CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The first hints of dawn were just beginning to paint the eastern sky as Sheila and Finn sat across from Zara Chowdhury, a park ranger in her late twenties. The small office they'd commandeered for interviews felt claustrophobic after hours of questioning, the air stale and heavy with tension.
"Thank you for meeting with us so early, Ranger Chowdhury," Sheila said, feeling no less fatigued than Chowdhury looked. "We appreciate your cooperation."
Chowdhury nodded, stifling a yawn. "Of course, Sheriff. Anything to help. It's not like any of us could sleep anyway, what with everything that's happened."
Finn leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "You've been helping with the park shutdown?"
"Yeah," Chowdhury replied, rubbing her eyes. "Most of us have. It's a big job, you know? Securing all the facilities, setting up barriers, informing campers..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I still can't believe this is happening. The dunes have always been so peaceful."
Sheila and Finn exchanged a glance. They'd heard similar sentiments from nearly every park employee they'd interviewed so far. The shock and disbelief were palpable among the staff, but unfortunately, it hadn't led to any new leads.
"Ranger Chowdhury," Sheila began, flipping open her notepad, "in your time working here, have you ever noticed anything unusual? Any visitors or colleagues who seemed overly interested in Native American symbols or rituals?"
Chowdhury furrowed her brow, thinking. "Not really. I mean, we get the occasional New Age type who's into that sort of thing, but nothing that stood out as weird or dangerous."
"What about your colleagues? Has anyone been acting strange lately? Staying late, asking odd questions, that sort of thing?"
"Not that I've noticed," Chowdhury said. "We're a pretty close-knit group here. If someone was acting off, I think we'd pick up on it pretty quickly."
The interview continued for another twenty minutes, but like the others before it, it yielded little of value. As Chowdhury left the room, Finn let out a frustrated sigh.
"That's what, our tenth interview? And still nothing solid."
Sheila rubbed her temples, fighting off a growing headache. "I know. But we have to keep pushing. Someone has to know something."
They stepped outside the small office, the cool morning air a welcome relief. The sky was lightening rapidly now, the stars fading as the sun prepared to make its appearance. Park employees bustled about, their faces drawn with worry and lack of sleep.
As they surveyed the bustling park headquarters, Sheila's attention was drawn to an older man in a ranger uniform. He appeared to be in his sixties, with a weathered face and white hair peeking out from under his hat. Despite the early hour and the grim circumstances, he moved with an easy grace, exchanging friendly words with everyone he passed.
"Who's that?" Sheila asked a nearby employee, a young man restocking brochures.
"Oh, that's Ranger Thorsson," the young man replied, a note of affection in his voice. "Einar Thorsson. He's been here forever—kind of a legend around these parts. His adoptive parents were Southern Paiute."
Intrigued, Sheila approached the older ranger, Finn following close behind. As they drew near, Ranger Thorsson turned to them with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Well, well," he said, his voice gravelly but friendly. "If it isn't our illustrious Sheriff and her trusty deputy. What can this old fart do for you?"
"Ranger Thorsson," Sheila began, but he waved her off.
"Please, call me Einar. Everyone does."
Sheila couldn't help but smile. There was something disarming about the old ranger's demeanor. "Alright, Einar. I'm Sheila, and this is Finn. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions."
"Fire away," Einar said, leaning casually against a nearby truck. "I'm an open book. Been here so long, I'm practically a feature of the park."
"So, Einar," Sheila began, leaning against the truck next to the old ranger, "how long have you been with the park?"
Einar's eyes twinkled as he stroked his white beard. "Oh, let's see now. It was the summer of '78 when I first set foot on these dunes. But I've been in the area all my life. It's in my blood—well, not technically, I suppose."
"How's that?" Sheila asked.
"My parents came over from Iceland, but they passed when I was just a child—house fire. A Southern Paiute family took me in, taught me everything about these lands. The sacred places, the old stories. Gave me a home, a purpose." He sighed deeply. "These dunes... they're not just sand. They're living history."
Sheila smiled, touched by Einar's story. "And what is it you do here?"
