Page 23 of Silent Neighbor

CHAPTER TEN

Sheila stood before the whiteboard in the sheriff's station, her eyes scanning the web of information they'd gathered so far. Photos, notes, and timelines cluttered the surface, a visual representation of the complex case they were trying to unravel. The harsh fluorescent lighting cast a sickly glow over everything, making the gruesome crime scene photos seem even more stark and unsettling.

Marcus Holbrook's words echoed in her mind: If a climber doesn't respect the mountain, the mountain won't respect them either. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something significant about that statement. Could the killer's motive somehow be tied to this idea of respecting—or disrespecting—nature?

She thought back to the discussion board online, and how angry PhoenixRising had seemed about Jake's risky behavior. Marcus Holbrook had seemed upset about the very same thing—Jake's recklessness.

Was that why the killer displayed his victims the way he did? As some kind of… example? This is what happens if you behave this way?

"What if our perp sees himself as some kind of... I don't know, nature's avenger?" she mused aloud, her voice breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the room.

Finn, who had been slouched in a nearby chair, looked up from the file he'd been flipping through. His tie was loose, and his usually neat hair was disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration. "You mean like an eco-terrorist?"

Sheila shook her head, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Not exactly. More like someone who thinks these extreme sports enthusiasts are disrespecting the natural world. Someone who believes they need to be taught a lesson."

Finn considered this for a moment, absently tapping his pen against the arm of his chair. The rhythmic sound filled the room, punctuating the heavy silence. "It's an interesting theory, but it's a bit of a stretch, don't you think? We don't have any evidence pointing in that direction."

"We don't have much evidence pointing in any direction," Sheila said with a sigh, her shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of their lack of progress. She turned back to the whiteboard, her eyes tracing the red string that connected various pieces of evidence. "What about those leads you mentioned earlier?"

Finn slouched further in his chair, his shoulders drooping as he flipped through his notebook. "We could check with local gear shops, see if anyone's been buying an unusual amount of climbing equipment," he said, his voice barely above a mumble. He paused, stifling a yawn before continuing, "Or maybe canvas the popular climbing spots, show Jake's picture around."

Sheila watched as Finn's eyes glazed over, his gaze drifting to the window. He blinked hard, as if trying to refocus, then added, "I suppose we could also look into Jake's social media contacts, see if anyone stands out."

His words trailed off, and he absently tapped his pen against the notepad, the rhythmic sound filling the room. The spark that usually lit up his eyes when discussing case leads was noticeably absent, replaced by a dull weariness.

Sheila waited for more, but Finn had fallen silent, his attention now fixed on a fly buzzing against the window pane.

"Any word from Dwayne about PhoenixRising?" she asked.

"Still working on it," Finn replied, fighting another yawn. The long hours were clearly taking their toll on both of them. "You know how he is. Won't come up for air until he's cracked it or hit a dead end."

Sheila nodded, her mind already moving on to the next question. "What about Jake Pearson's phone? Any luck tracing it?"

"Nothing," Finn said, frustration evident in his voice. He tossed the file he'd been reading onto the cluttered desk beside him. "It's like it vanished into thin air. Nobody's found it, and we can't get a signal."

"The killer must have it," Sheila muttered, more to herself than to Finn. She began pacing the length of the room, her boots echoing on the linoleum floor. "But why take it? What could be on there that's so important? Or is it just a trophy?"

Before Finn could respond, the door opened with a creak and Sheriff Hank Dawson walked in. His round face was creased with concern, and he carried the scent of coffee and cologne with him. "How's it going in here? Any breakthroughs?"

Sheila's eyes met Finn's, a silent communication passing between them. She cleared her throat and turned to Dawson. "We've been following up on Jake Pearson's known associates, but so far—"

"Dead ends," Finn interjected, shaking his head. "Nobody seems to know anything useful."

Dawson's brow furrowed, deepening the lines on his forehead. He leaned against the desk, his weight causing the old wood to creak softly. "What about the climbing community? Any leads there?"

Sheila sighed. "We've interviewed several local climbers, but—"

"Nothing concrete," Finn finished, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

As they spoke, Dawson's fingers found their way to his badge, tracing its outline absently. His eyes darted between Sheila and Finn, following their back-and-forth. With each piece of non-news, he gave a small nod, his chin dipping lower each time.

"The forensics report?" Dawson asked, his voice tinged with hope.

Sheila shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Still waiting on some results, but so far it hasn't given us much to go on."

Dawson's fingers stilled on his badge, his hand dropping to his side as he let out a long, weary breath. "Well, we'll just have to keep our nose to the grindstone, won't we?"

Finn nodded. Sheila stared at the floor, troubled.

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