Page 4 of Silent Neighbor

They reached a large warehouse, its metal walls looming ominously in the darkness. Sheila gestured for Finn to circle around while she approached the front entrance. As she neared the door, she noticed it was slightly ajar.

Taking a deep breath, Sheila pushed the door open, wincing at the loud creak of rusty hinges. She stepped inside, her eyes struggling to adjust to the even deeper darkness within. The air was stale and heavy with the scent of sawdust and machine oil.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Before she could react, a dark figure lunged at her from behind a stack of crates. Sheila caught a glimpse of something metallic swinging toward her head.

Years of kickboxing training kicked in. Sheila ducked, feeling the whoosh of air as the weapon—a crowbar, she realized—passed inches above her head. She pivoted, driving her elbow into her attacker's solar plexus.

The man—Mills, it had to be Mills—grunted in pain but didn't go down. He swung the crowbar again, and this time Sheila couldn't completely dodge it. The metal connected with her shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down her arm.

Gritting her teeth, Sheila lashed out with a roundhouse kick, her foot connecting solidly with Mills' wrist. The crowbar clattered to the floor. Mills lunged for it, but Sheila was faster. She tackled him, using her momentum to drive them both to the ground.

They grappled on the dusty floor, Mills trying to break free while Sheila fought to subdue him. He was strong, but Sheila's training gave her the edge. She managed to flip him onto his stomach, wrenching his arms behind his back.

"Eddie Mills," she panted, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, "you're under arrest for the murder of Henrietta Stone."

Mills went still beneath her. Then, in a voice rough with exertion, he said, "I want a lawyer."

Finn burst in, weapon drawn, taking in the scene before him. "Sheila! Are you alright?"

Sheila nodded, not taking her eyes off Mills as she cuffed him. "I'm fine. We got him, Finn. We finally got him."

As they led Mills out to the waiting police cars, Sheila felt a mix of emotions swirling within her. Relief, triumph, but also a nagging uncertainty. Mills hadn't confessed.

The hard part was still to come.

***

Sheila rubbed her aching shoulder as she paced the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department hallway, mere feet from the door of the interrogation room. Through the one-way glass, she could see Eddie Mills slumped at the table, his face impassive. A man in a crisp suit sat beside him—his lawyer, no doubt. Mills looked smaller somehow, less threatening than the specter that had haunted her thoughts for so many years.

But Sheila knew appearances could be deceiving. This man had taken her mother from her, had torn her family apart. She was sure of it.

Finn approached her, two cups of coffee in his hands. The sight of him brought a small measure of calm to her churning emotions.

"Thought you could use this," Finn said, offering her one of the cups.

Sheila accepted it gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. "Thanks," she murmured, taking a sip. The hot liquid scalded her tongue, but she welcomed the sensation. It helped ground her in the moment.

Finn's eyes were full of concern as he studied her face. "How are you holding up?"

Sheila shrugged, wincing slightly as the movement aggravated her injured shoulder. "I'll be better once I can get in there and talk to him."

Before Finn could respond, the door to the interrogation room opened and Mills' lawyer stepped out. His expression was neutral, but there was a hint of steel in his eyes as he approached Sheila and Finn.

"Deputy Stone, Deputy Mercer," he said, nodding to each of them in turn. "I'm Gerald Kemp, Mr. Mills' attorney."

Sheila straightened. "Is your client ready to talk?"

Kemp held up a hand. "I understand your eagerness, Deputy, but my client and I aren't going to walk into an ambush. I need more time to consult with Mr. Mills and get a clearer sense of the case."

Sheila felt her frustration mounting. "But—"

"No buts," Kemp said firmly. "Mr. Mills has rights, and I intend to ensure they're respected. We'll be ready to talk when we're ready, and not a moment sooner."

"And when is that going to be?"

The lawyer gave Sheila a thin smile. "I'll be in touch."

As Kemp turned to re-enter the interrogation room, the reality of the situation sank in. It might be hours, maybe even days, before she was even able to talk with Mills. The truth she'd been chasing for so long was tantalizingly close, yet still out of reach.

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