Page 11 of For Mercy (Morgan Cross #16)

The gravel crunched under the tires as Morgan eased the car to a stop in front of the small church. She squinted against the late afternoon sun, its rays painting long shadows across the humble building and its sparse parking lot. A simple wooden sign caught her eye: "Hope & Redemption Ministry."

Morgan turned to Derik, her brow furrowed. "This can't be right. Are you sure this is the address for Marcus Walsh?"

Derik double-checked his notes and nodded. "Yeah, this is it. Not exactly what I pictured for a guy with his record."

Morgan stepped out of the car. She'd been expecting a rundown apartment or maybe a seedy bar—not this quaint little church on the outskirts of town. The disconnect made her uneasy, heightening her already razor-sharp senses.

"Let's see what we're dealing with," she muttered, more to herself than to Derik.

They approached the entrance, the wooden steps creaking beneath their feet. Morgan hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door, her hand instinctively brushing against her holstered weapon.

The interior was as modest as the exterior—worn pews, faded hymnals, and a small pulpit at the front. And there, arranging flowers on the altar, was a man Morgan almost didn't recognize from the mug shot she'd studied earlier.

"Marcus Walsh?" she called out, her voice echoing in the empty sanctuary.

The man turned, and Morgan felt a jolt of surprise. Gone was the scowling, defiant face she'd seen in his prison photo. This Marcus Walsh had clear eyes, a serene expression, and an air of quiet composure that seemed entirely at odds with his violent past.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

Morgan stepped forward, Derik a half-step behind her. "I'm Special Agent Morgan Cross, this is my partner Special Agent Derik Greene. We'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

Walsh nodded, setting down the flowers. "Of course. What can I do for you?"

As they began their questioning, Morgan couldn't shake her discomfort. This man—calm, articulate, seemingly at peace—was so far removed from the angry convict she'd expected that she found herself struggling to reconcile the two images.

Is this an act? She wondered. Or has he really changed this much?

She pressed on, her tone professional but probing. "Mr. Walsh, can you tell us where you were three nights ago, between the hours of 8 PM and midnight?"

Walsh's brow furrowed slightly, but his demeanor remained tranquil. "I was here at the church, Agent. We were hosting a community dinner and prayer service that evening. Is something wrong?"

Morgan exchanged a quick glance with Derik.

This wasn't at all how she'd imagined this confrontation going.

She'd come prepared for hostility, for lies, for the need to break down a hardened criminal.

Instead, she found herself facing a man who seemed genuinely confused by their presence and entirely willing to cooperate.

Morgan studied Marcus Walsh's face, searching for any hint of deception.

His eyes, once hard and filled with anger in his mug shot, now radiated a serene warmth.

The transformation was striking, almost unbelievable.

She'd seen her fair share of cons and manipulators, but this. .. this felt different.

"Mr. Walsh," Morgan began, her voice measured, "I understand you've undergone quite a change since your time in prison. Could you tell us more about that?"

Walsh's face softened, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"It's not an easy story to tell, but I'm happy to share it.

In prison, I was angry, bitter, lashing out at the world.

But then I found faith. It wasn't instantaneous—it was a long, difficult journey.

But through it, I found peace and purpose. "

As he spoke, Morgan noticed the way his hands remained open and relaxed on the table, a contrast to the clenched fists she often saw in interrogation rooms. His body language screamed openness, vulnerability even.

Is this really the same man who was convicted of manslaughter? Morgan wondered, her skepticism warring with the evidence before her eyes.

Derik leaned forward, his tone curious rather than confrontational. "That's quite a transformation, Mr. Walsh. How has this change manifested in your daily life?"

Walsh's eyes lit up, as if he'd been waiting for this very question.

"The most significant change is the vow of nonviolence I've taken.

It's not just about not harming others physically—it's a complete shift in how I approach conflict and anger.

I've dedicated myself to peace, to finding solutions that don't involve hurting anyone, no matter the circumstances. "

Morgan felt a twinge of disappointment. If Walsh was telling the truth—and everything about him suggested he was—then they were back to square one with their investigation.

