The Stepson Found Out His Stepmother Was A Man And Immediately Shot Her | True Crime
…
Today was just such a day.
Memory obligingly tossed up pictures of the past.
His father teaching him how to fish.
Jason was eight and he was proud of every little thing he caught.
Here he and his father are fixing an old motorcycle in the garage.
He’s 14 and Thomas is talking about what a real man should be.
Thomas Morgan was a man of strong convictions and conservative views.
There is an order of things in the world, son, and it is our job to maintain it.
He was fond of repeating, “A man should be a man.
A woman should be a woman.
God made us different for a reason.
” These conversations became especially frequent when Jason became a teenager.
It was as if his father was trying to forge a copy of his son to pass on not only his genes, but also his value system.
And then Elizabeth came along and everything changed.
Thomas, that pillar of conservatism and traditional values, suddenly started talking about tolerance and acceptance.
People should be judged by their actions, not by who they are or what they look like.
He had said at dinner one night when Jason had made some costic remark about a neighbor boy with dyed hair.
Elizabeth nodded approvingly then, but remained silent as usual.
Jason couldn’t understand what had happened to his father.
They began to fight often.
You’ve changed, Jason would throw in.
I’ve just grown up and wised up, Thomas replied.
Elizabeth always stayed out of these conflicts, but Jason sensed she was the reason for the change in his father.
At 17, Jason left Oakwood to attend college in another state.
He returned only once for Christmas of his freshman year.
The atmosphere at home was so tense that he never came back.
Then he stopped returning his father’s calls altogether.
Jason flinched when the phone rang, snapping him out of his memories.
An unfamiliar number.
Jason Morgan.
The voice in the receiver was male, old, and husky, as if the man smoked a lot.
Yes, it’s me, Jason answered cautiously.
I’m glad you’re back in Oakwood.
We need to meet.
I know something about your stepmother that you should know.
Who are you? How did you get my number? That’s not important.
What is important is that Elizabeth Morgan is not who she says she is.
She never was.
Your father married a man, Jason.
Edward Lewis.
Look that name up.
Jason stared at the phone, a chill running down his spine.
The caller was obviously trying to stir him up to say something shocking, but the joke seemed too cruel and pointless.
Elizabeth could be anything.
Cold, detached, perhaps even calculating.
But what the unknown person had said was absurd.
or was it? Jason remembered how his father had changed since he’d met Elizabeth.
How he’d gone from a staunch traditionalist to someone who talked about accepting differences.
Perhaps there was more behind it than just the influence of his new wife.
Despite his fatigue, Jason decided to act immediately.
He opened his laptop and typed the name Edward Lewis into a search engine.
Thousands of results came up an all too common name.
After an hour of searching, Jason leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.
It didn’t make any sense, a prank or someone’s sick fantasy.
Nevertheless, a seed of doubt had been planted.
He decided that tomorrow he would go to his father’s house and meet Elizabeth.
He would see her in person 15 years later and know at once whether what the unknown man had said was true or a vile lie.
The house looked exactly as it had in his memories.
large Victorian with a turret on the corner and a wide veranda.
Only the paint was peeling and the garden paths were overgrown with weeds.
Thomas had always tended the garden himself, and apparently no one had done any landscaping since his death.
Jason stood at the gate, gathering his wits.
The morning fog had not yet cleared, casting a ghostly haze over the house.
Finally, he pushed open the gate and headed for the porch.
Each step was difficult, as if his feet were stuck in the molasses of memories.
The door opened when he was a few feet from the porch.
Elizabeth stood on the doorstep, straight as a string, her silver hair perfectly styled.
She hadn’t changed much except that her wrinkles were deeper and her gaze more piercing.
“Jason,” she said in her characteristic low voice.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Jason froze, scrutinizing his stepmother’s face.
He was looking for.
He didn’t know what he was looking for.
Traces of makeup, signs of masculinity, but all he saw was an old woman with tired eyes.
Come in.
Elizabeth stepped aside.
The tea is still hot.
Inside, too, the house had changed little.
The same heavy curtains, the same antique furniture my father had loved so much.
There were pictures on the mantle.
Thomas and Elizabeth on their wedding day.
Thomas with a fishing rod on the lake.
Thomas in his study.
Not a single picture of Jason.
They sat across from each other in the living room, and the silence grew more and more drawn out by the minute.
Elizabeth poured the tea leisurely, her movements polished, almost mechanical.
“You look like your father,” she said at last.
“Especially the eyes.
” “Why did you want to see me?” Jason asked sharply, ignoring the compliment.
“The lawyer told me you were here about the inheritance.
” Yes, but I’m sure you know more than what that letter says.
Elizabeth put the cup on the table.
Thomas left you this house and half of his savings.
Jason blinked.
That was unexpected.
But you were married legally.
We had a prenup.
Elizabeth interrupted.
