"You're Maria, correct?" Isla asked, recalling O'Connor's mention of the receptionist who had brought him coffee.
The woman nodded. "Maria Delgado. I've been on night shift for almost seven years now."
"Mr. O'Connor mentioned you brought him coffee around nine-thirty," Sullivan said. "Can you confirm that?"
"Yes, sir. I always bring him coffee when he works late, which has been every night since..." she trailed off, the implication clear. Since the murders began.
"Did you see Officer Sanchez in the building tonight?" Isla asked.
"She stopped by around eight, maybe a little after. Checked in at the front desk, then went up to Mr. O'Connor's office. She was only there for five, maybe ten minutes."
"And after she left, did Mr. O'Connor leave his office at any point between eight and, say, ten-thirty?"
Maria shook her head firmly. "No, ma'am. He's been up there all night. I'd have noticed him leaving. Besides, he was on conference calls most of the evening—I put several through myself."
Sullivan and Isla exchanged glances. If Maria was telling the truth, O'Connor had a solid alibi for the time of Sanchez's murder. Either he wasn't involved, or he had an accomplice handling the physical aspects of the crimes.
"Thank you, Maria," Isla said with a gentle smile. "We may have more questions later."
They took the elevator to the second floor, where O'Connor's door stood partially open. Inside, the port director was on the phone, his back to the entrance as he stared out the window at the escalating storm. His posture was rigid with tension, shoulders hunched as if bearing an invisible weight.
"...need additional security at all access points," he was saying. "No one works alone, especially after dark. I don't care about the overtime costs; I won't lose another employee." He paused, listening. "Yes, I understand the budget constraints, but these are extraordinary circumstances. Three murders in our port, all my people. The board will have to approve emergency measures."
He ended the call and turned, startling slightly, when he saw them in the doorway. "Agents. Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."
"Implementing new security protocols?" Sullivan asked, nodding toward the phone.
O'Connor ran a hand through his thinning hair, the gesture betraying his exhaustion. "Trying to. The budget committee is resistant to the overtime costs, but I can't in good conscience maintain normal operations while my staff is being targeted."
He looked genuinely shaken, Isla noted—pale, trembling slightly, his usual professional demeanor cracking under the strain of consecutive tragedies.
"Mr. O'Connor," she began, getting straight to the point, “Maria confirmed you were in your office when she brought coffee around nine-thirty. Do you have any security concerns for yourself? Whoever is targeting port employees might see you as a potential threat, especially as you implement increased security measures."
For the first time, a flicker of personal fear crossed O'Connor's face. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered that possibility. Three of my employees dead in less than a week..." He trailed off, then straightened his shoulders with visible effort. "But I can't abandon the port. Not now. It would cause panic among the remaining staff, not to mention damage to my professional standing. The board expects leadership during a crisis, not cowardice."
Isla studied him, impressed despite her lingering suspicions. Fear for his own safety was clearly genuine, yet so was his commitment to his responsibilities.
"What can you tell us about Michael Thorne?" she asked, changing tack.
O'Connor looked momentarily surprised by the shift in questioning. "Thorne? He's one of our dock supervisors. Been with the port for over twenty years. Manages loading crews for the western terminal. Why do you ask?"
"His name has come up in our investigation," Sullivan said vaguely. "How well do you know him?"
"Professionally, quite well. We've worked together for nearly a decade. He's reliable and knows the port operations inside and out. Bit of a loner personally, keeps to himself outside of work." O'Connor frowned. "You don't suspect him, do you?"
"We're looking at everyone with access and opportunity," Isla replied diplomatically. "Would you say Thorne has the physical capability to overpower someone with Sanchez's training?"
O'Connor considered this. "He's a big man, former Navy. Works the docks, so physically strong. I suppose it's possible, but Michael's always struck me as..." he searched for the right word, "...controlled. Not prone to violence or outbursts."
"Navy background?" Sullivan pressed. "What specifically?"
"Supply logistics, I believe. Nothing combat-related. But he did mention having security training as part of his naval service."
Isla made a mental note to dig deeper into Thorne's military record. The combination of physical strength, port knowledge, and security training made him a person of significant interest.
"Let's go back to your conversation with Sanchez," she said. "Did she mention anyone specific watching her or acting suspiciously? Any names at all?"
O'Connor shook his head. "No names. Just her observation of movement in that section. She was planning to investigate quietly, see if she could catch someone in the act without alerting them first."
