Page 31 of Silent Smile

"Who have intimate knowledge of the park," Finn interrupted. "Including the restricted areas where the bodies were found."

Sheridan's face darkened. "You think one of my staff is responsible for these murders?"

"We don't know," Sheila said carefully, trying to defuse the tension. "But we need to explore every possibility. Your staff's knowledge could be crucial to solving this case, whether they're involved or not."

Sheridan stared at them for a long moment, his jaw clenched. The stress ball in his hand was compressed to half its original size. Finally, he nodded curtly. "Fine. But I want to be present for these interviews."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Sheila said. "We need to conduct these interviews privately to ensure we get candid responses."

Sheridan looked like he wanted to argue further, but instead, he just slumped in his chair. "Fine," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "Just... just get this over with. Find this killer and let us get back to normal."

As they left Sheridan's office, Finn turned to Sheila. "Well, that was fun. You really think our killer could be a park employee?"

Sheila's face was grim as she replied, "I don't know, Finn. But I do know this—whoever this killer is, they know these dunes like the back of their hand. And that knowledge had to come from somewhere."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The first hints of dawn were just beginning to paint the eastern sky as Sheila and Finn sat across from Zara Chowdhury, a park ranger in her late twenties. The small office they'd commandeered for interviews felt claustrophobic after hours of questioning, the air stale and heavy with tension.

"Thank you for meeting with us so early, Ranger Chowdhury," Sheila said, feeling no less fatigued than Chowdhury looked. "We appreciate your cooperation."

Chowdhury nodded, stifling a yawn. "Of course, Sheriff. Anything to help. It's not like any of us could sleep anyway, what with everything that's happened."

Finn leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "You've been helping with the park shutdown?"

"Yeah," Chowdhury replied, rubbing her eyes. "Most of us have. It's a big job, you know? Securing all the facilities, setting up barriers, informing campers..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I still can't believe this is happening. The dunes have always been so peaceful."

Sheila and Finn exchanged a glance. They'd heard similar sentiments from nearly every park employee they'd interviewed so far. The shock and disbelief were palpable among the staff, but unfortunately, it hadn't led to any new leads.

"Ranger Chowdhury," Sheila began, flipping open her notepad, "in your time working here, have you ever noticed anything unusual? Any visitors or colleagues who seemed overly interested in Native American symbols or rituals?"

Chowdhury furrowed her brow, thinking. "Not really. I mean, we get the occasional New Age type who's into that sort of thing, but nothing that stood out as weird or dangerous."

"What about your colleagues? Has anyone been acting strange lately? Staying late, asking odd questions, that sort of thing?"

"Not that I've noticed," Chowdhury said. "We're a pretty close-knit group here. If someone was acting off, I think we'd pick up on it pretty quickly."

The interview continued for another twenty minutes, but like the others before it, it yielded little of value. As Chowdhury left the room, Finn let out a frustrated sigh.

"That's what, our tenth interview? And still nothing solid."

Sheila rubbed her temples, fighting off a growing headache. "I know. But we have to keep pushing. Someone has to know something."

They stepped outside the small office, the cool morning air a welcome relief. The sky was lightening rapidly now, the stars fading as the sun prepared to make its appearance. Park employees bustled about, their faces drawn with worry and lack of sleep.

As they surveyed the bustling park headquarters, Sheila's attention was drawn to an older man in a ranger uniform. He appeared to be in his sixties, with a weathered face and white hair peeking out from under his hat. Despite the early hour and the grim circumstances, he moved with an easy grace, exchanging friendly words with everyone he passed.

"Who's that?" Sheila asked a nearby employee, a young man restocking brochures.

"Oh, that's Ranger Thorsson," the young man replied, a note of affection in his voice. "Einar Thorsson. He's been here forever—kind of a legend around these parts. His adoptive parents were Southern Paiute."

Intrigued, Sheila approached the older ranger, Finn following close behind. As they drew near, Ranger Thorssonturned to them with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Well, well," he said, his voice gravelly but friendly. "If it isn't our illustrious Sheriff and her trusty deputy. What can this old fart do for you?"

"Ranger Thorsson," Sheila began, but he waved her off.

"Please, call me Einar. Everyone does."

---