Thomas had always wanted this house to pass to you one day.
It was his last will.
Jason felt a wave of bitterness rising inside him.
after 15 years of silence, after I didn’t even come to his funeral.
Why? Because he loved you, Elizabeth answered simply.
And he understood the reasons for your absence better than you realize.
Jason stared at her, trying to see something else behind the mask of restraint, a falsity, a manipulation, maybe a shadow of the Edward the unknown man had spoken of.
But all he saw was tiredness and sadness.
A man called me yesterday,” Jason began, watching his stepmother’s reaction carefully.
“He said the strangest thing that you’re actually,” Elizabeth raised her hand, stopping him.
“Not here,” she said quietly.
“Not now.
If you really want to know the truth, come back tomorrow night.
I’ll tell you anything you want to know.
For now, please leave.
I’m finishing up a therapy session, and I’m I’m not in the best state of mind for this conversation.
” Jason only now noticed that Elizabeth’s perfect makeup hid the signs of insomnia and her hands were trembling slightly.
She looked sick.
Despite all his suspicions and years of dislike, he felt a prick of pity.
“All right,” he said, rising.
“I’ll come back tomorrow.
” Detective Mike Riley sat in his car across the street from Molly’s coffee shop and watched the young man who had just come out of there with a paper cup in his hand.
Riley rubbed his chin, which already had a day’s worth of stubble on it.
In his 48, he looked older, a consequence of 20 years on the force, and two failed marriages.
But his eyes remained sharp, noticing details others missed.
The man, Jason Morgan, Thomas Morgan’s son from his first marriage, had returned to Oakwood after many years away.
An interesting coincidence given the recent anonymous calls to the station about Morgan family secrets.
Riley usually didn’t pay attention to anonymous calls, but the caller knew too many details to be ignored.
Jason got into the rental car and drove off in the direction of downtown.
Riley didn’t follow him.
In a small town, surveillance was too conspicuous.
Instead, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.
Sarah, it’s Riley.
Please check everything you can find on Jason Morgan and his relationship with his family.
Also see if there’s anything on Edward Lewis, mid-50s to60s, possibly from New York or Boston.
Sarah Bennett was the best officer in his department.
Young, ambitious, and damn smart.
If something could be found, she found it.
Riley leaned back in his seat, staring thoughtfully at the deserted street.
Something was brewing in quiet Oakwood.
Something to do with the Morgan family and their carefully guarded secrets.
He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but over the years he’d learned to trust his intuition.
And it was screaming that Jason Clark’s return didn’t bode well.
Jason Morgan stood in front of his father’s house for a long time, gathering his wits.
The morning sunlight was breaking through the tree crowns, creating a bizarre play of light and shadow on the walkway.
He knew for a fact that Elizabeth wouldn’t be home for the next few hours.
He’d overheard her on the phone yesterday when he’d left the house to make a 10:00 am doctor’s appointment.
It was just after 9:00, which gave him plenty of time.
Jason found the spare key in the same place his father always kept it, under the third stone to the right of the porch.
Some things don’t change, even after 15 years.
Entering the house, he didn’t feel like a thief.
After all, legally, it was already his house.
But still, some unpleasant feeling was scraping from within.
The house greeted him with silence and the smell of lavender.
Elizabeth always liked scented candles.
Jason walked slowly up the stairs, careful to step on the edges of the steps so they wouldn’t creek.
His father’s study was at the end of the second floor hallway.
A massive oak door separating this sanctuary from the rest of the world.
The room was exactly as Jason remembered it.
Floor to ceiling bookshelves, a large desk by the window, a leather chair scuffed on the armrests.
It looked as if Thomas Morgan had just stepped out and was about to return.
Sitting at the desk and pulling from the drawer the pipe he smoked in the evenings despite his wife’s protests.
Jason walked over to the desk and ran his hand over the smooth surface.
His father was a neat man.
Everything in its place, papers organized in folders.
He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he started with the desk drawers.
The top one contained only office supplies.
The second one financial documents neatly organized by date.
The third drawer was locked.
Jason frowned.
His father never locked anything in the house, considering it a sign of distrust in the household.
If you have nothing to hide, why lock the doors? He often said having a locked drawer was strange in itself.
The key was nowhere to be seen.
Jason looked around the study, trying to think like his father.
Where would Thomas Morgan hide the key to the only locked drawer in the house? His gaze fell on the family photo on the wall.
Father, mother, and 5-year-old Jason, the only picture of the first wife in the house.
Jason took the frame off the wall and turned it over.
Behind the velvet backing was a small key.
The lock clicked into place.
Inside the drawer was a stack of letters tied with faded red ribbon, a few photographs, and a thick file folder.
Jason pulled out the folder and opened it.
A certificate of name change.
Edward James Lewis officially became Elizabeth Anna Lewis 27 years ago in Boston, Massachusetts.
