Page 52 of Silent Prayer

Sheila made her way to her desk, ignoring the curious glances from her colleagues. She knew she looked rough, but their opinions were the least of her concerns right now.

Finn was right behind her. The only hint of his long night was his five o'clock shadow.

"Oh," he said with a sigh. "I forgot to mention I did some research last night, looked into the Masquerade Theater—actors, employees, and so on."

"Find anything?"

He shook his head. "Couldn't come up with a promising suspect. If that really was the killer there, he's kept his interest in theater low-key."

Sheila sat down heavily in her chair, pulling the nearest stack of files toward her. "Then we're back to the basics," she said. "Let's review everything. There's gotta be something we missed."

Finn grunted. "This is the fun stuff they don't tell you about in the academy. You go in thinking it's all about drug busts and foot chases. Turns out, most bad guys are caught on paper."

"Just so long as he's caught," Sheila murmured.

It didn't take long for Sheila's eyes to begin to burn as she pored over witness statements, autopsy reports, and crime scene photos. The faces of the victims stared back at her from their files: Laura, Sophie, Rachel, Emily. Four women whose lives had been cut short, four families left devastated. Sheila felt the weight of their expectations, their need for justice, pressing down on her.

As she reviewed her notes from their interview with Lisa Pritchard, Emily Davis's friend, something Lisa had said jumped out at her: 'Emily had some…interestingconversations with visitors at the gallery.'

Sheila sat up straight, her sudden movement catching Finn's attention. "What is it?" he asked.

"Something Lisa said about Emily having religious conversations at the art gallery," Sheila murmured. "It goes along with what Sophie's roommate said—how Sophie had talked with someone about unusual religious ideas before she died."

Finn frowned, leaning in to look at the file. "You think there's a connection?"

"Maybe," Sheila said, pursing her lips in thought. She stood up, moved to the whiteboard, and began creating a timeline. "What if our killer isn't just targeting random women? What if he's choosing victims based on their reaction to his beliefs?"

Finn leaned back, picking up an old baseball off his desk and tossing it in the air. "So you think he's approaching these women, trying to convert them to his...what, his personal religion? And when they reject him—"

"He kills them," Sheila finished grimly. "It fits with the religious overtones we've seen in his letter and the crime scenes."

"What about Laura Hastings and Rachel Kim? Where are the connections with them?"

"I don't know. It's not like we can figure out every single person they spoke with in the days leading up to their deaths. But it fits, Finn. It explains so much."

Finn said nothing. Sheila had the impression he was keeping silent for fear of discouraging her. He had his doubts, but he didn't want to pour cold water on her enthusiasm.

"Assuming you're on the right track," Finn said, "where does this lead? Do we head over to the art gallery, try to figure out who Emily spoke with?"

"That's one option."

He arched an eyebrow. "Which is your way of saying it's not whatyou'dchoose to do, right?"

"I think we should look into any new or unusual religious groups in Coldwater," Sheila said, pacing the room. "Anything that's popped up in the last year or so."

Finn nodded, staring off into space for a few seconds as if mentally shifting gears. Then he cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Alright," he said as he reached for his phone. "I'll check with the local churches, see if they've noticed any new faces or strange behavior."

As Finn made his calls, Sheila dove into online research. She scrolled through local forums, social media groups, and community bulletin boards, looking for any mention of new spiritual movements or unusual religious gatherings. The more she searched, the more convinced she became that they were on the right track.

"Reverend Adams says they've had a few new faces at Sunday services," Finn said, hanging up the phone. "But nothing that stands out as suspicious. No one pushing strange ideologies or cornering people after the service."

Sheila nodded, only half-listening as she continued her online search. She was about to move on to another forum when a small ad caught her eye. It was for a group called 'The Celestial Awakening,' promising enlightenment and spiritual transcendence. The language used was eerily similar to some of the phrases in the Coldwater Confessor's letters.

"Finn," she called out, "I think I've got something."

As Finn came over, Sheila pulled up more information about the group. It was small, only a dozen or so members, and had been meeting for about six months.

"Any names jump out at you?" Finn asked, leaning in to look at the screen.

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