Page 29 of Silent Neighbor

Sheila's mind drifted to Natalie, her sister who had taken her own life. The pain of that loss was still raw, a constant ache in her chest that flared anew in moments like these. Looking at these photos of Brad and Doug, she was struck by the fragility of life, the unpredictability of time.

You never know how much time you have with those you love, she thought.

Sheila set the photo back on the shelf with careful reverence. "Mr. Blackwell, can you tell us about Brad's friends? Anyone he spent a lot of time with?"

Doug shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know. Brad always seemed like a bit of a loner, very different from his online persona. In his videos, he was always so outgoing, but the Brad I knew... he kept to himself."

Sheila made a mental note of this, her mind already drawing parallels with what they'd seen in Brad's apartment—the stark contrast between his public image and his private life.

Sheila thought about Jake Pearson's disregard for safety protocols. "This may seem like an odd question," she said to Doug, "but how seriously would you say Brad took his safety during his adventures?"

"Safety?" A flicker of pride crossed Doug's face, momentarily pushing back the grief. "Brad was always a bit of a daredevil, even as a kid. Always testing his limits, pushing boundaries. It scared the hell out of me, but it was also... impressive, I guess. The stuff he could do."

Sheila and Finn exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them. Another parallel with Jake Pearson—both victims had a tendency to take unnecessary risks. Was this a pattern? A motive?

Sheila pulled out her phone, bringing up a photo of the pitons they'd found at the crime scene. The metal gleamed dully in the image, its age evident even in the digital reproduction. "Mr. Blackwell, do you recognize these? Do you think they might have belonged to Brad?"

Doug leaned in, squinting at the screen, his breath fogging the glass slightly. After a moment, he shook his head, leaning back. "I doubt it. Brad was always partial to new, state-of-the-art gear. Those look pretty old."

"Thank you, Mr. Blackwell," Sheila said, pocketing her phone. "You've been very helpful. Is there anything else you can think of that might help us understand what happened to Brad?"

Doug was quiet for a moment. "Just... find who did this. Please. Brad and I, we may have had our problems, but he was my son. He deserved better than this."

Sheila nodded solemnly, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavily on her shoulders. "We'll do everything we can, Mr. Blackwell. You have my word."

They had only gone a few steps, however, before Doug's voice stopped them.

"One more thing," he said quickly. "Is there any way I could have Brad's watch back?"

Sheila and Finn exchanged a puzzled glance. "His watch?" Finn asked.

Doug nodded. "Yes. It was a gift I gave him, had his initials engraved on the inside. It's… very precious to me."

"We'll need to examine everything that was on his person," Sheila said, "but we'll do everything we can to return that watch to you as soon as possible."

Doug swallowed hard and nodded. "Thank you."

As they left Doug's house, the weight of their conversation seemed to follow them, hanging in the air like a heavy fog. She and Finn walked in silence to their car, both lost in thought, their footsteps crunching on the gravel driveway.

Once inside the vehicle, the doors closing with a muted thud, Finn turned to her. "What are you thinking?"

Sheila sighed, rubbing her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. "I'm thinking we need to talk to Marcus Holbrook again. Those pitons... they must have belonged to the killer. And if anyone would recognize vintage climbing gear, it'd be Holbrook."

Finn nodded, starting the car. The engine rumbled to life, a comforting background noise to their conversation. "You think the killer's leaving his own equipment at the crime scene? That's risky."

"Maybe," Sheila mused, her gaze unfocused as she stared out the windshield. "Or maybe it's part of the message he's trying to send. Remember what Holbrook said about respecting the mountain? What if our killer sees himself as some kind of... I don't know, guardian of climbing traditions?"

"It's a stretch," Finn said, but his tone was thoughtful, considering. "But it's the best lead we've got right now."

As they drove toward Holbrook's house, Sheila's mind raced with possibilities. The parallels between Jake and Brad were striking—both risk-takers, both with strained family relationships, both killed in similar ways. It couldn't be a coincidence. There had to be a connection, a thread that tied these seemingly random acts together.

She thought back to Doug Blackwell's grief-stricken face, to the photos of a younger Brad. To the voicemail that would now forever be the last words between father and son. It struck her again how fragile life was, how quickly everything could change. One moment, you're leaving a hopeful message for your estranged father…

The next, you're gone, leaving behind nothing but questions and regrets.

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