Medical records of hormone therapy and surgery.
Old photographs of a young man with brooding eyes in which Jason was horrified to recognize the familiar features of his stepmother.
The room seemed to sway before his eyes.
Jason sank into his father’s chair, clutching the papers in his hands.
So the anonymous call hadn’t been a prank.
Elizabeth had indeed been born a man.
And her father, her father knew about it and married her anyway.
Thomas Morgan, a staunch conservative, a man of strong traditional values, married a transgender woman.
It didn’t make sense.
Jason remembered all the times his father had talked about the natural order of things, about how a man should be a man and a woman should be a woman.
hypocrisy or Jason suddenly realized that his father had stopped having these conversations after he met Elizabeth.
What’s more, his views had changed to the exact opposite.
The folder also contained letters, dozens of letters that Elizabeth and Thomas had written to each other before they were married.
Jason started reading and couldn’t stop.
It was a true love story, sincere, deep, without a shadow of pretense.
In one of the first letters, Elizabeth spoke frankly to Thomas about her past, expecting a breakdown in the relationship, but willing to be honest.
His father’s reply letter made Jason swallow the lump in his throat.
Dear Elizabeth, I’ve thought a long time about what you’ve told me.
I won’t lie, it came as a shock to me.
It was as if all my previous beliefs were crumbling to dust.
I prayed.
I looked for answers in books.
I spoke to my conscience.
And I realized a simple truth.
I fell in love not with your past, not with your body, but with your soul.
Who you were before doesn’t matter.
What matters is who you are now and who we can be together.
I want to be with you, Elizabeth.
If you accept me with all my flaws, the prejudices I am willing to overcome and my son who is an important part of my life.
I will be the happiest man on earth.
Forever yours, Thomas.
Jason set the letter aside and closed his eyes.
Memories came flooding back with renewed vigor.
Many things made sense now.
His father’s changing views, his insistence on teaching his son to accept differences, and the constant conflicts between them.
Thomas did not simply repeat fashionable liberal slogans.
He had come to a new understanding through his own experience, through his love for humanity, which was stronger than prejudice.
An uneasy feeling stirred in the back of his mind.
For 15 years, Jason had held a grudge against his father, thinking him a hypocrite.
15 years of refusing to reconcile, and he hadn’t even attended the funeral, leaving Elizabeth alone to say goodbye to the man they both loved.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.
Jason glanced at his watch.
It was only 10:30.
Elizabeth had returned earlier than he’d expected.
Hurriedly putting the papers back in the folder, he slid the drawer open, but not before locking it.
Jason? Elizabeth’s voice came from the hallway.
Was that you? The car at the gate looked like yours.
There was nowhere to run and there was no point.
Jason left the study and met his stepmother on the stairs.
She looked paler than usual, her face tired.
“We had a date for tonight,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
What are you doing in the house? I was looking for the truth, Jason answered, not wanting to be evasive.
I think I found it, Elizabeth’s face stiffened.
She walked slowly up the stairs and passed him into the study.
Seeing the open desk drawer, she sighed quietly and sank into a chair.
“Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later,” she said quietly.
“Sit down, Jason.
I think you have some questions.
” He stood with his arms crossed over his chest.
Why didn’t dad ever tell me? He wanted to a lot of times, but you were already disliking me.
Disliked me.
And then you left and the opportunity was gone.
He changed because of you.
No.
Elizabeth shook her head.
He changed because of himself, because of his ability to love more than he hated, stronger than he was afraid of the unknown.
Jason felt a wave of anger rising inside him.
Surely you haven’t lied to him all these years.
Did you tell him the whole truth? Never, Elizabeth answered firmly.
Thomas knew everything from the beginning.
I never hid my past from him and from me.
You were a child, Jason, and then a teenager who hated me simply because I took your mother’s place.
What do you think you would have done if you had known the truth then? Jason didn’t answer, but he knew in his heart that nothing good would have happened.
He was filled with conflicting feelings, anger, confusion, guilt over the years of estrangement, and surprisingly a strange relief.
A lot of things were becoming clearer now.
Who else knows? He asked after a long silence.
In Oakwood? No one.
Thomas and I had started a new life here.
There are still people in Boston who remember Edward, but that’s in the past.
Then how did the man who called me know? Elizabeth frowned.
I don’t, but I’ve been noticing strange things in recent weeks.
Someone is watching the house.
Anonymous letters are coming in.
Maybe someone from my past has found me.
She looked genuinely concerned.
And Jason felt a sudden rush of sympathy.
Whatever his feelings for his stepmother, she didn’t deserve to be persecuted.
Did you go to the police? No.
She shook her head.
I didn’t want to attract attention.
I hoped it was just someone’s evil joke.
Jason walked around the office thinking about the situation.
It was getting dark outside the window.
The days of fall were short.
I have to think, he said finally.
This is too much information in one day.
