Page 36 of Silent Smile

Sage made his way to Hawke's backyard, keeping to the shadows. He had just reached the fence when the back door opened. Sage froze, pressing himself against the wooden slats.

Mick stepped out, a cigarette already between his lips. The flame of his lighter briefly illuminated his face. He took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke into the morning air.

"You gonna whine about it all morning, or what?" Mick called softly toward the house.

A moment later, Hawke appeared, his hair disheveled, his movements agitated. "I just can't believe this," he muttered, pacing on the small patio. "Why would they suspect me?"

Mick shrugged, taking another drag. "Maybe they're just covering all their bases. You said yourself, your alibi is solid. So what's there to worry about?"

"Yeah, but..." Hawke ran a hand through his hair. "What if they start looking deeper? What if they find out about..."

"They won't," Mick interrupted firmly. "We were careful. There's no connection."

Sage listened intently, amused. He knew very well what they were hiding, and he suspected the police would soon know as well. But just in case the police were too obtuse, he'd bury a little present for them.

Something to nudge them in the right direction.

Mick finished his cigarette and crushed it under his heel. "Come on, man. Let's get some sleep. I've got a shift this afternoon."

Hawke nodded reluctantly and followed Mick back inside. The door closed with a soft click, leaving the backyard in silence once more.

Sage waited a few moments, ensuring the coast was clear, before moving from his hiding spot. He scanned the yard, searching for the perfect place. There—behind the shed, partially obscured by an overgrown bush.

The earth here was soft, yielding easily to the blade. Sage dug quickly but carefully, creating a hole just deep enough to conceal the shovel. As he worked, he whispered a quiet prayer to the spirits of the dunes, asking for their continued protection.

With the shovel safely buried, Sage smoothed the dirt back into place. He didn't scatter any dried leaves over the spot, however. A casual observer might not realize the area had been disturbed at all. A trained observer such as Sheriff Stone, however…

As Sage made his way back to his car, the first rays of sunlight were beginning to peek over the horizon. A new day was dawning, full of possibilities. He slipped behind the wheel and started the engine, which purred softly.

Sage pulled away from the curb, just another early morning commuter to any watching eyes. But inside, he felt the thrill of his secret. The police were sniffing around Hawke, and soon they would find a piece of very incriminating evidence. If Hawke wasn't already at the top of their list of suspects, he'd shoot there the moment they discovered that shovel.

Leaving Sage free to do his sacred work in peace.

One body at a time.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sheila's eyes burned from staring at the computer screen, the words beginning to blur together. She blinked hard, refocusing on the personnel file in front of her.

The Sheriff's office was quiet, most deputies out on patrol or following up on other cases. She'd been here for hours, digging through digital archives and dusty files, searching for anything that might shed light on Jason Hawke.

The process hadn't been easy. When she first requested Hawke's employment records, she hit a wall of bureaucracy. The state park system, citing privacy concerns, initially refused to release his full file. She had to track down Marcus Sheridan, the superintendent, who was in a remote section of the park that lacked cell service, and get him to provide her authorization to access the records.

Now that she had them, though, it didn't take long for her to realize the effort had been worth it.

"Well, that's interesting," she murmured, studying notes about a series of complaints lodged against Hawke during his tenure at the park: multiple incidents of overzealous rule enforcement, confrontations with visitors, even a few formal reprimands from his superiors.

Sheila leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. It didn't add up. Hawke was fired for stealing rare wildflowers from the park and selling them online. Why would someone engaged in illegal activities be so zealous about enforcing park rules? Was he overcompensating, trying to throw suspicion off himself?

She scrolled through the complaints, each one painting a picture of a man obsessed with rules and order. There was the time Hawke had confronted a family for straying a few feet off a marked trail, reducing a child to tears. Another incidentinvolved him confiscating a visitor's drone, claiming it was disturbing wildlife, despite the park having no official policy on drones at the time.

"What were you really up to, Hawke?" Sheila muttered, jotting down notes.

The door opened, and Finn walked in, a file tucked under his arm and two cups of coffee in his hands. "Thought you could use a pick-me-up, boss," he said, placing one cup on Sheila's desk.

Sheila picked up the coffee, then hesitated. "You don't have to do that, you know," she said.

"What? Bring you coffee?"

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