Page 34 of Silent Prey

She nodded. “I’ll talk to Diana’s coworkers, you talk to Beverly’s. We need to see if there’s a connection between our victims, outside of the obvious. Starting with their places of work isn’t a bad idea."

He paused for a moment, mulling over her suggestion. "What if you come across something dangerous? The actual killer, for instance.”

She gave him a wry smile. "I was an Olympic kickboxer, remember? I can hold my own. Besides, you’re the one who's going to be on the island. And I have a feeling that’s where he is. He might even live there full time.”

Finn said nothing, his eyes fixed on the road as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. Saint Ives was a sprawling complex of pale buildings glowing under the harsh lights of the parking lot. Large overgrown trees shadowed some areas, looking ominous in the dark.

As Finn parked the car, Sheila could feel her heart pounding in her chest with a renewed sense of anticipation. She glanced at the emergency room entrance, its automatic doors opening to swallow a man in a sweatshirt and beanie who hobbled in, limping and cradling one arm.

“Call me if you need anything,” Finn said as she climbed out of the car.

Sheila lowered her head to peer back inside. “Same to you. Be careful out there, Finn.”

With that, she closed the car door and watched him drive off into the night, swiftly disappearing down the hospital's long driveway and merging into traffic. The sound of the car engine gradually faded away, leaving behind an eerie silence that made Sheila acutely aware of her surroundings: the rustling leaves from the overgrown trees, the distant hum of the hospital generator, the occasional chirping of crickets.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the entrance.

Inside, the hospital was nearly as quiet as the world outside. A nurse glanced up as Sheila approached the reception desk. Her name tag read 'Marjorie.' She had deep lines around her eyes and looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"I'm Officer Sheila Stone," Sheila said, flashing her badge quickly. "I need to ask some questions about Diana Morales."

Marjorie’s tired eyes flickered with recognition. "I still can’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head. “She was here just yesterday.” Marjorie's voice trailed off, her gaze moving past Sheila to the hallway behind her, as if she expected to see Diana stride down it any moment, a warm smile lighting up her face.

Sheila felt a pang of sympathy for the nurse. Losing a coworker was never easy, especially in such a brutal way.

"I know it's hard, Marjorie," Sheila said. "But I need your help. Was there anyone Diana was particularly close with? Anyone who might be able to tell me more about what was going on in Diana’s life?”

Marjorie considered the question, her tired eyes distant. "Diana was a private person," she said after a moment. "Kept to herself mostly, at least at work. But there was one person...a doctor here, Dr. Patrick Hale. They were close, I think."

"And do you know where I might find Dr. Hale right now?" Sheila asked.

"He should be in his office. Down the hall and to the right.”

“Thank you.” Sheila tapped the edge of the desk for emphasis, then headed down the hallway Marjorie had indicated. It was silent except for the faint echo of her own footsteps against the sterile white tiles. She noticed a few nurses and doctors passing by, their faces reflecting the usual strain and fatigue of healthcare workers.

Room numbers and departmental signs whizzed by—Radiology, Neurology, Pediatrics—as she pressed on toward Dr. Hale's office. The lingering scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air.

At last she arrived at a door marked 'Dr. Patrick Hale—Oncology.' She lifted her hand to knock just as the door creaked open, and out stepped a man in his late forties, ruggedly handsome with streaks of silver through his hair. His eyes, weary but bright, met hers. Sheila saw years of dedication in those depths, a mirror of her own relentless pursuit of justice.

"Dr. Hale?" she asked. The man nodded, extending a hand.

"And you are?"

"Officer Sheila Stone," she replied, shaking his hand firmly. "I have some questions about Diana Morales."

A shadow crossed Dr. Hale's features. He held the door open wider and gestured for her to come in. The office was tastefully decorated, a mixture of modern and vintage furnishings giving it a warm, lived-in feel. Framed photographs dotted the room, most of them showcasing Hale in various group photos with hospital staff, including a few featuring Diana Morales.

"Please, have a seat." Dr. Hale gestured to a plush leather couch. Sheila settled into it, unfolding her notebook and balancing it on her knee. He seated himself across from her.

"Diana was an excellent nurse," he began, clearing his throat. "And more than that, a personal friend. We’re all shaken by what happened to her, so if there’s anything I or anyone else can do to help you get to the bottom of this, don’t hesitate to ask.”

"Thank you, Dr. Hale," Sheila said. She looked at him for a moment before posing her first question. "Did you notice anything odd in Diana's behavior recently?"

Dr. Hale fell into deep thought, his fingers lightly tapping on his desk. "Well," he began slowly, "I will say that she seemed like she had something on her mind the past week or so. Very…distracted.”

"Could you elaborate on that?"

Dr. Hale rubbed his forehead, as if trying to summon a clearer picture from his memory. "Diana was usually very focused, passionate about her work. But lately, she'd been...spaced out, you could say. Worried."

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