Page 18

Morgan stood before the evidence board in the briefing room, studying the photographs, timelines, and maps that chronicled three lives ended by the same hand.

The morning sun streamed through the windows, unusually bright for a November day in Dallas, casting hard-edged shadows across the assembled evidence of their vigilante's work.

The coffee that had sustained her through the pre-dawn hours at the crime scene had worn off, leaving behind a hollow, jittery feeling that sleep deprivation only amplified.

She'd grabbed another cup from the break room, but it sat cooling on the desk behind her, forgotten as she lost herself in the connections between their victims.

Derik worked at a nearby computer, methodically compiling data from all three crime scenes, cross-referencing details that might reveal patterns they had missed. The familiar sound of his typing provided a steady backdrop to Morgan's thoughts, grounding in its predictability.

"Three victims, three different criminal profiles," she said, thinking aloud as she traced a finger along the map where they'd marked each murder location. "Rodriguez, the drug dealer. Rivera, the sex offender. Murray, the car thief. Different crimes, different victims, different—"

She stopped suddenly, a realization forming as she studied the geographic distribution of the crimes. "No, wait. There is a pattern here."

Derik looked up from his computer, immediately attentive to the shift in her voice. "What do you see?"

Morgan grabbed a red marker and circled an area on the map.

"Rodriguez and Rivera were both killed in their homes in Santiago Heights.

Murray lived across town, but he was killed while attempting a crime in the Oak Cliff area, just south of Santiago Heights.

" Her marker traced connections between the three locations, forming a rough triangle.

"All three crimes connect to the same general area of Dallas. "

Derik rose from his desk, moving to stand beside her at the map. "You think our unsub lives in Santiago Heights?"

"It fits," Morgan said, the theory crystallizing as she spoke.

"He's killing to 'clean up' what he sees as his territory.

Rodriguez sold drugs there, Rivera preyed on women there, and Murray was stealing from there.

" She circled a central zone where the killer likely resided.

"Someone with deep ties to the neighborhood, who knows its criminals intimately and considers it his responsibility to eliminate threats to its safety. "

"A self-appointed protector," Derik suggested, studying the area she'd highlighted. "That would explain the methodical nature of the killings—this isn't random violence, it's a mission. He's 'protecting' his community from those he sees as predators."

Morgan nodded, feeling the familiar satisfaction of pieces falling into place.

"It also explains how he knows so much about his victims' activities.

He lives there, observes there. He's probably a longtime resident, someone who's watched the neighborhood change over the years, someone invested in its safety—or at least, his perception of safety. "

She stepped back from the board, visualizing their unsub patrolling the streets of Santiago Heights, identifying targets, conducting surveillance, building his list of those who had "escaped justice.

" The image was disturbing in its clarity, a man whose moral certainty had twisted into something lethal.

"This isn't just about criminal records," she continued, the profile developing as she spoke.

"That's too impersonal. This is someone who's witnessed the impact of these crimes firsthand.

Maybe he's been victimized himself, or someone close to him has.

The drug dealer, the sex offender, the thief—they might represent specific threats he's personally encountered. "

"Which means the victims aren't random," Derik concluded. "He's choosing them deliberately, based on his experiences or observations in the neighborhood."

"Exactly," Morgan agreed. "And if we're right about him living in Santiago Heights, that gives us a much narrower search parameter. We need to look at longtime residents with the skills and temperament for this kind of vigilantism."

She turned back to the map, studying the streets and blocks of Santiago Heights with renewed focus. For someone to develop this level of territorial protectiveness, to know the criminal patterns of the neighborhood so intimately, they would need to have lived there for years, perhaps decades.

"I need to go there," she decided. "Get a feel for the community, the dynamics, see if our theory holds up on the ground."

Derik looked concerned. "Alone? After what Walsh said about witnesses not cooperating with law enforcement?"

Morgan understood his worry, but she also knew that a heavy law enforcement presence would shut down any chance of genuine interaction with residents.

"I'll be careful," she promised. "But I need to understand this place if we're going to identify our killer.

See it through his eyes, understand what drives him to 'protect' it so violently. "

"I'll stay here," Derik conceded, recognizing the determination in her voice. "Review the security footage from near the garage. Forensics is expecting preliminary results on the bullet comparison by noon."

Morgan nodded, already mentally preparing for the visit. Santiago Heights wasn't just any neighborhood in Dallas—it was a community with its own rules, its own code of silence, its own methods of handling problems. Outsiders weren't welcomed easily, especially those with badges.

"You know what really bothers me about this case?

" she said, turning away from the map to face Derik directly.

"I understand him. Our unsub. I get the anger at seeing the system fail repeatedly, watching the same criminals victimize the same communities while justice looks the other way.

" She hesitated, then admitted what had been troubling her since they discovered the pattern.

"After ten years wrongfully imprisoned, watching the real criminals walk free, I've felt that same rage. "

Derik's expression softened, concern replacing the professional detachment he typically maintained during case discussions.

"There's a difference, Morgan. You channel that anger into legitimate pursuit of justice.

Our unsub has crossed a line, appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner. That's not justice—it's vengeance."

Morgan knew he was right, had told herself the same thing repeatedly.

But the line between justice and vengeance sometimes blurred, especially in the face of systemic failures that allowed predators to continue harming vulnerable communities.

Her own pursuit of Cordell balanced precariously on that same line—was she seeking justice for his crimes, or vengeance for what he had taken from her?

"I know," she acknowledged. "And that's why I need to understand him better—to remember where that line is, why it matters." She gathered her jacket and credentials, preparing to head out. "I'll check in regularly. If our theory is right, the answers we need are in Santiago Heights."

As Morgan headed toward the elevator, the weight of multiple pressures settled across her shoulders once more.

Cordell's ultimatum continued its inexorable countdown—four days remaining before he made good on his threats against her father, against Derik, against everyone she cared about.

The vigilante killer stalked the streets of Santiago Heights, potentially selecting his next target even now.

And somewhere in the middle of these dangers stood Morgan herself, trying to maintain the boundary between justice and the darker impulses that whispered to her in moments of doubt.

Understanding this killer felt disturbingly like understanding a part of herself she'd fought to control since her release from prison—the part that sometimes wondered if legal justice was enough, if some predators deserved more permanent solutions.

The vigilante had crossed that line, embraced what Morgan had resisted.

And now she needed to enter his territory, see through his eyes, without losing her own moral compass in the process.

The elevator doors closed, sealing her in momentary solitude as she descended toward the parking garage.

Santiago Heights awaited, with its secrets and silences and the answers she needed to find before another confession was written at gunpoint, before another execution was carried out in the name of justice that had never been designed to be delivered at the barrel of a gun.