik was waiting for her.

"Well?" he asked.

Morgan handed him the notepad with Jerry Jameson's name."I'm on this."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Morgan sat in the briefing room alone with her laptop open and a cup of black coffee. Derik was tailing Johnson to see where he'd go next, but Morgan was happy to leave that in his hands. She needed to know everything she could about this Jerry Jameson guy, starting with everything the FBI had on him in their database.

Taking a sip of her bitter drink, she read through the file. Jerry Jameson was thirty-eight, a former student, like Johnson had said. But where he went after he dropped out of university was more cryptic. He never went back to school, and he had a history of mental illness. Morgan frowned at the screen. This was going to be a tough one to crack. She dug deeper, searching for any potential leads.

After a few minutes, she found something that caught her attention. Jameson had been arrested for possession of illegal substances two years prior. But it turned out it was just marijuana.

A couple years after that, he launched his own business. Morgan dug up old social media posts advertising none other than gardening services.

Gardening services ...

Her heart raced. She remembered the flier she'd seen on Grace Alba's fridge. The trimmed hedges, the well-maintained garden at Mia Jones's house even after her death.

Not only was Jerry Jameson previously interested in poison, but he had his own gardening business. It wasn't officially registered—in fact, it seemed he was mostly paid under the table and in cash and didn't report most of his income. He was performing shady business practices.

Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that she was onto something. She searched for any connections between Jameson and the victims by going into the victims' phone records. Grace Alba had contacted Jameson's business from her land line. Mia, Nelly, and Patty too—all four victims, at one point or another, had called Jameson's business number.

All four of them had almost certainly employed him at one point or another.

Morgan's pulse raced faster than her thoughts could keep up with. It all felt so real, like a building toppling over on her head. Jerry Jameson could answer everything—the gardening theory, the Bleeding Woodbine, and now, the connection between all four women. Maybe this was how Grace and Mia knew each other; they shared the same gardener. They could have met each other in the neighborhood and talked about it.

She was sure of it now. All four women had let Jerry into their homes.

And he had killed them.

***

Morgan held her breath as Derik drove them, full speed ahead, toward Jerry Jameson's last known location. Apparently, he was living with his sister, Mary, on the outskirts of town.

"I can't believe we didn't see this sooner," Derik said, sweat on his brow as he drove the car toward Mary's house. It was getting later into the day, and long shadows stretched over the road. It was sunny, but Morgan felt cold.

"It doesn't matter," Morgan said. "We've got him now. We'll take him in."

Derik nodded, his jaw clenched. "Let's just hope he's there."

As they pulled up to the small house, Morgan's heart raced in her chest. This was it. The moment of truth. Derik parked the car, and they both got out. As they approached the house, Morgan saw a figure in the window. She couldn't tell who it was, but her gut told her it was Jerry Jameson. She had no idea what to expect, but she knew that this was their chance to bring an end to the case.

The house's garden was immaculate, to be expected. There was a work truck in the driveway and children's toys all over the lawn. It was a remote house on a large plot of land, and the kids belonged to Jerry's sister, not him.

They crept up to the door and knocked. Morgan waited a beat—no answer—then knocked again.

Finally, it opened.

But it wasn't Jerry—it was his sister, Mary. She looked up at them with wide eyes. She had brown hair and blue eyes, looking nothing like the victims.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

---