Page 46 of Silent Ritual

“No, probably not, but what if the killer hung around after leaving the body? Then he notices Stark at the body, and he goes over there because he doesn’t want anyone to disturb the body. He realizes Stark isn’t the enemy, so he leaves him alone.”

Finn shrugged. “It’s possible. Doesn’t really help us, though. Assuming that person—if there was anything at all—was the killer, Stark didn’t get a look at him or hear his voice. We’ve got nothing but a smell—and who walks around smelling like sulfur?”

“Maybe the killer works with chemicals, something that could leave a sulfur smell,” Sheila suggested.

Finn glanced at her, one eyebrow raised in doubt. “Maybe,” he said, though it was clear he wasn’t convinced.

“In any case,” Sheila said as they approached the car, “we ought to look into the other members of that occultic group, see what we can find. It’s not much of a lead, but—”

Her phone vibrated. There was a message from her boss, Dawson: another body found out in the flats. get out there ASAP.

The news came down like the hammer of a gavel in a silent court, leaving Sheila frozen on the spot. Another body. Another victim. The words echoed in her mind, pounding against the walls of her skull. Her hands clenched around the phone and the car keys as a sense of guilt washed over her.

"Another one?" Finn asked, reading the change in her expression.

Sheila merely nodded, holding up her phone so that he could read the message for himself. His face hardened, his eyes darkening with fresh anger and determination.

"Let's go," he said, wrenching open the car door. Sheila followed suit, shaking herself out of her frozen state. Her heart pounded in her chest as they sped through the quiet streets, the sirens wailing out a mournful dirge.

As they neared the crime scene, they saw the flashing lights of police vehicles and the distant figures of officers moving about. Sheila felt a tight knot of dread settle in her stomach. Another woman had been murdered, and they were no closer to finding the killer.

They parked the car and stepped out into the glaring sunlight, the heat already beginning to rise despite the early hour. A young police officer approached them, his face solemn. He had dark hair and wore a crisp uniform that contrasted starkly with the dusty environment.

"Deputies," he said, his voice steady but respectful. "I'm Officer James Martinez. I was first on the scene."

"Officer Martinez," Sheila said with a nod. "What do we have?"

Martinez gestured toward a figure in the distance, covered with a white sheet. "The body was found early this morning by a jogger. We've secured the area and started collecting evidence, but there’s no question this is the work of the Mirage Murderer. Same symbols, same herbs."

"Who found the body?" Finn asked, scanning the area.

"A man named Robert Fields," Martinez replied. "He’s over there." He pointed to a middle-aged man sitting in the shade of a police car, his face pale and his hands shaking slightly.

Sheila and Finn approached Fields, who looked up at them with wide, haunted eyes. "Mr. Fields," Sheila said gently, "I'm Deputy Stone, and this is Deputy Mercer. We need to ask you a few questions."

Fields nodded, swallowing hard. "Of course. I just...I can't believe it. I come out here to run every morning. I never expected to find something like this."

"Take your time," Finn said, his tone reassuring. "Can you tell us exactly what happened?"

Fields took a deep breath, his gaze distant. "I was jogging, like I always do. The sun was just coming up. I saw something on the ground ahead of me, thought it was trash at first. But as I got closer, I realized...it was a person. She was just lying there, so still."

Sheila's heart ached for him. "Did you see anyone else around? Any vehicles?"

Fields shook his head. "No, it was quiet. Just me and the salt flats. I called 911 as soon as I realized what I was looking at."

"Did you touch anything?" Finn asked. "Move the body or anything around it?"

Fields shook his head again, more vigorously this time. "No, I didn't touch anything. I knew better than that."

"Thank you, Mr. Fields," Sheila said, offering a small, comforting smile. "You've been very helpful. If you think of anything else, please let us know."

Fields nodded, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the morning’s events. Sheila and Finn walked back toward the crime scene, their minds heavy with the familiar sense of frustration.

The forensics team was already at work, carefully documenting the scene. The white sheet had been pulled back to reveal the victim. She lay in a carefully arranged position, her red hair fanned out around her head, astrological symbols drawn in salt around her body.

“Has anyone identified her?” Sheila asked the nearest forensic technician, a tall brunette with hoop earrings.

“Natasha Ivanov, according to her driver’s license,” the technician replied.

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