Of course, Elizabeth nodded.
I understand.
There was the same restraint in her voice as always, but for the first time, Jason saw it as a defense.
Not coldness, but years of defense.
How much pain and rejection must she have endured? I’ll come back tomorrow, he said, heading for the door.
We have a lot to talk about.
Jason, Elizabeth called out to him when he was already in the doorway.
Your father loved you very much.
He hoped for a reconciliation until the very end.
Jason nodded, not trusting his voice, and walked quickly out of the room.
As he walked down the stairs, he felt a hurricane of emotions raging inside him, too strong, too contradictory to sort through right now.
The hands of the clock were showing 23:15 when a shot rang out in a house on the outskirts of Oakwood.
The sound, muffled by the thick walls, did not wake the neighbors.
No one saw the dark figure that left the house through the back door and vanished into the night.
Elizabeth Morgan lay on the living room floor.
Her white blouse was stained scarlet, her eyes frozen, staring up at the ceiling.
A telephone receiver lay nearby.
Her last act had been to try to make a call.
A figure in dark clothing walked quickly down the forest path, moving away from the scene of the crime.
A gun wrapped in a rag was tucked away in a pocket.
The murderer walked without looking back, but in every rustle he sensed his pursuers.
His face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, but his tense back and sharp movements betrayed extreme emotional tension.
When he reached the road, the figure stopped, breathing heavily.
Then he took a lighter from his pocket and lit the cloth in which the gun was wrapped.
When the cloth had burned enough to destroy any possible prints, the killer tossed the weapon far into the thicket.
Elizabeth Morgan no longer existed, and neither did Edward Lewis.
All that remained was a mystery to be solved.
Detective Mike Riley arrived on the scene 20 minutes after the call.
The body had been discovered by Mrs.
Peterson, a neighbor who had stopped by to borrow sugar for an early morning pie, and found the door unlocked.
Riley looked around the living room, careful not to disturb any possible clues.
The forensics team was already at work taking pictures and collecting samples.
Sarah Bennett, his assistant, was talking to a shocked neighbor.
“What do we have?” Riley asked the medical examiner, leaning over the body.
Gunshot wound to the chest, presumably at close range.
Death occurred between 23 and midnight.
I’ll know for sure after the autopsy.
Riley nodded and looked around the room carefully.
There was no sign of a struggle.
Elizabeth either knew her killer and wasn’t afraid of him or the attack had been unexpected.
No sign of forced entry, one of the officers reported.
The door was open, but the lock was intact.
So, she let the killer in, or he had a key, Riley muttered.
“Was anything missing?” “It’s hard to tell without an inventory, but at first glance, nothing of value.
Money and jewelry are still there.
” Riley walked over to the phone lying next to the body.
The last number dialed was 911, but the call wasn’t completed.
Elizabeth tried to call for help, but didn’t have time.
Sarah walked over to it, having finished talking to her neighbor.
Mrs.
Peterson says she saw Jason Morgan leaving the house this afternoon.
He looked agitated.
Riley frowned.
A son returning after 15 years away.
A fight with his stepmother.
An inheritance.
Classic motive.
What do we know about him? 32.
Works as an architect in Seattle.
Divorced, no kids, financially stable, but not brilliant.
According to his bank statements, he’s had some difficulties in recent months, taking out a large loan.
Interesting, Riley said.
What about the other inquiry? Edward Lewis.
Sarah lowered her voice, though there was no one around.
That’s the interesting part, Chief.
Edward James Lewis existed until 27 years ago, then changed his name to Elizabeth Anna Lewis, later married Thomas Morgan and became Elizabeth Morgan.
Riley whistled.
This was a twist he hadn’t expected.
Who in town knew about this? Apparently only Thomas Morgan.
They’d started a new life here in Oakwood, and they’d kept the secret very carefully.
Until recently, Riley said thoughtfully.
Someone found out and decided to use that information.
The question was, who and why? He looked around the room again, trying to imagine the last moments of Elizabeth Morgan’s life.
How did she feel looking into the face of her killer? Did she recognize him? Or had death come unexpectedly, not even giving her time to fear? “Find me, Jason Morgan,” Riley ordered.
“I want to talk to him as soon as possible.
” Sarah nodded and headed for the exit.
Riley was left alone with the silence of a house that held too many secrets.
He had a feeling this case was going to be one of the most difficult of his career.
Not just because of the mysterious murder, but because of the web of lies, halftruths, and secrets that enveloped the Morgan family.
The first rays of sunlight broke through the curtains, illuminating the face of the murdered woman.
It looked calm, almost peaceful in death, as if Elizabeth Morgan had finally found the peace she had long sought in life.
Hash.
Chapter 3.
The investigation.
Mike Riley rubbed his tired eyes and took another sip of his cooled coffee.
Outside the window of the Oakwood Police Station, Dawn was breaking the third since Elizabeth Morgan’s murder.
