Page 43 of Silent Past

Sheila absorbed this. Finally, pieces were falling into place—the killer's obsession with academics, the precise positioning, the careful selection of caves.

"Vale's records," Sheila said. "What do they tell us?"

"He documented the private collectors who bought pieces of the Window Rock collection. One of them was particularly interested in preservation ceremonies—spent years studying the mineral properties of ceremonial textiles." Walsh pulled out another document. "A Dr. James Whitman. Anthropology professor at Berkeley until 2021. Disappeared after leading an expedition to study cave formations in Utah."

"He found a preserved body," Sheila said, understanding dawning on her. "And it changed him."

"We think so. His research notes show an increasing obsession with preservation techniques. He believed these ancient cultures had discovered a way to maintain consciousness through specific combinations of minerals, cold, and ceremonial practices."

"Whitman is our killer."

Walsh nodded. "His knowledge of cave systems, his academic background, his access to ceremonial artifacts—it all fits. We've been tracking his movements, but he's careful. Changes vehicles, uses elaborate disguises."

"Until now," Sheila said. "He's getting sloppy. Desperate."

"Because we've contaminated his sacred spaces. The FBI's presence in the ice caves forced him to find new locations. Rush his preparations."

Sheila thought of Rachel Harper, how quickly the killer had moved to take her. "So what's the plan?"

"We've identified other academics who match his victim profile. People studying cultural preservation, indigenous ceremonies. We're monitoring them, but he's already proved he can get to protected targets."

"He'll need a new location," Sheila said. "Somewhere cold, isolated, with the right mineral content."

Walsh pulled out a map. "We've identified three possible cave systems that match his requirements. All within a day's drive of where he abandoned the train."

"That sounds promising," Finn said.

Walsh spread her hands across the map, her expression shadowed in the harsh office lighting. "Unfortunately, these caves span hundreds of miles of wilderness. Some haven't been properly surveyed since the 1950s. The mineral content matches what Whitman needs, but actually finding him..." She shook her head. "It would be like looking for a ghost in a graveyard."

"There must be something more we can do," Sheila pressed. "Some way to track him, predict where he'll go next."

"Whitman's spent years studying these systems." Walsh gathered her papers with precise movements. "For now, all we can do is protect potential targets and wait for him to make a mistake."

"Like he did with Rachel Harper?" Sheila's voice carried an edge that made Walsh pause. "How many more bodies are we willing to risk while we wait?"

"I understand your frustration, Sheriff. But Whitman's too smart to leave us an easy trail. He's been planning this for years—the ceremonial robes, the preservation techniques, the cave locations. Everything carefully chosen." Walsh stood, straightening her jacket. "We'll keep you updated on any developments."

After Walsh left, silence settled over the office like a heavy blanket. Sheila stayed at her desk, staring at crime scene photos spread across its surface—Mitchell's body arranged with ceremonial precision, Kane preserved in his icy chamber, Rachel Harper's life cut tragically short.

"What are you thinking?" Finn asked from where he leaned against the filing cabinet.

"I'm thinking about patterns," Sheila said slowly. "How Whitman chooses his victims. The way he studies them first, learns their research, knows exactly what to say to draw them out."

"Academic loners," Finn said. "People whose work isolates them. Makes them vulnerable."

"And driven by curiosity." Sheila picked up Mitchell's preliminary autopsy report. "He offers them something they can't resist—evidence that supports their theories, validates their research."

Sheila's office felt like a confessional in the early morning light, crime scene photos spread across her desk like tarot cards telling a dark future. She rubbed her tired eyes, the weight of three murders pressing down on her shoulders.

"Let's lay it out," she said to Finn. "All of it. From the beginning."

Finn settled into the chair across from her, his face etched with exhaustion. "Okay. We know Whitman found a preserved body in a cave system years ago. Someone ancient, frozen in ceremonial robes. The discovery changed him."

"It became an obsession," Sheila continued, sorting through the photos. "He believed these caves weren't just burial sites—they were preservation chambers. Places where ancient cultures maintained not just bodies, but consciousness itself."

"The robes were key," Finn added. "Not just ceremonial clothing, but specially prepared garments. Treated with specific minerals that supposedly helped with the preservation process."

He picked up one of Dr. Jin's reports. "That's why he spent years tracking down pieces from the Window Rock collection. These weren't just valuable artifacts—they were tools for his mission."

---