Page 50 of Silent Home

Finn appeared in the doorway to the breakroom, coffee cup in hand.His expression was carefully neutral, but Sheila knew him well enough to read the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes tracked her movement.He'd know she was holding something back.

"I'll write up a full report," Sheila said, not meeting his gaze."Right now, I need to check on something."

She made it to her office, closing the door behind her.Her hands were steady as she sat at her desk, but inside she felt hollow, like someone had scooped out her insides and replaced them with ice.The man's words kept echoing in her head:Your mother made choices.Asked questions she shouldn't have asked.

A soft knock, then Finn entered, locking the door behind him.He closed the blinds without being asked, then sat in the chair across from her desk.

"Everyone's gone home except Neville," he said quietly."Night shift is out on patrol.No one will disturb us."He leaned forward."What really happened?"

Sheila took a shaky breath."There was a man in my backseat.He'd gotten in—not sure how."She had to pause and steady herself."He knew things, Finn.About my mother's murder.About Tommy."

Finn's face hardened."What did he want?"

"To deliver a warning.He said to stop investigating the department, stop looking into my mother's case.Focus on the festival murders instead."Her voice caught slightly."He threatened Dad.And Star."

"Tell me everything," Finn said."Every detail."

She did, the words spilling out: the expensive cologne, the Irish accent, how he'd known about her childhood.How he'd talked about Natalie's suicide with such casual cruelty.How he'd made her walk into that dark field, knowing she was at his mercy.

As she spoke, Finn's expression grew darker.When she finished, he was silent for a long moment.

"He's been watching us, Finn," she finally said."All of us, maybe."

"And now he's got your truck.Your weapons.Your phone."

"Those can be replaced."She met his eyes, then hesitated.

"What is it?"Finn asked.

It had just occurred to her that if her hijacker was connected to someone in the department, that same person might've bugged the building.They could be listening in right now.

Maybe watching, too.Which ruled out the easy method of scribbling a message to Finn on her notebook.

Finn was still studying her.She had to tell him something.Sensing he was about to repeat his question, she hurriedly said, "The important thing for now is to focus on the festival murders.That truck will turn up eventually, one way or another."

He was watching her intently.He could tell something was off, could tell she wasn't behaving naturally.Before he could say anything, however, Neville burst through the door."Sheriff!They found your truck."Her face was both excited and grave.

"Just the vehicle?"Sheila asked anxiously."Nobody in it?"

"That's right."Neville hesitated."But whoever took it apparently didn't want you to get it back."

"What do you mean?"

"It's on fire."

***

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a remote stretch of Caledonia Street, where orange flames lit up the predawn darkness.Sheila's truck burned like a beacon against the empty fields, sending sparks spiraling into the cold October sky.No fire trucks yet—they were still en route from the station.

Sheila's heart clenched like a fist at the sight of the flames.As soon as Finn parked the squad car, she opened her door and jumped out.

"Sheila, wait!"Finn called, but she barely heard him.

The heat hit her first—a wall of scorching air that made her eyes water.Then the smell: burning rubber, melting plastic, and beneath it all, the sharp tang of accelerant.This was no accident.

"Stay back," Finn said, catching her arm."The gas tank could go any second."

But she'd already seen what she needed to see.There, on the roof of the cab, placed where she couldn't miss it: Tommy's laptop, or what remained of it.The plastic had melted and warped, the screen blackened beyond recognition.Any evidence it might have contained about departmental corruption, about her mother's murder—gone.

---