Page 25 of Forever

Morgan nodded even though he couldn't see her. She knew she needed more than just sympathy – she needed a lead. "Did Amber ever mention attending AA meetings, doctor? Or had she been struggling with an addiction?"

"AA meetings?" Dr. Stone's surprise came through clearly. "No, I don't believe she ever mentioned anything like that to me. She was quite well-adjusted in our sessions, but she wasn't handling her parents' deaths very well. It's possible she turned to alcohol after I last saw her, but I couldn't say for certain."

"Thank you, Doctor. If you think of anything, please let me know."

"I will, Special Agent Cross. Thank you."

Morgan hung up and sighed, disappointment heavy in her chest. She had been hoping she could somehow tie Amber to Stacy with the AA meetings, but if Amber wasn't even an alcoholic, then the theory was moot.

Morgan stared at the cluttered mess of files strewn across the table. If there was no lead in Amber's life, then maybe she had to turn it back to Martha, the last victim they'd found. Martha was most likely the first victim, unless there were still others out there, waiting to be found.

Morgan grabbed the worn manila folder with Martha's name scrawled on the front, flipping it open to reveal a collection of documents and photographs.

Her eyes scanned the pages, taking in the details of Martha's life: known drug addict, frequented shelters, no fixed address. It was possible Martha had attended AA meetings with Stacy.

The only name that seemed viable was a welfare caseworker – Francine, who was Martha's emergency contact. Morgan dialed the number, hoping against hope that Francine might hold the key to unlocking this mystery.

"Hello?" A warm, kind voice answered the phone.

"Hi, Francine? My name is Morgan Cross, I'm an FBI agent investigating the recent murders of Stacy Cox, Amber Jade, and Martha McTavish. I understand you were Martha's caseworker?"

"Yes, I was," Francine responded, concern evident in her tone. "How can I help you, Agent Cross?"

"Did Martha ever mention anything about attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, or knowing anyone who did?" Morgan asked, her fingers gripping the edge of her couch tightly.

"AA meetings? No, not that I recall," Francine replied thoughtfully. "Martha struggled with addiction, but she never expressed an interest in getting sober through AA or any other program."

"Damn," Morgan muttered under her breath, her heart sinking further. "Can you tell me anything else about Martha?" Morgan asked, her voice straining to hold back her frustration. She rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

"Martha had a very hard life," Francine sighed. "She lost a child when she was younger and just never quite picked herself back up. To be honest, I think that's what led her down the path of addiction. It was her way of coping."

Morgan glanced at the photo of Martha in the file, her heart aching for the pain she must have experienced. But how did this information connect her to Stacy and Amber? She dug her nails into the couch cushions as she fought the urge to grunt in frustration.

"Thank you, Francine," Morgan said, forcing a polite tone. "I appreciate your help."

"Of course, Agent Cross," Francine responded kindly. "If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to call."

"Will do. Take care, Francine." Morgan ended the call and tossed her phone onto the coffee table, the frustration boiling over. She ran her fingers through her hair, tugging slightly in an attempt to ease the tension building inside her.

They took a breath and thought about the victims. Stacy Cox, the orphaned waitress; Martha McTavish, the grieving mother who couldn't escape addiction; and Amber Jade, struggling to cope with the loss of her parents. They all shared a traumatic past, but what was the link between those traumas that led each of them to their tragic end? Was it their trauma that made the killer target them?

"Skunk," Morgan said, rubbing her dog's head as she lay curled up at her feet. "Am I missing something obvious here? What connects these women?"

The dog simply snorted in her sleep, providing no answers.

"Thanks for the help," Morgan muttered sarcastically, leaning back on her chair and closing her eyes for a moment. She tried to gather her thoughts, to clear the clutter in her mind and see the pattern that was eluding her.

Maybe I should refocus on the marina,she thought aloud, opening her eyes again to glance at the list of people with access to the docks. She had been so sure that the marina held the answer, but with three different murder locations, she couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't the key to solving this case. After all, the bodies were found at all different locations.

Morgan's thoughts wandered, and she found herself back in the diner earlier that day. The anonymous phone call echoed in her mind - a voice claiming her father had been an FBI agent. She shook her head, dismissing the idea. There was no way he had been; he would have told her. Her dad loved her, and especially since she joined the FBI, she knew there was no reason why he'd keep it from her.

"Skunk, watch the files for me, buddy," she mumbled to her loyal dog, who looked up at her with sleepy eyes. Morgan pushed herself out of the chair and made her way to her bedroom closet. She slid open the door and dug out an old cardboard box wedged between her hiking boots and winter jackets.

"Alright, Dad, let's see if there are any secrets hiding in here," she muttered as she peeled the tape off the dusty box. Inside were photo albums from her childhood, each one filled with memories of simpler times. Pictures of her and her dad filled the pages, his ever-present grin warming her heart.

Could he really have been an agent before she was born? But why would he hide it? And why would he quit?"

"Hey, kiddo,"her dad's voice seemed to echo from the past, a memory of him calling her inside after playing in their front yard. Morgan blinked away tears that threatened to spill over, focusing on the pictures instead.

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