Even though hed retired a few years ago, Morgan was fairly certain Monte still lived in the rambling old Tudor in the Woodland-Normanstone Terrace neighborhood where hed occasionally entertained his residents. At this time of day, the drive would take Morgan easily forty-five minutes. Maybe his head would clear as he went.

He got in his car and plunged into D.C. traffic. Out of habit, he snapped on the radio as he drove. It was tuned to a local news station which, of course, led with the story of three young women having been murdered in similar fashions.

Morgan didnt think Danielle had released any information to the media about her suspicions of a serial killer, but the reporters werent stupid. It hadnt taken them long to put it all together. There was a note of excitement in the reporters voice that made Morgans stomach turn. To the media, this was like catnip to cats. After all, if it bleeds, it leads.

Every time they mentioned Lexas name, Morgans chest hurt. Every mention made him remember finding her behind that Dumpster. Every new tidbit of information made him see her on that cold slab in the morgue.

He snapped the radio off. Better to live with the silence.

When he finally pulled onto Montes street, he drove slowly by the house, a feeling relief swelling in his chest when he saw lights on inside. He found a parking place and stopped for a moment. He got out of the car and leaned against it for a moment. What was he doing here? What did he think could be accomplished? Then he had to face it.

He was here because he didnt feel like he had any other place to go. Was this his version of rock bottom?

He walked up the sidewalk to the front door and rang the bell. A minute later, Monte Flint opened the front door and peered out through the screen. Morgan?

Morgan was gratified and relieved that it took his old mentor only a few seconds to recognize and place him. Hi, Monte. I know I should have called first, but I came by kind of on a whim. Whim wasnt the right word. Crisis? Breakdown? It didnt seem like the right way to kick off the conversation.

Monte opened the door wider and waved him in. Monte still sported a thick head of hair although it was now nearly white, not the salt and pepper that Morgan remembered. He still had a neatly trimmed mustache and just a touch of stubble on his chin. Dont be ridiculous. Im happy to see you. Come in. Come in. I just put a pot of coffee on. Would you like a cup? Monte leaned in and whispered. Its decaf. Ramon thinks I dont know he swapped it out.