The wall in front of him was covered with photographs, notes, and diagrams.
The usual method of a detective trying to see connections where others saw only scattered facts.
In the center of the makeshift investigation board hung a photograph of Elizabeth, a formal portrait from a charity event where she looked elegant and understated.
Next to it was an old black and white photograph of a young man with brooding eyes, Edward Lewis.
The same face separated by 25 years and a drastic life choice.
The office door opened and Sarah Bennett walked in with two glasses of fresh coffee.
At 28, she was one of the most promising officers in their small department, attentive to detail, tenacious, and not afraid to ask uncomfortable questions even of her superiors.
You didn’t go home again, chief?” she asked, holding out a glass to Riley.
He shrugged, accepting the coffee with an appreciative nod.
At home, nothing but blank walls and alimony bills.
Here, at least there was a mystery to solve.
Sarah remained silent.
Everyone knew about Riley’s two failed marriages and how work had become his real family.
Some gossiped that it was what made him such a good detective.
He just didn’t have another life.
What do we have for today? Riley asked, getting back to business.
Sarah spread the new materials out on the table.
Ballistics confirmed that the gun found in the woods during the search of the area was the murder weapon.
Colt point45 caliber.
Serial number filed off.
No fingerprints.
The killer wore gloves or wrapped the grip with a cloth.
Professional work, Riley said thoughtfully.
Or someone who’s been watching too many crime shows.
There’s something else, Sarah continued.
We checked Elizabeth’s phone records.
She received 17 calls from burner phones in the last month.
All short, less than a minute.
Threats? Could be.
And here’s the interesting thing.
Jason Morgan received a similar call the day he arrived in Oakwood.
According to the tower records, the call had been made from a city park.
Riley frowned, remembering his conversation with Jason.
The young man had seemed genuinely shocked by his stepmother’s death despite their complicated relationship.
He had told him about the call himself and the fact that Elizabeth had received similar calls as well.
An anonymous well-wisher, Riley muttered.
Someone who knew the truth about Elizabeth and decided to share it with her stepson.
The question was why? Sarah walked over to the board and pointed to Jason’s picture.
He had a motive.
He came back after 15 years away, learned the truth about his stepmother, and the next day she’s dead.
Plus, he’d inherit the house and half of his father’s fortune.
Too obvious.
Riley shook his head.
If he was planning a murder, why visit her on the day of the murder? Why leave witnesses who could confirm his presence? And most importantly, why tell us about the phone calls to deflect suspicion? Maybe.
But I have another theory.
Riley walked over to the board and tapped his finger on the empty space next to the photos.
We’re missing another player, the one who set this whole thing in motion.
Jason Morgan sat in the interrogation room, tapping his fingers nervously on the table.
3 days had passed since Elizabeth’s murder, and with each passing hour, he felt the noose of suspicion tightening around his neck more acutely.
Neighbors had seen him visit the house on the day of the murder.
He had motive, an inheritance, and a complicated relationship with his stepmother.
He had opportunity, a key to the house, and knowledge of Elizabeth’s routines.
The door opened, and Detective Riley entered the room.
He looked tired, but his eyes remained sharp and attentive.
He was followed by a young female officer that Jason remembered from his first interrogation, Sarah Bennett.
Mr.
Morgan, Riley nodded, sitting down across from her.
Thank you for agreeing to talk to us again.
There are some new questions.
I’ve already told you everything I know.
Jason ran a hand through his hair, noticing how his fingers trembled.
I didn’t kill Elizabeth.
No one’s accusing you, Sarah said softly.
But Jason could see the doubt in her eyes.
We’re just trying to make sense of the situation.
Riley opened the case file.
Tell me again about the call you received the day you arrived.
What exactly did the caller say? Jason closed his eyes, remembering he knew my name.
Said he was glad I was back in Oakwood.
Then he started talking about Elizabeth, that she wasn’t who she said she was.
He told me straight out that my father had married a man and he named Edward Lewis.
And how did you react? I thought it was some kind of prank.
But then I decided to check it out.
I did some research.
And the next day, I went to my father’s house when Elizabeth was out, and they found documents that confirmed what the caller had said.
“Yes,” Jason nodded.
In his father’s study, in a locked desk drawer, the name change certificate, medical records, photographs.
It was all there.
“When was the last time you saw Elizabeth alive?” Riley asked, watching Jason’s reaction carefully.
“After 10:00 in the morning.
We talked.
I said I needed to think about it, and I left.
” Where did you go after that? Walked around town, then had lunch at a cafe.
In the evening, I went to Joe’s on Main Street.
Sat there till closing time about 2:00 in the morning.
Then I went back to the hotel.
The bartender can confirm it.
He already did.
Riley nodded.
But there was a long time between your morning visit and your appearance at the bar.
