Page 39 of Silent Smile

"No," Sheila said as she rose and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, "I'm afraid we don't."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The forensics lab hummed with activity, the air thick with the scent of chemicals and anticipation. Sheila leaned against a pristine white counter, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm. Across the room, Finn paced back and forth, his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum floor with each turn.

"How much longer do you think it'll be?" Finn asked, glancing at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

Sheila shook her head. "However long it takes to be thorough. We can't afford any mistakes on this one."

A technician in a white lab coat carefully swabbed the blade of the shovel, her movements precise and methodical. Sheila watched, her mind racing with possibilities. What would the tests reveal? Would this be the breakthrough they needed, or another dead end?

The minutes ticked by, each one feeling longer than the last. Sheila's coffee had long since gone cold, forgotten in her hand as she focused on the bustling activity around her. She watched as samples were rushed from one station to another, machines whirred and beeped, and technicians huddled over microscopes.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Dr. Zihao approached, his face unreadable. "Sheriff Stone, Deputy Mercer," he said, nodding to each of them in turn. "We have the results."

Sheila straightened up, her heart pounding. "What did you find, Doctor?"

Dr. Zihao consulted his clipboard. "The stain on the shovel is indeed blood," he began. "We ran it through our database, and we have two distinct matches."

Finn leaned in. "Two matches? You mean..."

"Yes," Dr. Zihao said. "The blood belongs to both Amanda Weller and Carl Donovan."

Sheila felt a rush of adrenaline. "So it's definitely the murder weapon?"

"Almost certainly," Dr. Zihao said.

Finn whistled low. "And given that it's a shovel, it was probably used to bury them too, right?"

"That would be my conclusion, yes. We also found trace amounts of the same soil composition that was present at both crime scenes."

This was damning evidence, more than they'd dared hope for.

"What about DNA on the handle?" Sheila asked. "Did you find anything there?"

Dr. Zihao hesitated. "No, unfortunately not. It was quite clean… perhaps deliberately so."

Sheila frowned. It seemed odd that a man who would take care to clean the handle of a murder weapon would then bury the weapon in his own backyard. Still, everyone made mistakes eventually.

"Thank you, Dr. Zihao," Sheila said.

"Fingerprints or not," Finn said, "we've got Hawke dead to rights. There's no way he can talk his way out of this."

Sheila nodded slowly, her brow furrowed in thought. "It's strong evidence, but..."

"But what?" Finn's smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion. "What more do you need? We have the murder weapon with the victims' blood on it, found buried in Hawke's yard. It's open and shut."

Sheila sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I know, Finn. It looks bad for Hawke. But something about this feels... I don't know, too neat. Too perfect."

Finn's expression hardened. "Are you saying you don't trust the evidence?"

"I'm just being thorough." But it wasn't just about the evidence. Every disagreement at work now felt loaded with personal weight. When Finn challenged her decisions, she heard echoes of their argument about paint colors for the living room, about Star's curfew, about whether they were ready for all these changes at once. She'd thought they could compartmentalize—be professional at work and intimate at home.

Instead, the strain was bleeding across all boundaries.

"We owe it to the victims to be absolutely certain," she added.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Finn asked, a hint of defiance in his voice.

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