Page 49 of Silent Neighbor

"But sir—" Sheila began, only to be interrupted by Lieutenant Hoffman.

"This isn't a reflection on your abilities, Deputies," he said, his voice calm and professional. "But the fact is, we have resources that a small department like this simply doesn't. We can bring in profilers, forensic experts—"

"We don't need profilers," Sheila insisted, her frustration mounting. "We know this area, we know these people. We're close, I can feel it."

Hank sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I don't like this any more than you do, Stone. But the mayor's breathing down my neck. The community is scared. We need results, and we need them now. Unless you have a clear idea who the killer is, or some other promising lead…?"

Finn sighed, disappointed. Sheila stared at the floor.

"Okay, then," Hank said. "In that case—"

"Actually, we do," Sheila said.

"Do what?"

"Have a clear idea who the killer is."

The room fell silent. Even Finn looked at her in surprise.

Lieutenant Hoffman raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? And you're just mentioning this now?"

Sheila swallowed hard, knowing she was on thin ice but unable to back down now. "We have a list of names," she said, trying to project more confidence than she felt. "Members of a sports group called Extreme Limits. We're confident the killer is one of them."

Sheila had no certainty the killer's name was really on that list, but her gut told her it was likely. Besides, she truly believed she was the best person for the job. Hoffman was probably a competent officer, but he didn't know these people like she and Finn did, and the time he'd have to spend getting caught up would give the killer that many more opportunities to strike again.

Hank and Hoffman exchanged a look. "And how close are you to narrowing down this list?" Hank asked.

Sheila hesitated. "We just need a little more time," she said. "Forty-eight hours. Give us that, and I promise we'll have something concrete."

The room was silent for a long moment. Sheila held her breath, acutely aware of Finn's eyes on her, of the weight of her promise hanging in the air.

Finally, Hank spoke. "Twenty-four hours," he said, his voice firm. "You have until this time tomorrow to bring me something solid. If you can't, the state police take over. No arguments, no extensions. Understood?"

Sheila nodded, relief washing over her even as the pressure of her self-imposed deadline settled on her shoulders. "Understood, sir. Thank you."

As they filed out of Hank's office, Sheila could feel Finn's eyes boring into her. She knew he was bursting with questions, probably more than a little angry at her for making promises she wasn't sure they could keep. But she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

Instead, she strode purposefully back to her desk. Twenty-four hours. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough.

They had a killer to catch, and now, more than ever, the clock was ticking.

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