Page 42 of Silent Neighbor

Finn shook his head, still scrolling through the information. "Nothing official. No major injuries reported, no scandals. He just... stopped. Started working at the factory about a month after his last competition."

"What makes you think he could be our guy?"

"I haven't told you the most interesting part. About a year before he quit, Crane was involved in a climbing accident. His partner fell to his death. Crane was cleared of any wrongdoing, but rumors circulated in the climbing community that he might have cut the rope."

***

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a large industrial complex on the outskirts of town. The sign read "Coldwater Precision Manufacturing," a factory known for producing high-end sports gear and other outdoor equipment.

The parking lot was half-full, a mix of dusty trucks and well-worn sedans hinting at the blue-collar workforce inside. A few workers were gathered near the entrance, sharing a smoke break before their shift, their conversations dying down as Sheila and Finn approached.

They made their way to the main entrance, flashing their badges at the sleepy-eyed security guard. The man straightened up, suddenly alert, his eyes darting between them nervously. "Everything okay, officers?"

"We need to speak with Robert Crane," Sheila said, keeping her voice neutral. "We're told he works the night shift."

The guard nodded, buzzing them through. "He'll be on the assembly line. Building C, second floor."

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of machinery and industrial cleaners, an acrid mix that made Sheila's eyes water. The rhythmic thud and hiss of heavy equipment created a constant background noise, punctuated by the occasional shout or clang of metal on metal.

They made their way through the factory, dodging forklifts and navigating around massive pieces of equipment. Workers in hard hats and safety vests gave them curious looks as they passed, word of their presence spreading quickly through the facility.

After asking several supervisors, they finally found Robert Crane on the assembly line. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, his once-powerful frame now slightly softened by age and a sedentary job. As they approached, Sheila noticed the way his hands moved over the machinery—there was a hesitancy there, a lack of the surety one would expect from a former professional athlete.

"Mr. Crane?" Sheila called out over the noise of the factory. "I'm Deputy Stone, and this is Deputy Mercer. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Jake Pearson and Brad Blackwell."

Robert's face paled at the names, his hands stilling on the machine in front of him. A coworker quickly stepped in to take over his station as Robert stepped aside to speak with them. "I, uh... I knew them, yeah. Extreme Limits. Terrible what happened."

"Maybe telling us where you were earlier today?" Finn asked.

Robert's gaze darted between them, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I was... I was at home," he stammered, his voice barely audible over the rhythmic clanging of machinery. "Sleeping after my shift."

As he spoke, Robert's hands fidgeted restlessly on the workbench beside him. His fingers twitched and curled as if trying to grasp something just out of reach. Sheila's gaze lingered on those trembling hands, a question forming in her mind.

"Mr. Crane," she began, her voice carefully neutral, "can you tell us about the climbing accident six years ago? The one involving your partner?"

Robert's entire body went rigid. His fidgeting hands suddenly gripped the edge of the workbench, knuckles turning white with the force of his grasp. "That was an accident," he said, his voice low and tight. "I was cleared of any wrongdoing."

Sheila watched as a muscle twitched in Robert's jaw. "We're not accusing you of anything," she said. "We just need to understand what happened."

Robert's eyes darted around, as if seeking an escape route. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "We were on a difficult route," he began. "Mark was lead climbing. He... he took a bad fall. The rope... it snapped."

As he spoke, Robert's right hand unconsciously moved to his left wrist, rubbing it as if soothing an old injury. "I tried to catch him," he continued, his eyes unfocused, lost in the memory. "But the force... I couldn't hold on. He fell. And I couldn't save him."

Sheila studied Robert's face, searching for any sign of deception. His pain seemed genuine, the haunted look in his eyes speaking volumes. But there was something else there, too—a flicker of... what? Guilt? Fear? She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"There were rumors that his rope might have been… compromised," Finn said.

Robert's head snapped up, eyes blazing. "That's a lie!" he said. "I would never... Mark was my friend. My partner. How could anyone think I'd...?" His voice broke, and he looked away, blinking rapidly.

Sheila glanced at Finn, a silent communication passing between them. Robert's reaction seemed too raw, too emotional to be fabricated. And yet, a nagging doubt lingered. Was this the anguish of a man wrongly accused or the guilt of someone hiding a terrible secret?

As Robert passed a trembling hand across his brow, Sheila said, "Mr. Crane, if you don't mind my asking, how much climbing do you do these days?"

Robert's face fell, a look of deep sadness crossing his features. "I don't," he admitted. "Not anymore. I can't."

He held out his trembling hands. "Parkinson's," he explained, the word heavy with resigned grief. "Early-onset. It started about five years ago. That's why I had to quit competing. These days, I can barely hold a cup of coffee steady, let alone climb a rock face. Most of my work here is just jabbing buttons and doing visual inspections. I sometimes wonder, though, if they just keep me on out of pity."

Sheila felt a pang of sympathy for the man. His condition—the loss of control over his own body, the theft of his passion—was a cruel twist of fate. He couldn't be their killer. The physical demands of the murders would have been beyond his capabilities.

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