Page 26 of Silent Smile

"Woke him up at eleven pm, but Blackwood's purchases were enough to convince him," Sheila replied. She moved toward the front door, every sense on high alert. "Let's do this by the book, Finn. I don't want to give Blackwood's lawyer any ammunition if this goes to trial."

She rapped sharply on the door. "Eric Blackwood? This is Sheriff Stone. We have a warrant to search the premises." The words echoed in the predawn stillness.

No response came from within. Sheila tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked. She exchanged a glance with Finn before pushing the door open, her hand instinctively moving to her holster.

"Mr. Blackwood?" Sheila called out as they entered. The house was silent, the air stale and heavy with neglect.

"Alright," she said to Finn, "I'll take the bedroom and bathroom. You start in the living room. Look for anything related to Native American symbols or the dunes. And Finn? Be thorough."

As Sheila moved down the hallway, she cataloged every detail. Water stains on the ceiling. A stack of unpaid bills on a side table. Framed photos of desert landscapes, no people in sight. It painted a picture of a man isolated, obsessed with the world outside his window.

In the bedroom she found an open closet, empty hangers swinging gently. Dresser drawers pulled out, contents hastily removed. A dust outline on the top shelf where a suitcase should have been.

"Finn," Sheila called out, "looks like our boy packed and ran. What've you got out there?"

"You're gonna want to see this, Sheriff." Finn's voice carried a note of discovery that had Sheila moving quickly back to the living room.

Finn was crouched in front of a bookshelf, pulling out volume after volume. "Look at these titles," he said, handing her a book. "'The Sacred Symbols of the Desert,' 'Native American Rituals and Their Meanings,' 'The Spirit of the Dunes.' It's a regular anthropology course in here."

Sheila flipped through the books, noting dog-eared pages and penciled annotations. "He's been studying this stuff intensively. But why?"

"That's not all," Finn continued, pulling out a leather-bound journal. "Check this out."

The journal's pages were filled with hand-drawn symbols, meticulously copied and annotated. Sheila's pulse quickened as she recognized one—a crude sun with wavy lines emanating from it. It was nearly identical to the symbol found on Amanda Weller's forehead.

"Well, that's certainly interesting," Sheila said. "But it doesn't explain why he'd pick her, or if he has anything to do with Carl Donovan's disappearance."

"Doesn't tell us where he is, either," Finn murmured.

They continued their search, but found little else of significance. The kitchen yielded nothing but expired food and unwashed dishes. The bathroom was similarly unremarkable, save for a half-empty bottle of prescription sleeping pills.

Sheila stood in the living room, frustrated. "This doesn't add up, Finn. We've got evidence of his obsession with Native American symbols, sure. But nothing that definitively ties him to Amanda's murder or Carl's disappearance."

Finn nodded, his brow furrowed. "It's circumstantial at best. A good lawyer could argue he's just an enthusiast with poor housekeeping habits."

"And why Amanda?" Sheila mused, more to herself than to Finn. "Was she chosen at random, or was there something specific about her? And if Blackwood is responsible for Carl's disappearance, too, what's the connection?"

She paced the room, her mind racing. "We're missing something. There has to be a link we're not seeing."

Just then, her phone buzzed. She answered quickly, "Sheriff Stone."

"Sheriff, it's Deputy Chen. We've got a possible sighting on Blackwood's vehicle. A blue Ford pickup was spotted at the Gas 'n Go on Route 89, heading north. Matches the description and the plate we put out."

Sheila's pulse quickened. "How long ago?"

"Not more than twenty minutes, Sheriff. The clerk just called it in."

"Good work, Chen. Get the word out to all units. I want roadblocks set up on all northbound routes out of town."

She hung up and turned to Finn, who was already reaching for his jacket. "Blackwood?" he asked.

Sheila nodded. "Possible sighting of his truck. We need to move now."

***

As Sheila pulled up in front of the modest ranch-style house, Finn pointed to the blue Ford pickup parked nearby.

"That's his vehicle, alright," Finn murmured.

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