CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"And if one of them crosses that line," Sheila told the officer, "you have my permission to arrest them, got it?"
The officer, a bulky man with the face of a bulldog, nodded. Satisfied, Sheila rejoined Finn as they turned their attention back to the crime scene.
Her heart sank like a stone. There was Carl Donovan's head protruding from the sand, eyes open, lips slightly parted.
They were too late.
Another family would be devastated by murder. Sheila thought of her father Gabriel, how the loss of her mother had aged him overnight. That, in turn, caused her to remember what Star had said about the gym being closed, as well as how distant Gabriel had been lately. She'd thought that, with the arrest of Eddie Mills for her mother's murder, her father would want to be more involved in the investigation than ever, but instead the opposite had happened.
Was it the grief getting to him? Or was something else going on?
"Same symbol," Finn murmured beside her, gesturing at Donovan's forehead and bringing her back to the moment. Sheila had noticed it, too—after all, it was practically impossible to miss the crude sun symbol drawn in red pigment, despite the curtain of sandy hair that partially obscured it. The exact same as the symbol on Amanda Weller's forehead.
Sheila circled Donovan's head slowly, her flashlight beam scanning every inch of the surrounding sand.
Had he run into the killer shortly after beginning his hike, or had it been later? She imagined the killer stalking Carl, waiting for the exhaustion of the hike to weaken him before getting close enough to strike. Or maybe Carl had gotten lost and—
Strike. Sheila pictured the wound on the side of Amanda's head. Crouching down, she carefully brushed back Carl's hair. There, beneath the symbol, lay a large bruise, as if he had been struck in the face by a blunt object.
As if he'd turned around, only to be surprised by his attacker.
She tried to imagine how it all had played out. She pictured Carl walking along, observing his surroundings, perhaps whistling under his breath. Then he hears a sound behind him and turns around, only to see someone swinging something at him.
What? What had made this bruise? What kind of weapon would the killer be carrying—
"A shovel," she murmured to herself. It would make sense. If the killer was going to be carrying a shovel anyway, might as well use it to club the victim, right?
But if that was the case, where was the shovel now?
She walked around the area in a wide circle, examining the ground. Unfortunately, the sand was scuffed all over from the traffic of the search party. If any of these footprints belonged to the killer, it was impossible to tell now. Besides, the sand left only the vaguest of impressions, so it wasn't as if they'd be figuring out anyone's footwear.
"There's too much traffic," Finn said, echoing her thoughts. "Too many people coming and going already. That's the downside to organizing a search party."
Sheila sighed, studying the line of police officers keeping back the news crews who had approached along the access road.
"What are you thinking?" Finn asked.
"Killers tend to return to the scene of the crime," Sheila said. "Think he's out there watching, maybe in disguise?"
"I'd like to think we'd know him just by looking into his eyes, but we both know it doesn't work that way. People can be good actors, even the most devious ones."
" Especially the most devious ones." There was an idea just out of reach, a thought Sheila could sense but not put into words. What was she missing?
"One thing's for certain," Finn said. "We're dealing with a serial killer, and there's a good chance they'll strike again."
Sheila nodded. "We need to shut down this park ASAP."
Finn took a hesitant breath. "Park superintendent's not going to like that. You know how much revenue this place brings in."
"I don't care," Sheila said firmly. "Two people are dead. We're not risking a third."
***
As Sheila and Finn pulled up to the park administration building, Sheila noticed there were lights still on inside even though it was past midnight. She took it as a good sign. The superintendent ought to be doing everything within his power to address this crisis.
Sheila and Finn went inside without a word.
The office of Park Superintendent Marcus Sheridan was a study in organized chaos. Maps and charts covered the walls, stacks of reports littered every surface, and a large whiteboard dominated one wall, covered in scribbled notes and schedules. The room smelled of coffee and stale cigarette smoke, despite the 'No Smoking' sign prominently displayed.
Sheridan himself was a bear of a man, his salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, his weathered face testament to years spent in the outdoors. Dark circles under his eyes suggested he'd been up all night, likely since the news of Donovan's disappearance broke. He leaned back in his creaking chair, fixing Sheila and Finn with a steely gaze.
"I assume you're here about Donovan," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Terrible business. Just terrible."
