Chapter 4

2024—

Los Angeles, California—

Two days later…

The UCLA campus was alive with activity despite the encroaching evening. Students rushed to classes, lounged on the grass, or debated heatedly over assignments on the outdoor benches.

In stark contrast to this bustle, the atmosphere in the FBI’s temporary command center, just a few blocks from the campus, was heavy with tension.

Agents moved in and out of the main room, carrying files and data reports. A corkboard dominated the far wall, covered in photographs, maps, and pinned notes that connected various leads like a massive spider web.

Supervisory Special Agent Lindsay McDermont stood near the center of the room, scanning the evidence in front of her. The image of the “Organ Harvester” loomed large in her mind.

Seven hundred confirmed victims. A five-year spree. Surgical precision. Yet, no trail, no obvious motive, no suspect—until now.

Her attention snapped to the doorway as Agent Schraigg entered, a thick folder in his hands.

His face carried an air of restrained urgency, and Lindsay immediately picked up on the shift in his energy.

“Schraigg,” Lindsay called, motioning him over. “What’ve you got?”

He handed her the folder and stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly to ensure nearby agents wouldn’t overhear prematurely.

“I’ve gone through the profiles of over three dozen potential suspects, but honestly? None of them connect two dots. Their routines, alibis, and histories don’t align with the killings. Not one. However,” he paused, his tone sharpening, “I found something else.”

Lindsay’s brow furrowed as she flipped through the first few pages. “Go on.”

“There’s one name that stood out, but not because of an obvious connection to the murders. Krista Adelaide Morrigan,” he said, gesturing to the photo clipped to the folder’s cover. A young woman with dark hair stared back at them, her expression blank and disinterested. “She’s not in STEM—she’s in engineering—but something about her history gave me pause.”

Lindsay looked up. “What about her?”

“She’s originally from Orlando, Florida. Moved to Los Angeles in 2019. I got curious and pulled her family’s records.” Schraigg’s voice dropped slightly. “Her parents, Nate and Nora Morrigan, were found dead the same year she left Florida. Their bodies were discovered in the trunk of their car, parked in their garage, in pieces and partially burned in what the authorities called a ‘gas leak explosion.’”

Lindsay froze mid-flip. “In pieces?”

“Dismembered,” Schraigg confirmed. “Both bodies showed signs of stab wounds and deliberate cutting. Forensics found two knives suspected to have been used in the murders—a Japanese sushi knife and a cleaver—on the stairs leading to the garage. The thing is, the explosion destroyed most other evidence, and the case was closed due to a lack of leads.”

Lindsay leaned back slightly, processing the information. “What about motive? Anyone with a reason to go after them?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of motive,” Schraigg said with a dry chuckle. “Nate and Nora Morrigan were two million dollars in debt from gambling. Bankrupt. Desperate. From what I could find, they were frequent visitors to underground poker rooms and off-the-books casinos. Not exactly candidates for Parent of the Year.”

“And Krista?” Lindsay asked, her tone even. “Where does she fit into all this?”

Schraigg adjusted his stance, his tone turning grim. “Krista and her younger sister, Olivia, were reported missing by neighbors shortly after the explosion. Four days later, they reappeared—this time in Los Angeles. The timing is suspicious, to say the least.”

“Four days,” Lindsay murmured. “What about the sister?”

“Olivia Morrigan,” Schraigg continued, consulting the file. “She was in a car accident shortly before the parents’ deaths. A bad one. Both parents were in the car with her when it happened. She suffered a major spinal cord injury and has been paralyzed from the waist down ever since. She’s confined to a wheelchair.”

Lindsay rubbed her temples. “So, let me get this straight: two dead parents in debt, their bodies mutilated and burned, and a paraplegic sister. Then Krista and Olivia disappear, only to resurface across the country within days.” She exhaled sharply. “Keep going.”

“I kept digging and found out Krista works part-time at a pest control company called BringEmPain,” Schraigg said, his lips curling slightly at the name. “Their office is located in Skid Row—right near Werdin Place, where some of our recent victims were found. But that’s not even the most suspicious part.”

Lindsay’s eyebrows rose. “There’s more?”

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“The company’s work hours are from 9 PM to 4 AM,” Schraigg explained. “It’s not unheard of for pest control companies to operate at night, but the overlap with the murder times is too consistent to ignore.”

Lindsay’s mind raced as she absorbed the details. “What about her academic life? Any insights there?”

“Plenty,” Schraigg replied. “Krista is a junior at UCLA, majoring in engineering. Specifically, she’s focused on robotics. Professors describe her as ‘insanely intelligent’ but extremely introverted. She’s never seen at social events, never interacts outside of academic or professional settings. According to one professor, she’s ‘hellbent’ on robotics and spends her free time studying cybernetic implants as part of her extracurricular activities.”

“And her performance?” Lindsay asked.

“Perfect,” Schraigg said bluntly. “Not just good—perfect. She hasn’t missed a single assignment, and every project has earned her top marks. If she keeps this up, she could be UCLA’s first-ever student to graduate with a flawless academic record since the university’s founding.”

Lindsay closed the folder and crossed her arms, letting the weight of Schraigg’s findings settle over her.