But she couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter, however unproductive for the case, was significant in some way she couldn't yet grasp.

"That's a serious commitment," Morgan said, her tone softening despite herself. "How do you maintain it, especially given your past?"

Walsh's gaze became distant for a moment, as if looking inward. "It's a daily choice, Agent Cross. Every morning, I remind myself of the harm I've caused in the past and recommit to being a force for good in the world. It's not always easy, but it's the path I've chosen."

As Walsh spoke, Morgan found herself believing him. The quiet conviction in his voice, the open vulnerability in his expression—it all pointed to a man who had truly changed. And yet, a small part of her couldn't help but wonder if they were being expertly manipulated.

Morgan leaned forward, her eyes narrowing slightly. Despite Walsh's apparent sincerity, she couldn't afford to take anything at face value. Not with a case this critical.

"I appreciate your openness, Mr. Walsh," she said, her tone professional but probing. "But I need to ask you directly: Where were you on the night of Judge Hawthorne's murder? Can you account for your whereabouts?"

She watched Walsh carefully, looking for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. But his serene expression didn't waver.

Walsh nodded without a moment's pause. "Of course. I understand you need to be thorough." He folded his hands on the table between them. "I've been here at the church for the past week, actually. We're running a community outreach program—providing meals, counseling, and support for those in need."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "That's quite a commitment. Can anyone corroborate your presence here?"

"Absolutely," Walsh replied, his voice steady. "We have volunteers working around the clock, and I've been here every day and night. Pastor Jim, our kitchen staff, the other counselors—they can all confirm I haven't left the premises."

As Walsh spoke, Morgan found herself caught between skepticism and a growing belief in his words. His alibi seemed solid, almost too convenient. And yet, there was an authenticity to his demeanor that was hard to fake.

*Could he really have changed this much?* Morgan wondered. *Or is this all an elaborate act?*

She decided to push a little harder. "That's quite a transformation from your past, Mr. Walsh. Some might find it hard to believe."

Walsh's eyes softened, a hint of sadness creeping into his expression. "I understand the doubt. I've doubted myself many times on this journey. But my faith, and the support of this community, have given me strength I never knew I had."

Morgan felt a conflicting mix of emotions. Part of her wanted to believe in redemption, in the possibility of real change. But the detective in her couldn't ignore the stakes of their investigation.

"We'll need to verify your alibi, of course," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Walsh nodded, his expression open. "Of course. I'll provide you with all the contact information you need. I have nothing to hide."

As Morgan jotted down the details, she couldn't shake the feeling that their lead had just evaporated. If Walsh's story checked out—and her instincts were telling her it would—they were back to square one.

Morgan's eyes met Derik's, a silent understanding passing between them. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as she recognized the truth reflected in her partner's gaze. Marcus Walsh wasn't their killer.

She cleared her throat, tucking away her notebook. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Walsh. We'll be in touch if we need anything further."

Walsh nodded, his demeanor still serene. "I hope you find who you're looking for, Agents. May God guide your path."

Morgan zipped up her leather jacket, the late afternoon chill nipping at her skin as she and Derik made their way across the church's gravel parking lot.

The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the modest building in shades of amber and gold.

She couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that clung to her like a second skin. Another dead end.

As they approached their car, a voice called out behind them. "Agents, wait."

Morgan turned to see Marcus Walsh jogging towards them, his face etched with an expression of deep contemplation. She tensed instinctively, her hand hovering near her holster, but Walsh's body language remained open and non-threatening.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Walsh?" she asked, studying his face carefully.

Walsh nodded, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made Morgan's skin prickle. "I've been thinking about your case, about Judge Hawthorne," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. "There's something I think you should consider."

Morgan exchanged a quick glance with Derik before turning her full attention back to Walsh. "We're listening," she said, curiosity piqued despite her wariness.

Walsh took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "The person who set up that trap... they didn't actually kill Judge Hawthorne. The trap did."