Where exactly were you that afternoon and evening? Jason tensed.
Walking.
I needed to clear my head.
Too much information in one day.
Did anyone see you during that walk? I don’t know.
I wasn’t paying attention.
Riley and Sarah exchanged glances.
Mr.
Morgan, Riley said slowly.
Do you have a gun? No, Jason answered firmly.
I never have.
Did your father have one? Jason hesitated but then answered.
I think he had an old colt, an army one.
He kept it in a safe in the basement.
That colt wasn’t found when they searched the house.
Jason pald slightly, realizing where the conversation was going, but quickly pulled himself together.
You think? No, that’s absurd.
I didn’t take my father’s gun.
I don’t know the combination to the safe at all.
Riley noticed the tremor in Jason’s voice.
Barely noticeable, but it was enough for a seasoned detective.
Who would know? Elizabeth, of course.
Perhaps her father’s lawyer.
I don’t know who else.
Riley made a note in his notebook.
Let’s go back to the caller.
You mentioned that Elizabeth was getting calls like this, too.
Yeah.
She said that in recent weeks, someone had been stalking the house and sending anonymous letters.
She thought it was someone from her past.
And you didn’t think it was important to mention that earlier? Jason sighed.
I did mention it on the first day, but you seem more interested in pinning the murder on me than looking for the real culprit.
We’re looking at all leads, Mr.
Morgan,” Sarah said coldly.
“And the fact that you and your stepmother received phone calls from the same person doesn’t make you any less suspicious.
It could have been part of a plan.
” “What plan?” Jason was outraged.
“I didn’t plan to kill Elizabeth.
” “Yes, the news of her past was a shock, but I’m not a psychopath to kill people for their gender identity.
But you were raised in a conservative family,” Riley pointed out.
“Your father held traditional views until he met Elizabeth.
Perhaps you took the news more painfully than you realize.
Jason shook his head.
I’m an architect from Seattle, detective.
I live in the 21st century and see different people every day.
Just because my father was a conservative doesn’t mean I’ve inherited all of his views.
He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
Look, I understand how this looks, but if I wanted to kill Elizabeth, why would I wait? Why leave and then come back? Someone’s trying to set me up.
The same person who called me and Elizabeth.
Riley tapped his pen on the table thoughtfully.
Do you have any idea who it might be? Someone from Elizabeth’s past.
Someone who knew her as Edward and had reason to hate her.
That’s a pretty narrow range of people, Riley pointed out.
And most of them probably didn’t even know that Edward was now living as Elizabeth Morgan in the small town of Oakwood.
Please.
Jason looked straight into the detective’s eyes.
Check out this version of the story.
Find this man.
He didn’t just know Elizabeth’s secret.
He used it to manipulate both of us.
Riley closed the folder.
We’ll run all leads, Mr.
Morgan.
In the meantime, I’m going to ask you not to leave town.
After Jason left, Riley stood at the case file board for a long time, as if trying to hear what the silent photos and diagrams were telling him.
“What do you think?” he asked Sarah without turning around.
“He’s either a very good actor or he really didn’t kill her,” she replied, stepping closer.
“But the facts are against him.
The motive, the opportunity, the murder weapon that most likely belonged to his father.
Everything points to Jason,” Riley muttered.
“I’m sure he’s very skillfully trying to avert suspicion.
” He turned to his assistant.
Check on anyone who might have known Elizabeth in her past life, especially those who had conflicts with her, and check to see if there have been similar cases in other states.
Blackmail or violence against transgender people followed by accusations against their loved ones.
Sarah nodded and headed for the door, but stopped on the threshold.
Chief, what if the caller is the killer? Not someone who wanted to frame Jason, but someone who wanted to punish Elizabeth for the past and used her stepson’s return as a smokec screen.
Riley grinned.
That’s why you’re going to take my place someday, Bennett.
Check out that theory, too.
It was a week before there was a breakthrough in the case.
Sarah burst into Riley’s office, waving a file folder.
I’ve got something.
Remember when you asked me to do a background check on Elizabeth back when she was Edward Lewis? I found an interesting story.
She spread old newspaper clippings and printouts of archival documents on the table.
27 years ago, there was a high-profile story in Boston.
Edward Lewis worked for a major financial firm, a budding analyst, career on the rise, but he had a conflict with a colleague, Robert Fiser.
Riley picked up one of the photos.
A young man in a business suit with a cocky smile.
Fischer accused Lewis of professional incompetence, tried to get him fired, but instead he was fired himself.
Lewis proved that Fiser had falsified data in reports.
A serious motive for revenge, Riley observed.
What happened to Fiser afterward? That’s the interesting part, Sarah pointed to another document.
After he was fired, he couldn’t find a job in the financial sector.
His reputation was ruined.
The last mention of him dates back 25 years.
An arrest for petty fraud.
Then he just disappeared.
