Page 28 of Silent Past

"What kind of markings?" Walsh demanded.

"Symbols, painted or carved. They match the patterns on the robes." He hesitated. "And we found fresh candle wax. Someone's been down there recently. Within the last few days."

Walsh was already issuing orders, mobilizing more teams. Sheila watched another FBI vehicle wind its way up the mountain road, its headlights cutting through the growing darkness. There was nothing more they could do here—Walsh's team had effectively taken control of both the scene and the bodies.

"We're spinning our wheels," she said to Finn. "Let's get back to what we know."

They settled into her truck, the heater slowly pushing back the mountain chill. Sheila pulled out her notebook, reviewing their leads.

"Martinez," she said. "Mitchell's colleague. She showed up at the house looking for research materials, but her timing was suspicious."

"And she knew about Mitchell's meeting with someone who had 'special knowledge' of the site." Finn checked his phone. "Martinez and her assistant are still at the station. Deputy Neville's keeping an eye on them."

Sheila started the engine. "What about Mitchell's ex-husband? The professor at Berkeley?"

"Robert Watson. According to the university, he's been teaching all semester." Finn scrolled through his notes. "But here's something interesting—he specialized in indigenous burial practices before switching to cultural anthropology. Same field Mitchell was working in."

"Could be a coincidence." But Sheila didn't believe in coincidences, not with two bodies in ceremonial robes hidden in the caves. "What about Mitchell's phone records?"

"Still waiting on the warrant." Finn looked up from his phone. "But we've got Mitchell's cloud backup from her research assistant. Could start there, see what she was working on before she died."

Sheila guided the truck down the winding mountain road, away from the chaos of federal vehicles and evidence teams. Her mind kept returning to Kane's peaceful expression, to the careful arrangement of his body. The killer had taken time with both victims, treated them with a kind of reverence.

"The robes," she said suddenly. "Jin said they were from the same collection—meant to be worn together in ceremonies."

"Which means our killer either had access to museum pieces..."

"Or knew where to find authentic artifacts." Sheila tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. "Mitchell's assistant—Cooper. He said she was documenting unauthorized entries into sacred sites. People moving things around."

"You think someone was stealing artifacts?"

"Or returning them." She glanced at Finn. "What if these caves aren't just burial sites? What if they're storage?"

Finn considered this. "A place to keep sacred objects safe. Hidden."

"Until someone started looking too closely." Sheila turned onto the main highway, heading back toward town. "Mitchell and Kane—they were both documenting these sites, mapping locations that were supposed to stay secret."

"And someone killed them to protect those secrets." Finn was quiet for a moment. "But why dress them in ceremonial robes? Why make them part of whatever they were trying to document?"

Before Sheila could answer, her phone rang. Sarah Neville's number.

"Sheriff," Neville said when Sheila answered. "We've got a problem. Martinez and her assistant—they're gone."

Sheila felt her shoulders tense. "What do you mean, gone?"

"They asked to use the restroom. By the time I checked on them, they'd slipped out the back. But that's not all." Neville's voice dropped. "They left something on the interview room table. An envelope with your name on it."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sheila stood in the empty interview room, studying the envelope on the table. It was high-quality paper, cream-colored, with her name written in precise handwriting.

Sarah Neville shifted her weight, her forest-green eyes troubled. "They asked to use the restroom," she said, as if feeling the need to reiterate what had happened. "Martinez's assistant went first, then she followed a few minutes later." She gestured toward the hallway. "By the time I checked, they'd already gone through the emergency exit. No car waiting—they must have called someone."

Sheila glanced at Finn, who stood examining the building's security footage on his phone. "Anything?"

"They split up outside," he said. "Assistant went north on foot, Martinez headed south. Both disappeared into downtown foot traffic."

Sheila turned her attention back to the envelope. It sat perfectly centered on the interview room table, untouched since Martinez left it. The handwriting was steady, deliberate—not the work of someone in a hurry.

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