Page 10 of For Vengeance

"Witnesses?" Morgan asked, already knowing the answer.

"In this neighborhood?" Ramirez gave a humorless laugh. "Nobody sees nothing, nobody hears nothing. Especially when it comes to someone like Rodriguez. He wasn't exactly beloved around here."

Morgan turned her attention back to the bloodstained table. "The confession letter. Handwriting analysis confirms it was written by Rodriguez?"

"Yeah, pressure patterns indicate duress though. You can see where the pen nearly tore through paper in places." Ramirez crossed his arms over his chest. "He didn't write that willingly."

Morgan had seen enough interrogations to know what fear looked like on paper—the shaky letters, the increasing pressure as panic set in, the desperate attempts to appease the interrogator. Rodriguez's confession bore all those marks.

"What about the second victim? Rivera?" she asked.

"Same MO, down to the letter," Ramirez confirmed. "Found in his apartment just a few blocks from here, single shot to the head, confession letter placed in front of him. Rivera was a piece of work—did time for voyeurism, supposedly rehabilitated, but we had suspicions he was back to his old tricks after release. Confession letter detailed how he'd been secretly filming women without consent, including placing hidden cameras in public restrooms."

"Information not in his official record," Derik noted.

"Exactly," Ramirez agreed. "Whoever killed him knew things that weren't public knowledge. Either they'd been surveilling him personally or—"

"Or they had access to information gathered during ongoing investigations," Morgan finished. The implications were troubling—suggesting their killer might have connections to law enforcement, or at minimum, access to restricted information.

She crouched near the table, examining the spatters of blood on the linoleum floor. "Time of death?"

"ME puts it between ten PM and midnight, two nights ago," Ramirez replied. "No defensive wounds, no signs of struggle. He knew it was over."

Morgan nodded, piecing together Rodriguez's final moments. The unexpected intruder, the gun, the forced confession. The drug dealer had likely realized quickly that bargaining was useless, that whoever had come for him wasn't interested in his money or his product. They'd come for judgment.

"We need copies of both confession letters," she said, straightening up. "And full autopsy reports, ballistics, everything you have on both scenes."

"Already compiled for you," Ramirez said, gesturing to a folder sitting on a countertop away from the main crime scene area. "Captain's orders. Full cooperation."

His tone suggested he wasn't entirely happy with those orders, but was professional enough to follow them. Morgan appreciated the efficiency, regardless of the sentiment behind it.

"Anything else you think we should know?" Derik asked, having completed his examination of the apartment's perimeter. "Any odd connections between victims, beyond the methodology?"

Ramirez considered the question. "Nothing obvious connecting Rodriguez and Rivera personally. Different criminal enterprises, though both operating here in Santiago Heights." He paused. "The only commonality is they were both scum who got what was coming to them, if you want my honest opinion."

Morgan caught the subtle approval in the detective's voice—not uncommon among law enforcement when predators met violent ends. She'd felt that satisfaction herself often enough, that visceral sense that justice had been served even if not through official channels. But she'd learned the hard way where vigilante justice ultimately led. Her own wrongful conviction had taught her the danger of shortcuts in the justice system.

"One more thing," Ramirez added as they prepared to leave. "The gun was pressed directly against Rodriguez's skull when fired—contact shot. Same with Rivera. Killer wanted it quick, clean. Professional."

Morgan nodded, filing away the detail. "We appreciate your cooperation, Detective. We'll be in touch."

As they descended the stairs back to street level, Derik kept his voice low. "So we're looking at a vigilante with access to non-public information about criminals, tactical training, and a methodical approach to execution. Sounds like someone with a law enforcement background."

"Or military," Morgan agreed, pushing open the building's main door and stepping back onto the street. The morning sun had risen higher, burning away some of the neighborhood's shadows but none of its inherent danger. "Maybe both."

"Serial vigilante," Derik mused as they walked toward their vehicle. "Targeting criminals who he believes have escaped justice."

"Or who never faced it in the first place," Morgan added, thinking of Rodriguez's detailed confession, the crimes for which he'd never been formally charged.

Back at FBI headquarters, they commandeered a small briefing room, transforming it into their war room for the case. Morgan pinned crime scene photos to the bulletin board while Derik created a timeline on the whiteboard, marking the known movements of both victims in their final days.

Morgan stepped back, studying the images of Rodriguez and Rivera side by side. Two very different criminals with two very similar ends. The signatures were identical—same paper used for the confessions, same pressure points in the handwriting analysis, same execution style. Both killed in their homes where they felt safe, both forced to acknowledge their crimes before death.

"We're dealing with someone who sees himself as delivering justice where the system has failed," she said, thinking aloud. "He targets specific criminals, not random victims. He's studied them, knows their crimes in detail, tracks their habits well enough to surprise them in their homes."

Derik added another note to the timeline. "And he forces confession before execution. That's key—he's not just killing them, he's making them acknowledge their guilt. It's ritualistic."

Morgan nodded, her mind building a preliminary profile of their unsub. "He's methodical, patient. Likely middle-aged, intelligent, with some kind of tactical training. He considers himself morally superior to his victims, justified in his actions."

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