CHAPTER NINETEEN
The forensics lab hummed with activity, the air thick with the scent of chemicals and anticipation. Sheila leaned against a pristine white counter, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm. Across the room, Finn paced back and forth, his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum floor with each turn.
"How much longer do you think it'll be?" Finn asked, glancing at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.
Sheila shook her head. "However long it takes to be thorough. We can't afford any mistakes on this one."
A technician in a white lab coat carefully swabbed the blade of the shovel, her movements precise and methodical. Sheila watched, her mind racing with possibilities. What would the tests reveal? Would this be the breakthrough they needed, or another dead end?
The minutes ticked by, each one feeling longer than the last. Sheila's coffee had long since gone cold, forgotten in her hand as she focused on the bustling activity around her. She watched as samples were rushed from one station to another, machines whirred and beeped, and technicians huddled over microscopes.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Dr. Zihao approached, his face unreadable. "Sheriff Stone, Deputy Mercer," he said, nodding to each of them in turn. "We have the results."
Sheila straightened up, her heart pounding. "What did you find, Doctor?"
Dr. Zihao consulted his clipboard. "The stain on the shovel is indeed blood," he began. "We ran it through our database, and we have two distinct matches."
Finn leaned in. "Two matches? You mean..."
"Yes," Dr. Zihao said. "The blood belongs to both Amanda Weller and Carl Donovan."
Sheila felt a rush of adrenaline. "So it's definitely the murder weapon?"
"Almost certainly," Dr. Zihao said.
Finn whistled low. "And given that it's a shovel, it was probably used to bury them too, right?"
"That would be my conclusion, yes. We also found trace amounts of the same soil composition that was present at both crime scenes."
This was damning evidence, more than they'd dared hope for.
"What about DNA on the handle?" Sheila asked. "Did you find anything there?"
Dr. Zihao hesitated. "No, unfortunately not. It was quite clean… perhaps deliberately so."
Sheila frowned. It seemed odd that a man who would take care to clean the handle of a murder weapon would then bury the weapon in his own backyard. Still, everyone made mistakes eventually.
"Thank you, Dr. Zihao," Sheila said.
"Fingerprints or not," Finn said, "we've got Hawke dead to rights. There's no way he can talk his way out of this."
Sheila nodded slowly, her brow furrowed in thought. "It's strong evidence, but..."
"But what?" Finn's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. "What more do you need? We have the murder weapon with the victims' blood on it, found buried in Hawke's yard. It's open and shut."
Sheila sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I know, Finn. It looks bad for Hawke. But something about this feels... I don't know, too neat. Too perfect."
Finn's expression hardened. "Are you saying you don't trust the evidence?"
"I'm just being thorough." But it wasn't just about the evidence. Every disagreement at work now felt loaded with personal weight. When Finn challenged her decisions, she heard echoes of their argument about paint colors for the living room, about Star's curfew, about whether they were ready for all these changes at once. She'd thought they could compartmentalize—be professional at work and intimate at home.
Instead, the strain was bleeding across all boundaries.
"We owe it to the victims to be absolutely certain," she added.
"And how do you propose we do that?" Finn asked, a hint of defiance in his voice.
The muscle in his jaw tightened—a tell Sheila had learned to read over their years together, first as partners and now as more. She loved that intensity about him, the way he threw himself completely into a case. But lately, every time she pulled him back, she saw a little more of his passion dim.
Her chest ached at the thought. She'd been so focused on proving herself as Sheriff that she'd forgotten how to be his partner in all the ways that mattered.
Still, she had a job to do. And sometimes that meant disagreeing.
"I want a confession," she said. "I want to hear it from Hawke himself."
Finn threw up his hands in exasperation. "Fine. Let's go talk to him then. But I'm telling you, Sheila, we've got him. This is as solid as it gets."
"Maybe," Sheila murmured, hoping he was right. In her experience, however, the most obvious solution wasn't always the correct one.
***
The interrogation room was cold and sterile, the harsh fluorescent lights doing no favors to Jason Hawke's haggard face. He sat hunched in his chair, his lawyer a silent, stern presence beside him. Sheila and Finn took their seats across the table, Sheila clutching the folder containing the lab results.
"Jason," Finn began, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We need to talk about the shovel."
Hawke's eyes darted between them, looking confused. "I told you that wasn't mine. I don't have any idea how—"
"The lab results came back, Jason," Sheila said. "The two hikers who went missing in the park and were later found buried up to their necks in sand? This shovel has their blood on it."
The color drained from Hawke's face. "That's... that's impossible. I've never even met those hikers!"