Einar chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "After forty-two years, my role has changed a bit. Officially, I don't have any set duties anymore. I just sort of... float around, you might say. Keep an eye on things." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Between you and me, I think they're just waiting for this old Viking to sail off into the sunset, if you catch my meaning."
"Retirement?" Sheila guessed.
Einar nodded, then winked. "But I've got news for them. I'm not going anywhere. This place..." He paused, looking out at the dunes with an expression of deep affection. "It's in my blood now. Couldn't leave if I tried."
Nobody spoke for a few moments. There was no question Einar deeply loved this park.
"Einar," she said, gently steering the conversation back on track, "considering how long you've been working here, you must know everyone. Have you noticed anything unusual lately? Anyone acting out of character?"
Einar shook his head. "These are good people. We've had a few bad apples over the years, sure, but I trust this group. They're committed, high-character people."
"Bad apples?" Finn asked, exchanging a glance with Sheila.
Einar's smile faded slightly, a shadow passing over his face. "Just… past employees. Not everyone shares our vision of this place."
"Are you thinking of someone in particular?" Sheila asked.
Einar hesitated, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "It's probably nothing. Just park gossip, you know?"
"Please, Einar. Anything could be important."
The old ranger sighed, running a hand through his white hair. "Well, alright. There was this fella, Jason Hawke. Used to work here as a ranger. Good kid, or so I thought. Turns out he was smuggling rare desert flowers out and selling them online."
"Desert flowers?" Finn asked. "Is there money in that?"
Einar nodded. "You'd be surprised. Some of these flowers are quite rare. Anyway, when management found out, they fired him on the spot. Jason... he didn't take it well. Made some threats, promised he'd get revenge somehow."
Sheila felt a jolt of excitement. This was the first solid lead they'd had all night. "When did this happen, Einar?"
"Oh, must've been about six months ago now," Einar replied, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Haven't seen or heard from Jason since. Though I suppose that don't mean much, considering..."
He trailed off, but Sheila could fill in the blanks. Considering there was a killer on the loose, targeting people in the park.
"Did Jason have any particular interest in Native American culture or symbols?" Finn asked, leaning in.
Einar thought for a moment. "You know, now that you mention it, he did. Used to talk about the 'spirit of the dunes' a lot. Said he could feel the presence of the ancient tribes that used to live here. Some of us thought he was just trying to spice up his tours, you know? But maybe there was more to it."
Sheila and Finn exchanged a significant look. This was starting to sound more and more like a promising lead.
"Einar," Sheila said, "is there anything else you can tell us about Jason? Where he lived, who he associated with, anything at all?"
The old ranger scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, he lived in town, I know that much. Shared a place with another ranger, Mick something-or-other. As for associates... he kept to himself mostly. Spent a lot of time out in the dunes alone, which isn't unusual for rangers, but Jason... he took it to another level."
"How so?" Finn asked.
"He'd disappear for long stretches without telling a soul where he was going. Never seemed to get lost, though. Probably knew the park better than even I did."
Sheila nodded, making notes. "Thank you, Einar. You've been incredibly helpful."
As they prepared to leave, Einar caught Sheila's arm gently. "Sheriff," he said, his voice low and serious, "I hope I haven't caused any trouble for Jason. He's a good kid at heart, just... lost, I think. If you find him, go easy on him, will you?"
Sheila patted the old ranger's hand reassuringly. "We'll do our best, Einar. Thank you again for your help."
As they walked away, the sun was finally peeking over the horizon, bathing the dunes in golden light. But for Sheila, the new day brought not just light, but hope. They had a new lead, a new direction to pursue.
"Let's find out everything we can about Jason Hawke," she said to Finn. "Where he lives, who he associates with, everything. If he's our guy, we need to find him before he strikes again."
Finn nodded, already pulling out his phone. "I'll get the team on it. We'll need to track down this Mick guy too, see what he knows."
As they headed back to their vehicle, Sheila cast one last glance at the peaceful dunes. Somewhere out there, a killer was hiding.