Page 26 of Silent Past

Carefully, trying not to disturb anything, Sheila examined the base of Kane's skull. There it was—a single puncture wound, precise and deadly. Just like Mitchell's.

"Same killer," she said, straightening. "Same method. Same... respect."

"Five years apart." Finn's light played across the ice formations. "How many more are down here? How long has this been going on?"

Sheila studied Kane's face, trying to read the story of his death. Had he found what he was looking for? Had he, like Mitchell, understood too much?

A soft sound echoed through the chamber—ice cracking somewhere in the darkness. Both of them froze, listening. The caves seemed to hold their breath.

"We should call this in," Finn said quietly.

Sheila nodded, but something made her hesitate. This chamber had kept its secret for five years. No random spelunker had stumbled upon it. No search party had found it. The killer had chosen this place carefully, buried Kane deep where he wouldn't be found.

Until now.

"How many other chambers are there?" she wondered aloud. "How many other bodies?"

"Let's not find out alone," Finn said. "We need backup. A full evidence team."

She knew he was right, but she couldn't shake the feeling that everything would change once they made that call. The FBI would swarm these caves, take control of both bodies. Whatever answers Kane and Mitchell had died for would disappear into federal evidence lockers.

A deeper crack echoed through the chamber—ice shifting with the mountain's endless movements. Or something else, moving in the darkness beyond their lights.

"Sheila," Finn said softly. "We need to go. Now."

She took one last look at Kane's peaceful face, then keyed her radio. The signal was weak but present. "Dispatch, this is Stone. We've got a 187 in the ice caves. Second victim, preserved. Send Dr. Jin and a full evidence team."

Static crackled, then: "Copy that, Sheriff. Teams en route."

As they made their way back through the tunnels, Sheila couldn't shake the image of Kane's serene expression. He and Mitchell—both killed with precision, both arranged with care, both dressed in ceremonial robes.

But how many others were still hidden in the darkness, waiting to be found?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Emergency lights cut harsh shadows across the cave entrance, their rotating beams catching the early evening mist. Sheila stood at the command post, watching teams of FBI evidence technicians file into the caves like ants into a hill. Their white Tyvek suits made them look ghostly in the artificial light.

Agent Walsh had arrived within an hour of Sheila's call, bringing a full federal task force with her. Now she stood with two of her agents, gesturing at a topographical map spread across the hood of an SUV. Her voice carried on the cold air.

"I want every tunnel mapped, every chamber documented. If there are more bodies down there, we need to find them."

Sheila's jaw tightened. Less than thirty minutes after arriving, Walsh had effectively taken control of both the scene and the investigation. County deputies were relegated to perimeter control while FBI agents swarmed over evidence that rightfully belonged to her department.

She knew Walsh's team was desperate to catch the killer alive—to understand the psychology, prevent future cases. That explained their aggressive takeover attempt. But Sheila couldn't let federal ambition override local investigative work that might catch this killer.

For Sheila, this wasn't about territory or pride. She knew these mountains, knew the people who lived in their shadows. When Mitchell was killed, it was Sheila's department that had interviewed the locals, built relationships with potential witnesses, earned the trust of the community.

But now Walsh's teams were storming in with their federal authority, disrupting those careful connections. They treated her deputies like uniformed security guards, dismissed Dr. Jin's insights. Worse, they were compartmentalizing information, sharing only what they deemed necessary. Sheila couldn't effectively investigate when she was being kept in the dark about evidence found in her own jurisdiction.

She thought of the spelunkers, Kelly and Mike, who had trusted her enough to go back into those caves. What would happen to that trust when federal agents started throwing their weight around? The FBI might have resources and authority, but they lacked the deep understanding of Coldwater County that could make or break this case. And their heavy-handed approach was already closing doors that Sheila had carefully opened.

Dr. Jin approached from the direction of his vehicle, his silver-streaked hair catching the emergency lights. "Sheriff," he said quietly. "A word?"

She followed him to where his equipment was set up, away from the cluster of federal agents. A portable heater hummed nearby, pushing back the mountain chill.

"Initial examination confirms what we suspected," Jin said. "Same method as Mitchell. Single puncture wound, base of the skull, instant unconsciousness." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But there's something else. The robes Kane was wearing—they're not just similar to Mitchell's. They're from the same collection."

Sheila frowned. "How can you be sure?"

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