“And we don’t know what he’s been doing all this time,” Riley said thoughtfully.
“No,” Sarah shook her head.
“But what’s more interesting is that 3 months ago, Robert Fischer was spotted in Greystone.
That’s only 30 mi from here.
” Riley straightened up.
“Do you have a picture of him? A recent one?” Sarah pulled out another picture of a man in his 60s with thinning hair and a sullen expression.
It’s from a gas station security camera he was paying for gas.
Riley scrutinized the photo, then pulled another picture out of his desk drawer.
This one’s from a bank camera in downtown Oakwood.
It was taken 2 weeks ago.
Does it look alike? Sarah compared the images.
It’s him.
So Fischer was in Oakwood before the murder and probably still here.
Riley picked up his cell phone, “Put out a bolo, check all the motel and hotels in the area, and put out an APB to patrol.
This man could be armed and dangerous.
” Robert Fischer was found in a cheap motel on the outskirts of Oakwood 2 days later.
He didn’t resist arrest, even seemed to expect it.
They found an entire wall in the room hung with pictures of Elizabeth and clippings from local newspapers.
Obsession, pure and simple.
The interrogation was conducted by Riley himself.
Fischer initially denied any involvement in the murder, but when the detective showed him phone records and witnesses who had seen him outside the Morgan house, he broke down.
“She ruined my life,” Fischer said quietly, staring into the void.
“She made me lose everything.
My job, my reputation, my family, and he.
He just became a new man, a new name, a new life, even a new gender.
It’s like nothing ever happened.
How did you find Elizabeth? Riley asked.
By accident.
I was working as an intercity bus driver.
I was passing through Oakwood and I saw her coming out of the store.
I couldn’t believe it at first, but it was him, Edward.
I’d recognize him anywhere, even as a woman.
So, we decided to get revenge.
Fischer shook his head.
At first, I just followed her.
found out who she was now, how she lived.
Found out about the husband, the stepson, that the husband died 3 years ago, and the stepson hadn’t been in touch with his family for a long time.
And that’s when I hatched my plan.
What plan? Riley frowned.
I wanted to blackmail her, make her pay for her silence.
I thought she was afraid her secret would get out, that everyone would know the truth.
I started with anonymous phone calls, hints, but she wasn’t afraid.
No.
Fisher grinned bitterly.
She was calm, like she didn’t care.
Then I found out her stepson was coming back to town.
I figured this was my chance.
I called him, told him the truth about Elizabeth.
I thought he’d make a scene, and she’d finally realize she had something to lose.
But instead, you killed her.
Fischer looked up, fear in his eyes.
No, I didn’t kill her.
Yes, I called.
I followed her.
I tried to blackmail her.
But I’m not a murderer.
Riley looked at him with a long assessing stare.
If you’re not, then who is the stepson? Fischer answered quickly.
He was furious when he found out the truth.
I saw him leaving the house the day of the murder.
He was screaming that she’d been cheating on him all these years.
Riley tapped his pen on the table, pondering.
We have no witnesses who saw the yelling or the fight, only that he was leaving.
We do, however, have witnesses who saw you outside the Morgan house before the murder.
We have your fingerprints on the mailbox.
There’s your obsession and your 25-year motive for revenge.
That wasn’t me.
Yes, I was just an observer outside the house, but nothing else, Fischer was almost screaming.
Check the stepson.
He had motive, opportunity.
We’ll check all leads thoroughly, Mr.
Fischer, Riley replied calmly, picking up the papers from the table.
In the meantime, you will remain in custody.
3 days later, the investigation team met in Riley’s office.
On the table were all the case files, photographs, expert reports, witness statements.
So, Riley began glancing around the room.
We have two prime suspects.
Jason Morgan, the victim’s stepson, who may have been shocked and angry to learn the truth about his stepmother, and Robert Fischer, the man whose life was ruined by Edward Lewis 25 years ago and who had stalked Elizabeth in recent months.
Sarah spread the new documents on the table.
Ballistics confirmed that the gun belonged to Thomas Morgan.
There are no prints on it, but Jason’s prints are on the box where it was stored.
“What about Fiser?” one of the officers asked.
“His prints aren’t on the box,” Sarah replied.
“And we don’t have any evidence that he ever broke into the house.
” “What about Jason’s alibi?” Riley asked.
“It’s partially corroborated.
He was at the bar from 9:00 pm until closing, but where he was at the time of the murder couldn’t be determined exactly.
No one saw him.
The murder happened around 11:15 according to the coroner’s report.
So Jason could have left the bar, killed Elizabeth, and come back again.
He could have, Sarah agreed.
And we’ve got something else interesting.
They found a forensics book in his hotel room.
Some of the pages on how to destroy evidence were bent.
Riley nodded thoughtfully.
What about Fischer? His alibi? He has a confirmed alibi, Sarah replied.
He was in another city the night of the murder.
