Page 22 of Silent Prayer

"This must be where the killer planned to meet Blake," she said.

"And then what?" Finn asked, voicing the question that was on both their minds. "At that point, he can't just let him go."

Sheila shrugged. "Then he kills Blake."

"Why? To cover his tracks? Or does he really need the money?"

Sheila was about to answer when she noticed something: an object hanging from a nail tacked to a corkboard.

A rosary, its beads worn and the crucifix slightly tarnished.

"He was here, alright," Sheila murmured. "And I think he wants us to know it."

***

"So we've got two women murdered by a man posing as a priest, and a rosary left at a warehouse where a politician who was being blackmailed was supposed to drop off one hundred grand in cash. Am I tracking so far?"

Hank Dawson, Coldwater County's interim sheriff after the death of Natalie, leaned back in his chair and regarded Sheila and Finn with a thoughtful frown. He was a stout man with a neatly trimmed mustache that failed to disguise his cherubic face.

"That's about right," Sheila said.

"What are we dealing with, then? Some kind of religious fanatic?"

"We're not sure," Finn said. "Could be punishing the victims for infidelity. Maybe someone in his life cheated on him, and now he's on a crusade to punish others."

Hank sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't like this, not one bit. A killer with a possible religious motive...that's gonna stir up all kinds of trouble in the community."

He stood up, pacing behind his desk. "You two have no idea the kind of pressure I'm under. The mayor's breathing down my neck, demanding results. The press is circling like vultures, and now everything with Thomas Blake…" He shook his head woefully. "There's no keeping this under wraps now."

Sheila could see the worry in Hank's eyes. He was a good man, dedicated to the town, but she knew he was out of his depth with a case like this. She felt a pang of sympathy for him, thrust into a role he hadn't asked for and wasn't fully prepared to handle.

"Any idea whether this guy's really a priest?" Hank asked.

"There's something else, sir," she said, her voice grave. "We learned from the bartender at Chester's that Sophie left with a man claiming to be a priest. We don't know if it's connected, but..."

"Not yet," Finn said. "But given that no one at St. Michael's seems to know about him, we have to consider the possibility that it's just a ruse."

Hank collapsed back into his chair. "This just keeps getting better and better. What's your next move?"

Sheila exchanged a glance with her partner before answering. "We think it might be worth talking to Father Stephen again, see if he knows anybody by the name of Wayland."

"Wayland?"

"According to James Hastings," Finn said, "that's the name of the priest his wife was meeting with."

Hank nodded slowly. "Alright, that sounds like a good plan. But tread carefully, you two. We don't want to cause a panic or start pointing fingers at the religious community without solid evidence."

"Understood, sir," Sheila said.

Hank sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "And keep me in the loop. I need to know everything that's happening, no matter how small it might seem. We can't afford any surprises, not with this case."

Sheila and Finn nodded and left the office, both lost in thought as they made their way through the station. The buzz of activity around them seemed distant to Sheila, muffled by the gravity of their task.

As they stepped outside the police station, they were immediately bombarded by a group of reporters who had been lying in wait.

"Deputy Stone! Deputy Mercer!" A young woman with a microphone thrust it toward them. "Is it true that the 'Coldwater Confessor' has struck again?"

Sheila blinked, taken aback. "I'm sorry, the what?"

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