Finn leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. "Look, I get it. You lost your job, your reputation. Everything you worked for, gone in an instant. The park took everything from you, and that made you angry."
Hawke's lawyer shifted, about to intervene, but Hawke waved him off.
Finn continued, "Maybe these people, Weller and Donovan, they discovered what you were doing. Threatened to expose you. You panicked. It wasn't premeditated. Things just... got out of hand."
"No!" Hawke's fist came down on the table with a bang that made everyone jump. "You don't understand. Yes, I continued selling rare plants after being fired. I admit that. It was stupid, and I'm not proud of it. But I never hurt anyone. Never!"
Sheila, who had been silently observing, spoke up. "Then explain the shovel, Jason. How did it end up in your yard, covered in the victims' blood?"
Hawke's eyes darted around the room, looking like a trapped animal. "Someone's framing me, alright? That's the only logical explanation!"
"Is it?" Finn asked in a low voice. "Or is the logical explanation that you were so angry about how you were treated, felt so slighted, that you took it out on two innocent hikers? It wasn't about them violating restricted areas, was it? No, you picked them because they were isolated, vulnerable."
"No," Hawke groaned, cradling his head. "This can't be happening. I had nothing to do with this, I swear!"
"Then who?" Finn asked. "You expect us to believe the real murderer is still out there, and you're just—what? A victim of circumstance?"
Suddenly, Hawke dropped his hands and looked up, his eyes wide as if he'd just had a revelation. "Mick," he murmured. "It must have been Mick."
Sheila leaned forward, intrigued by this new development. "Mick? Your roommate?"
Hawke nodded vigorously, words tumbling out in a rush. "Yes. We're... we're business partners. In the plant selling. He must have... oh god." He put his head in his hands again. "The victims must have figured out what we were doing. Mick probably killed them to protect our operation."
Finn scoffed. "Come on, Jason. You expect us to believe your roommate is suddenly the killer? That's a bit convenient, don't you think?"
But Hawke was shaking his head, his eyes wide and pleading. "No, you don't understand. Mick... he's always been the more aggressive one. He's the one who pushed to expand our operation after I got fired. He said we could make real money if we were smart about it."
Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn before turning back to Hawke. "Go on," she said. "Tell us more about Mick's involvement."
"Mick knows the dunes even better than I do," Hawke said. "He's been hiking out there for years, knows all the secret spots. And he's got a temper, you know? I've seen him lose it over little things. If someone threatened our business... I could see him snapping."
Finn leaned back, his arms crossed. "And you're just telling us this now? After we found the murder weapon in your yard?"
Hawke's face crumpled. "I didn't... I didn't want to believe it. Mick's my friend. Or I thought he was. But now, with the shovel... it has to be him. It's the only thing that makes sense."
"He wasn't at the house," Sheila said. "Do you know where we can find him?"
"Should be at work. He's got a job at the old steel mill downtown."
Sheila stood up, signaling the end of the interview. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hawke. We'll be looking into your claims."
"Wait," Hawke said, swallowing hard. "What I said before, about Mick being there when I ordered pizza and pay-per-view… that was a lie. He wasn't there. I have no idea where he was."
Sheila gave him a long look, unsure what to make of this.
"Thank you for the explanation, Mr. Hawke," she said.
As they left the interrogation room, Sheila could feel the weight of Finn's gaze on her. She knew what was coming.
"You can't seriously be buying this," Finn said as soon as the door closed behind them.
Sheila sighed, leaning against the wall of the narrow hallway. "I'm not saying I believe him, Finn. But we have to consider all possibilities."
Finn shook his head, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Come on, Sheila. We've got the murder weapon buried in Hawke's yard. We've got motive, opportunity. What more do you need? He's clearly trying to pin it on his roommate to save his own skin."
"Maybe," Sheila conceded. "But I think it's worth looking into Mick. There might be something there."
"Hawke is just saying whatever he can to wriggle out of this. Since when do we take the word of a suspect over hard evidence?"
Sheila felt a flash of irritation. "I'm not talking about cutting him loose, Finn. I'm talking about being thorough. We follow every lead, no matter where it comes from. That's our job."
Finn looked like they wanted to say something more. Just then, however, rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway. They turned to see Deputy Chen hurrying toward them, a look of urgency on her face.
"Sheriff, Deputy," Chen panted, slightly out of breath. "We've located Malcolm O'Donnell's vehicle."
Sheila felt her pulse quicken. "Where is it?"
"Coldwater Regional Airport."
Finn clenched his jaw. "The bastard's running."