There’s security footage from a gas station 50 mi away.
The timing matches the time of the murder.
Everyone hesitated for a moment.
Finally, Riley stood up and walked over to the whiteboard.
Here’s what I think.
Fisher really did find Elizabeth by accident.
Started following her.
Found out about her new life.
tried to blackmail her, but he didn’t succeed.
Then he decided to capitalize on Jason’s return.
Called him, told him the truth, hoping to cause a scandal.
He paused, gathering his thoughts.
But he hadn’t expected Jason to react so strongly.
For Jason, this wasn’t just a shock.
It had shattered everything he’d ever thought about his family, his father.
His whole life was built on lies.
Classic motive for murder.
Sarah nodded.
shock, anger, a sense of betrayal.
Add to that the inheritance, Riley continued.
And the fact that he was an architect, a man accustomed to precision and detail.
He had every opportunity to plan the perfect murder and try to frame Fiser.
So, you think it’s Jason? One of the officers asked.
Riley nodded.
Everything points to him.
Let’s issue an arrest warrant.
Jason Morgan’s trial had become a sensation in Little Oakwood.
Contrary to expectations, he didn’t plead guilty, but the evidence was too compelling.
Microscopic traces of his DNA were found on the gun, despite attempts to destroy the evidence, and the final blow was the notes found in his belongings.
Murder plans carefully disguised as architectural notes.
The jury deliberated for just 2 hours.
The verdict was guilty.
Sentence, life in prison without parole.
Robert Fischer watched the trial from the courtroom.
When it was over, he met Detective Riley at the exit.
“It’s my fault,” he said quietly.
“If I hadn’t called him, if I hadn’t told him the truth.
” “You’re not a murderer, Mr.
Fisher,” Riley replied.
“You wanted revenge, but not at this price.
What am I supposed to do now? 25 years I’ve lived on revenge, and now start living in the present,” Riley advised.
“It’s not too late.
” Riley nodded and headed for his car, saying goodbye.
Another case solved.
Another tragedy ended.
But it wasn’t getting any easier.
After 20 years of detective work, he knew.
Some questions would always remain unanswered.
What exactly had happened that night at Elizabeth Morgan’s house? What were the last words she heard? What was Jason thinking as he pulled the trigger? That’s something they’ll probably never know.
They’ll never know how Jason Morgan sat at Joe’s bar that night.
staring at a glass of whiskey and thinking about the documents found in his father’s study, about the letters full of love, about the photos of a past life, about two decades of lies.
No one would see him slip quietly out of the bar through the back door at 11 pm walk briskly through the park to his father’s house, take the key out of his pocket.
No one would hear the lock click, the floorboards creek as he made his way to his father’s bedroom and dialed the combination of the safe, the date of birth of his mother, Thomas’s first wife.
A combination his father had never changed, not even after remarrying.
No one would know what he was thinking as he held the heavy 45 caliber cult.
A shattered childhood, the lost years about the betrayal of a father who chose to keep a secret rather than be honest with his son.
Elizabeth was in the living room when he came downstairs.
She was sitting in an armchair with a book, late tea on the table beside her.
She looked up and saw him frozen in the doorway, gun in hand.
“Jason,” she said in surprise.
“What are you doing here so late?” She saw the gun and stood up slowly, putting the book aside.
“Jason, listen to me.
” “15 years,” he said quietly.
15 years.
I thought my father had betrayed his principles for you.
But he didn’t betray his principles.
He betrayed me.
He betrayed the truth.
Thomas loved you, Elizabeth said softly.
He regretted every day that you were estranged.
He chose you.
A man in women’s clothing chose the lie.
No, Jason, Elizabeth shook her head.
He chose love and acceptance over prejudice and hate.
That’s what he wanted to teach you.
It’s too late for lessons, Jason replied, raising his gun.
Elizabeth reached for the phone, but didn’t have time to do anything.
The shot rang out in the silence of the house, echoing off the walls.
She fell, her white blouse stained Scarlet.
Her eyes, wide with shock and pain, stared at Jason, but they saw something else, something far away.
He stood there staring at what he’d done until he realized he had to leave.
Wrapping the gun in his handkerchief, he went out the back door and walked quickly down the forest path.
About halfway down the road, he set the cloth on fire and when it was sufficiently burned, threw the weapon far into the thicket.
Then he went back to the bar through the back door, sat down in his seat, and ordered another whiskey as if he had never left.
No one noticed he was gone.
The perfect alibi.
He was sure he’d get away with it, but he hadn’t considered the meticulousness of Detective Riley and his assistant.
He hadn’t considered the microscopic particles of his DNA on the trigger of the gun that the fire hadn’t destroyed.
He didn’t consider his own notes, murder plans that he made in a fit of rage and forgot to destroy.
He didn’t consider that secrets tend to come out, no matter how deeply they’re hidden.