“She’s an anomaly,” she said finally. “From her academic achievements to her work history to her family background, everything about her screams calculated control. If she’s involved in this, she’s unlike any suspect we’ve ever dealt with.”

Schraigg nodded. “That’s my read too. She doesn’t fit the usual profile, but there are too many red flags to ignore.”

Lindsay tapped the folder lightly against her palm, her mind already spinning with strategies. “Alright. Let’s take this to the team. I want surveillance on her starting tonight. If Krista Morrigan is our killer, we need to catch her in the act—or find out what she’s really hiding.”

Two days later—

The tension in the room remained palpable as Agent Davies stepped forward, clutching her own file.

Her expression was pensive, her lips pressed into a thin line as if hesitant to voice her suspicions. Lindsay immediately noted the unease, nodding for her to proceed.

“Alright, Davies,” Lindsay said, “what do you have?”

Davies hesitated for a beat before speaking. “I’ve been looking into the financial side of things—how Krista Morrigan’s been managing to fund her education and living situation, especially considering her family’s financial ruin before their deaths. And… I think someone might be helping her. Maybe even funding her.” She let the implication hang in the air, giving Lindsay and Schraigg a moment to process.

“Helping her how?” Schraigg asked, leaning forward slightly.

Davies adjusted her stance and opened the file, flipping through several pages. “First, Krista’s tuition at UCLA. Fully paid. Not scholarships, not financial aid, but a single, lump-sum payment made by a man using an alias—James Carrow. No clear ties to Krista, at least not directly.”

“An alias?” Lindsay asked sharply. “Did you trace it?”

“I did,” Davies confirmed, “and it gets weirder. The same alias—James Carrow—also purchased a warehouse on East 8th Street near the Amtrak maintenance facility. That’s the warehouse Krista currently lives in. It’s been converted into a residential space with multiple rooms, modern utilities, and even some high-end security systems.”

Lindsay leaned back, her arms crossed. “So she’s been living in a property bought by this ‘James Carrow.’ Did you get anything on the real identity?”

Davies nodded, her voice dropping slightly. “I reached out to the NSA for help. They ran a facial recognition analysis on a photograph associated with the alias. It came back with a match—a man named Bradley Kinford.”

“Kinford?” Schraigg repeated, his brow furrowing. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because it should,” Davies replied. “Bradley Kinford was a high-ranking member of the Kinford crime family in Chicago. They were one of the most infamous mafia groups in the Midwest for decades—arms trafficking, drug smuggling, money laundering, you name it. Kinford himself was presumed dead in 2017 after a supposed car explosion that left nothing but charred remains.”

Lindsay frowned. “And now you’re telling me he’s alive and somehow tied to Krista Morrigan?”

“Possibly,” Davies said cautiously. “I didn’t stop there. I pulled traffic camera footage from 2019, right around the time Krista and Olivia reappeared in Los Angeles. And guess who I found in a diner in San Marino?” She paused for effect. “Bradley Kinford.”

She placed a printout on the table. It was a grainy image, but the man’s sharp features and distinctive nose were unmistakable.

“This is Kinford, sitting in a booth, having breakfast. But here’s the kicker.” She placed another printout next to it—a wider-angle shot showing Kinford’s booth. In the background, two girls sat at another table, their faces pale and gaunt.

Lindsay leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “That’s them. Krista and Olivia.”

“Exactly,” Davies confirmed. “Krista would’ve been fifteen at the time, and Olivia ten. Look at them—they look lost. Hungry. It’s not hard to imagine they were at the end of their rope.”

Schraigg exhaled slowly, the weight of the images sinking in. “So, what are you suggesting? That Kinford took Krista under his wing?”

“It’s a possibility,” Davies replied. “Think about it. Krista’s parents were dead. She and her sister were effectively homeless, no income, no support system. Then suddenly, their lives take a sharp turn—they end up in Los Angeles, Krista enrolls at UCLA with full tuition paid, and they’re living in a high-end converted warehouse. It all points to someone intervening. And given Kinford’s history, it’s not a stretch to imagine he saw an opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?” Lindsay pressed.

Davies hesitated for a moment, then continued. “If we assume Kinford met Krista in that diner, it’s possible he recognized something in her. Something dark. Maybe he already suspected she’d killed her parents.”

Schraigg raised an eyebrow. “You think he knew?”

“It’s not a stretch,” Davies argued. “Consider the circumstances. Her parents were found stabbed, dismembered, and burned—hardly an accidental explosion. If Kinford is who we think he is, he would’ve recognized the signs. And instead of turning her in, he might’ve seen potential. Someone who could be useful in his world.”

Lindsay’s jaw tightened. “So you’re suggesting Kinford groomed her? Taught her how to kill?”

“Not necessarily taught her,” Davies clarified, “but he might’ve opened the door. If he brought her into his network, she’d have access to resources, tools, and most importantly, a reason to keep going. The money she’s making from selling organs—it might not just be for her sister’s medical care. It could be paying off a debt she owes to Kinford. Or it might be something else entirely.”

Lindsay stared at the photographs, her mind racing. “If this is true, it changes everything. We’re not just dealing with a lone killer. We’re dealing with a potential network, and Kinford might be the key to unraveling it.”

Davies nodded. “It’s still speculation at this point, but the connections are too strong to ignore. If Kinford is involved, he’s not just funding her—he’s controlling her.”