Sheila nodded, taking a seat across from Sheridan. Finn remained standing, leaning against the wall near the door. "Mr. Sheridan," Sheila began, "I'll cut to the chase. Given the circumstances, we believe it's necessary to temporarily close the park."
Sheridan's reaction was immediate and vehement. "Absolutely not," he said, sitting up straight. "We can't shut down the park. People need to know this place is safe and that we're doing everything we can to protect them."
Sheila leaned forward, her patience wearing thin. "That's just the problem. This place isn't safe, not right now. Two people are dead, murdered in your park. If you want to protect your visitors, then keep them away."
"What makes you think there's going to be another attack? Maybe this—" Sheridan made a vague gesture in the air. "This wackjob had a grudge against two people, and so he took them out. Doesn't mean anyone else is in danger."
Sheila could hardly believe the intellectual hoops the superintendent was jumping through to justify keeping the park open. "I've dealt with a number of homicide investigations," she said. "This bears the hallmarks of a serial killer. We have every reason to believe that this person will keep killing until we stop them, and for whatever reason, this park seems to be their favored hunting ground."
"Hunting ground," Sheridan murmured. "So we close off a section of the park where the murders have taken place. Doesn't mean we have to shut down the whole operation."
Sheila pressed her lips together tightly. "Mr. Sheridan, two people have been murdered. I'm not sure you're grasping the severity of the situation."
"With all due respect, Sheriff Stone, I'm responsible for this entire park. I very much grasp the severity of the situation, but making rash decisions won't help."
Sheridan stood up and began pacing behind his desk. "Do you have any idea what closing the park would do to this community? The economic impact would be devastating. People rely on the income from tourism. Jobs would be lost. Businesses would suffer."
Sheila's eyes narrowed. He was seriously concerned about the economics right now? She had to find some way to get him to focus on the human element here.
Her gaze fell on a framed photo on his desk—Sheridan with two smiling children, a boy and a girl, both with their father's dark hair and strong features.
"Those your kids?" she asked, her voice softening slightly.
Sheridan glanced at the photo, a flicker of something—pride? worry?—crossing his face. "Yes. Tommy's twelve, Twila's nine. Why?"
"What if it was one of them?" Sheila asked quietly. "What if it was Tommy or Twila buried in the sand with that symbol drawn on their forehead?"
The color drained from Sheridan's face. He sank back into his chair, suddenly looking much older. "That's not fair," he said weakly.
"Neither is murder," Finn said. "Look, we're not talking about shutting down the park indefinitely. Just temporarily, until we can catch this killer and ensure the park is safe."
Sheridan was silent for a long moment, his internal struggle visible on his face. He picked up a stress ball from his desk, squeezing it rhythmically as he thought. Finally, he sighed heavily. "Alright. We'll close the park temporarily. But I want daily updates on your progress. The moment you determine it's safe, we reopen. Deal?"
Sheila nodded, relief washing over her. "Deal. Thank you, Mr. Sheridan. I promise we'll work as quickly and thoroughly as we can."
As Sheridan reached for his phone to begin the process of closing the park, Sheila cleared her throat. "There's one more thing we need."
Sheridan looked up, wary. "What's that?"
"We need to interview all park staff," Sheila said. "Everyone, from the most senior ranger to the newest hire in the gift shop."
"Now, wait a minute," Sheridan protested, his face reddening. "My people aren't suspects. They're dedicated professionals—"
"Who have intimate knowledge of the park," Finn interrupted. "Including the restricted areas where the bodies were found."
Sheridan's face darkened. "You think one of my staff is responsible for these murders?"
"We don't know," Sheila said carefully, trying to defuse the tension. "But we need to explore every possibility. Your staff's knowledge could be crucial to solving this case, whether they're involved or not."
Sheridan stared at them for a long moment, his jaw clenched. The stress ball in his hand was compressed to half its original size. Finally, he nodded curtly. "Fine. But I want to be present for these interviews."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," Sheila said. "We need to conduct these interviews privately to ensure we get candid responses."
Sheridan looked like he wanted to argue further, but instead, he just slumped in his chair. "Fine," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "Just... just get this over with. Find this killer and let us get back to normal."
As they left Sheridan's office, Finn turned to Sheila. "Well, that was fun. You really think our killer could be a park employee?"
Sheila's face was grim as she replied, "I don't know, Finn. But I do know this—whoever this killer is, they know these dunes like the back of their hand. And that knowledge had to come from somewhere."