Page 47 of In Her Wake
“Not in this area,” Morgan replied.“Not at this level.”
Something shifted in Morrison’s expression—a flicker of professional pride cutting through the fog of his addiction.“You think I made mannequins of real people?”he asked.“Why would I do that?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Spelling said.
“I haven’t made anything in weeks,” Morrison muttered.“Can barely hold my tools steady anymore.”
“Yet your workshop was the one area of your home that remained relatively organized,” Jenna observed.“Despite the chaos elsewhere, that room showed care.”
“Of course it did,” Morrison snapped.“It’s the only thing I have left that matters.The only part of my life that still has any value.”His gaze shot to Morgan, anger flaring in his bloodshot eyes.“Or it did, until he made sure nobody would hire me.”
“Dr.Morrison,” his attorney warned.“Let’s stay focused on answering only the specific questions—”
“No,” Morrison said, his voice rising.“You want to know why my days blur together?Why I can’t tell you where I was yesterday?It’s because every day is the same goddamn nightmare since Chief Morgan here decided to destroy my career!”
“Tim—” the attorney began, but Morrison was beyond hearing.
“Do you know what it’s like?”He leaned forward as far as his handcuffed wrists would allow, eyes locked on Morgan.“Twenty years building a reputation, becoming the best at what I do, only to have it all taken away because of one mistake?”
“You compromised an active investigation,” Morgan said flatly.
“I gave an interview!I didn’t realize some details weren’t cleared for release yet!”Morrison’s free hand slammed against the table.“For that, you made sure I’d never work for law enforcement again.You blacklisted me!”
“My client is upset,” the attorney said, placing a restraining hand on Morrison’s arm.“Perhaps we should take a break—”
“I’ve tried everything,” Morrison continued, shrugging off his attorney’s hand.“Everything to keep a roof over my head.Funeral homes—did you know they need facial reconstruction sometimes?For open-casket viewings when the deceased is too damaged?It’s delicate work, restoring a face so a family can say goodbye.”
The room fell silent.Jenna found herself thinking of the bodies she’d seen throughout her career—the damage that violent death could inflict.The thought of someone meticulously restoring those faces for grieving families held a strange nobility.
“But there wasn’t enough demand for reconstruction in these small towns.”Morrison continued, his voice quieter now.“So I started making figurines—little sculptures for craft fairs, online sales.Tried to get commissions for portrait busts from historical societies, local patrons with money to spend on vanity projects.”He laughed bitterly.“But who wants to commission art from a man with shaky hands who reeks of desperation?”
“Dr.Morrison, I must insist,” his attorney said, more forcefully this time.“This isn’t helping your case.”
“My case?”Morrison looked at his attorney as if seeing him for the first time.“What case?Possession?That’s the least of my problems.”He turned back to the officers.“You want to know if I killed those people and made mannequins of them?I didn’t.Couldn’t.Can barely function most days.”
“I think we’re done here,” the attorney declared, rising to his feet.“My client has been cooperative, but he’s clearly distressed, and I don’t believe this line of questioning is productive.”
Spelling nodded.“We appreciate your time, Dr.Morrison.If you recall anything about your whereabouts during the times in question, please let us know.”
Morrison didn’t respond, his gaze now fixed on the table in front of him, shoulders slumped in defeat.An officer came to escort him back to his cell, and the attorney gathered his legal pad and briefcase, offering a curt nod before following them out.
The door closed, leaving Jenna, Jake, Spelling, and Morgan alone in the small room.
Morgan broke the silence first.“He’s our guy.No question.”
“Based on what evidence?”Jenna asked.“He can’t account for his whereabouts, but that’s hardly proof of guilt.”
“The skill set matches perfectly,” Morgan insisted.“And that outburst—that’s a man with a grudge, with a reason to kill.”
“Against you, maybe,” Jake pointed out.“But what’s his connection to Marjory Powell or Kevin Torres?What motive would he have to target them specifically?”
Morgan waved a dismissive hand.“Maybe they were just convenient.Or maybe there is a connection we haven’t uncovered yet.Point is, we’ve got a suspect with the exact skills needed to create those mannequins, with no alibi, and with a clear psychological break from his former life.”
Jenna exchanged a glance with Jake, seeing her own doubt mirrored in his eyes.“I think we need to keep all options open,” she said carefully.“Including having someone keep an eye on Marcus Langley.”
“The photographer?”Morgan frowned.“Why?Because he took pictures of the victims?That’s circumstantial at best.”
“It’s a connection,” Jenna insisted.“And his alibis should be verified.”
