Page 33 of Silent Past

"Black is fine," Sheila said. She remained standing while Finn positioned himself near the door.

The old dealer poured three cups, his hands steady despite his age. "The robes you asked about," he said, setting the mugs on a small table. "I need to know exactly how they turned up."

"Two bodies," Sheila said. "Both dressed in ceremonial robes, arranged in specific positions. Our medical examiner confirmed the clothes are from the Window Rock collection."

Keeling sank into a chair, his face tight. "Both victims... were they found in caves?"

Sheila exchanged a glance with Finn before answering. "Yes. Did you see it on the news?"

"No, actually, I didn't."

"Then how did you know?"

"Because that's where they were meant to be." Keeling took a sip of coffee, gathering his thoughts. "Those robes—they weren't just ceremonial garments. They were part of a specific ritual. A way of returning the dead to sacred spaces."

"Who would know about these rituals?" Finn asked. "Besides the tribes themselves?"

"That's the thing about private collectors," Keeling said. "Some of them don't just want the objects. They want the knowledge that goes with them. The meaning. The power." He stood and moved to one of the bookshelves, pulling out a worn leather journal. "After the Window Rock theft, I kept records of everyone who showed serious interest in the winter ceremony items. Not just the buyers—the scholars, the researchers, anyone who asked too many questions."

He opened the journal, its pages filled with neat handwriting. "I started hearing rumors. The collection hadn't just been stolen—it had been commissioned. Someone with deep pockets and specific interests."

"Do you have a name?" Sheila asked.

Keeling shook his head. "Never got that far. But I tracked the middleman—an antiquities dealer named Matthew Vale. He worked out of Seattle, specialized in private sales to serious collectors." He looked up at Sheila. "The kind of people who build secret rooms to house their collections. Who spend years studying the meaning behind each piece."

"Where is Vale now?"

"Dead. Car accident in '92. But he kept records, too. Detailed ones. The FBI seized most of them, but I heard he had a private storage unit in Seattle. Never found by the authorities."

"You think his records are still there?" Sheila asked.

"If they are, they'd tell you exactly who bought those robes." Keeling closed his journal carefully. "Vale documented everything—names, dates, prices. He was paranoid about getting cheated by his wealthy clients."

"Why are you telling us this?" Finn asked. "After all these years?"

Keeling was quiet for a moment, staring into his coffee. "Because those robes... they were never meant to leave tribal hands. Using them the way your killer has—it's not just murder. It's desecration." He looked up at Sheila. "And whoever's doing this understands exactly what these garments mean. Their spiritual significance. The proper way to arrange them."

"Someone who studied the rituals," Sheila said.

Keeling stood slowly. "Vale's storage unit was in his wife's maiden name. Margaret Kessler. Unit 23 at Westlake Security Storage." He moved to a desk and wrote down an address. "If those records still exist, that's where you'll find them."

Sheila took the paper, studying the neat handwriting. "Thirty years is a long time. Who's been making the payments?"

Keeling shook his head. "Don't know." He walked them to the door, then added quietly, "Be careful, Sheriff. The kind of people who collect these objects—they don't just collect things. They collect secrets."

The moon was at its zenith as they walked back to Sheila's truck, painting the cliffs gray. But she barely noticed the beauty around them, her mind already racing ahead to Seattle.

And whatever secrets Vale's records might reveal.

"Seattle's at least a twelve-hour drive," Finn said as they pulled away from Keeling's house. "Not counting stops."

"We're not driving to Seattle." Sheila guided the truck back onto the main road. "Not with an active killer who might strike again."

"We could send someone."

"And risk the FBI finding out?" She shook her head. "Walsh's team is watching every move we make. If those records exist, they'd get there first."

Finn was quiet for a moment, thinking. "I know someone in Seattle PD. Detective I worked with on a case last year. She could check it out quietly, send us whatever she finds."

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