Page 44 of Silent Prey

Drake’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He looked from one officer to the other, his nostrils flaring.

Then, without warning, he cocked the baseball back and chucked it straight at Sheila’s face. She ducked and heard the ball rebound off the wall behind her. When she straightened again, Drake had already shoved through the door at the back of the store, disappearing into the next room.

“Come on!” Finn shouted, chasing after Drake.

Sheila was right on his heels, her heart pounding in her chest. The back room was dimly lit, stacks of boxes lining the walls and silhouettes of furniture looming in the gloom. She could hear Drake's footsteps thudding against the wooden floor above them.

Then she spotted the staircase.

She and Finn sprinted toward it and took the stairs two at a time, Finn leading the charge with Sheila close behind. When they reached the top, they found themselves in a long corridor, doors lining either side. From one end of the corridor, they could hear a door slam shut.

"Cover me," Finn said, charging forward kicking his way through the door that Drake had presumably just gone through. Sheila took out her firearm, ready to provide protection while Finn advanced.

The room ahead was cluttered with haphazard piles of artwork stacked against the walls. Old canvases with worn edges and dusty sculptures filled the room, a labyrinth maze of chaotic creativity. The paintings, all of them set on Antelope Island, showed scenes of coyotes hunting and feasting on their prey: rabbits, squirrels, badgers. Some showed bigger prey, too: antelope, sheep, deer.

Despite these macabre paintings, however, there was no sign of the artist himself.

Sheila moved ahead cautiously, her pulse drumming in her ears as she navigated the maze of art. Beside her, Finn was doing the same, his sharp gaze cutting through the gloom as he moved efficiently between the canvases. They came to a stop in front of an oversized painting depicting a pack of coyotes under the moonlight; their shrill howls seemed to echo off the canvas, their bodies twisted in a dance of savagery as they exulted over a dead bison. It was a disturbing piece, wild brush strokes and splatters of red causing it to dance with violence.

Suddenly, Finn held up his hand, motioning for silence. A soft clatter had sounded from the far end of the room. Sheila turned in that direction just in time to see a figure dart out from behind one of the towering piles of paintings. Drake was making a break for it.

Sheila gave chase. The scent of oil paint and dust filled her nostrils as she weaved her way through the maze-like room. Drake was agile, disappearing behind one stack of paintings only to reappear from another.

At the far end of the room there was a small, narrow window. Drake was heading straight for it. He tossed aside a large canvas depicting a baying coyote, clearing his path to the window.

But Sheila was faster.

She lunged at him just as he reached the window, tackling him into a stack of canvases. Drake struggled beneath her, his eyes wild with fear and anger, and for a moment he looked every bit as savage as the coyotes in his paintings.

He lunged, trying to bite her arm, and she pulled away just in time. Then Finn was there, pinning him down so Sheila could cuff him.

“Makes you wonder if these aren’t just a series of self-portraits,” Finn said, shaking his head.

CHAPTER TWENTY

A sense of menace filled the room as Sheila stared at Drake, trying to ignore the eyes of the various painted coyotes staring down at her from the walls.

“Talk,” Finn said, crossing his arms.

Drake was seated in a chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. His dark eyes darted between Sheila and Finn, a mixture of defiance and fear flickering in their depths. He opened his mouth as if to speak, only to snap it shut.

"I didn't do anything wrong," he finally said. His voice was rough, a gravelly rumble.

Finn arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Running from us suggests otherwise," he said.

Drake snorted. “So I was at the hospital. Big deal. It’s not a crime to want to see your girlfriend, is it?”

“Girlfriend?” Sheila asked, surprised.

Drake nodded. “That’s right. Diana Morales. We'd been dating for six months before…well, before what happened to her." He swallowed hard.

Finn and Sheila exchanged glances. This was the first they were hearing of any relationship between Diana and the mysterious artist.

"What were you doing at the hospital, Drake?" Sheila asked.

"I...I wanted to see her," he said, his eyes darting away.

“We watched the security footage. You looked agitated, to say the least.”

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