Page 45 of Silent Prey

Drake shrugged truculently. “I was pissed—she told me earlier that night that she was breaking up with me. In a text, no less—you believe that?"

"And you went there to confront her?" Finn asked, crossing his arms.

"I went there to...I don't know...talk to her, maybe. Try and understand why she was breaking up with me, you know?" He lowered his gaze. "But I never got the chance. She wouldn’t see me.”

I wonder why, Sheila thought dryly. She glanced around, taking in all the paintings again.

“So what’s your fascination with coyotes, anyway?” she asked.

Drake smiled, clearly warming to the subject. “I’ve just always admired predators, you know? The way they navigate the world, always on the hunt, always surviving. Coyotes especially. They're cunning, adaptable. They survive in all kinds of environments."

He hesitated before adding in a voice barely above a whisper, "They're survivors. Like me."

Sheila watched him quietly, sensing there was more to his story than he was letting on. Finn took up the questioning again.

"Drake," he said, leaning forward, "did you hurt Diana?"

Drake's gaze lifted from the floor, and he met Finn's eyes defiantly. "No," he said with a hard shake of his head. "I loved her. Sure I was angry, but I wouldn't hurt her. I swear."

"You'll have to forgive us," Finn replied, not flinching from Drake's gaze, "but your word isn't enough. We need evidence."

Drake frowned. "Evidence? You need evidence that I didn't hurt Diana? How the hell am I supposed to give you that?"

"Where were you yesterday?”

Drake fell silent for a few seconds. “I was here, working in the parlor. Had a client who wanted a grinning skull tattooed on his back. He’s a big guy, so it required a lot of ink. Took up most of my day."

“This isn’t another Derek Hall story, is it? Cash only, no record?”

Drake grunted as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "No, I keep appointment logs. Plus, the client was here till late last night. You’re welcome to ask him—he’ll back me up.”

It was a start, at least. But even if Drake had an alibi for the time of Diana's murder, there were still other victims to consider.

“Do the names Amanda Hayes, Bethany Cole, or Beverly King mean anything to you?” Sheila asked.

Drake shook his head slowly. Then he stopped, frowning. “Wait. Aren’t those the women on the news? The ones who were murdered on Antelope Island?”

"That's correct," Finn said. "Do you know any of them?"

"No, I didn't. Just Diana." His voice was firm, but his gaze had lost some of that defiant spark. “Besides, didn’t this all start a couple months ago?”

“Six weeks,” Finn said.

“Whatever. Either way, up until about a week ago I was in Florida with my brother—he’s got lung cancer, and he’s really going through the ringer. Anyway, that’s when Diana broke up with me, and that’s why it pissed me off so much—here I am, taking care of my brother, and she sends me a text saying, ‘we just aren’t the right fit for one another,’ or some bullshit like that. You believe that?”

Sheila could indeed believe it. Drake was volatile, confrontational—she could understand why someone as quiet as Diana would want to find someone more stable. And why she wouldn’t want to break up with him face-to-face.

“So,” Drake asked, “what happens now?”

"Now we confirm your alibis," Finn said, rising from his chair. He straightened his uniform, dusting himself off as he spoke. "We'll need to talk to your client and your brother, as well as see a copy of your flight itinerary…”

Sheila tuned him out. Her mind was drifting, and she felt a strong urge to numb out again. Drake had been such a promising suspect, but now they had no suspects and no leads—only the knowledge that Beverly King was still missing and may already have suffered the same fate as the others.

Suddenly, she became aware that Finn was watching her. She had the vague impression he'd asked a question.

“I need some fresh air,” she said, heading out the room. She descended the staircase, found an exit, and stepped out into the morning sunlight of Salt Lake City. The traffic buzzed and hummed in the distance, a cacophonous symphony of urban life that felt worlds away from the quiet, deadly beauty of Antelope Island. Sheila took a deep breath and let the city air fill her lungs.

In the past, she would’ve buried her feelings and forced herself to return to the drawing board, going over the details of the case as long as necessary to come up with a new direction. But she sensed that pushing herself any harder than she already had might very well lead to a relapse. She needed to do something far more difficult than emptying out her liquor cabinet.

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