CHAPTER TEN

The sun was high in the sky as Sheila and Finn gathered their search party at the edge of the Mirage Salt Flats. The vast, barren expanse stretched out before them, bleached and glistening. The silence was punctuated only by the occasional lonesome breeze and the distant cries of unseen desert creatures.

"I've divided the area into quadrants," Finn said, gesturing to a map spread out on the hood of his patrol car. "We'll spread out, cover as much ground as possible, but keep within shouting distance. If you find anything, anything at all, call it in."

Sheila looked around at the volunteers assembled: local residents, off-duty firefighters—even Star had shown up, a grim determination in her young eyes. Sheila had been surprised by Star's decision, and she felt a stirring of pride for the young woman.

"This is not a game," she said, locking eyes with each of them. "We're looking for Fiona Blake. She's in danger, and we need to find her fast. But if we do find her, there's a good chance that the person who attacked her will be nearby, so be careful."

She handed out radios, and they formed groups before fanning out. Sheila's stomach churned with worry and anticipation as she watched volunteers march into the desolate landscape.

"So," a few behind her said, "you think she's really still alive?"

Sheila turned around to see Star standing there, dressed in her classic hoodie and jeans, despite the heat. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her face was stern under the desert sun. "I think we have to hope," Sheila said, meeting Star's gaze. "And if there's one thing I've learned from doing this kind of work, it's that hope can make a lot of difference."

Star said nothing, just frowned toward the horizon with undisguised skepticism. Sheila was learning that hope was a concept Star wasn't particularly familiar with.

"Come on," Sheila said. "You can join Finn and me. We'll look together."

The three of them moved off together, scanning the terrain as they went. Finn had that set, focused look he wore when he was locked in. Star walked silently behind them, her dark eyes taking in everything. The afternoon sun made the flat pan of the desert shimmer with heat, and the crunch of their shoes on the parched earth was the only sound in the heavy silence.

"I don't get it," Finn said softly. "The blood back at the apartment—it's so unusual, so different from the other two. He hardly touched the others, almost like he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Then he does that with his third victim?"

"Maybe it had something to do with her being an artist," Sheila said, speaking in a low voice in the hope that perhaps Star wouldn't overhear her. She thought it was good for Star to be out of the apartment, but she didn't want to expose the girl to too much of the harsh reality of her investigation.

"Or maybe," Star said, "he got surprised. Tried to threaten her, but she put up a fight."

Sheila and Finn both turned to look at Star. Finn raised his eyebrows. "That's not a bad theory," he said. "But how does he get into the apartment in the first place? There were no signs of forced entry."

"Maybe he knew her," Sheila said. "Maybe he knew all the victims—it would explain how he managed to sneak up on the other two victims, too."

"He?" Star asked. "Are you sure it's a man?"

Finn shrugged. "Not certain, but the vast majority of serial killers are men. Statistically speaking—"

He was interrupted by a shout. "Over here!" The call came from over a small rise in the desert. Sheila, Finn, and Star exchanged glances before sprinting toward the source of the yell.

As Sheila crested the rise, she spotted a trio of searchers clustered around an object on the ground. She squinted against the desert glare, her heart pounding as she caught sight of a woman lying prone, her arms and legs pointed in an X pattern.

"Don't look," she said, stepping in front of Star and shielding her from the sight. Finn rushed past them to join the circle of huddled officers.

"It's Fiona Blake, alright," one of the officers said. "Damn it."

Star tried to get past Sheila, but Sheila moved to block her.

"I want to see," Star said.

"Absolutely not," Sheila answered. "This isn't some show on TV—this is real, and even seasoned officers have nightmares about things like this. I can't let you see her—I wouldn't want you to have to live with the memory."

"I can handle it," Star insisted, trying to peek around Sheila.

"Sheila's right," Finn said, walking up to them. His face was pale and solemn as he stared down at the young girl. "This isn't for someone your age to see."

"Someone my age," Star repeated bitterly. "I've been through a lot of things that weren't appropriate for ‘someone my age.'"

Sheila sighed, wondering if she'd made a mistake bringing Star along. "Do me a favor? Go wait in the car while Finn and I have a look. Then I'll drop you off at my place afterward."

"It's gotta be a hundred degrees in your car by now."

"So turn on the AC." Sheila pulled out the keys, then hesitated before handing them over. "Don't make me regret this."

Star took the keys, her expression hardening. "I won't," she said, turning on her heel and heading toward the car.

"She's stubborn, that one," Finn said.

"Don't I know it," Sheila murmured.

Turning her attention back to the crime scene, she took a moment to compose herself before examining Fiona. Fiona was in the same posture as the other victims, with the same sort of symbols drawn around her and the same sort of herbs left on her body. The only significant difference was the wound to her shoulder and the cuts on her hands, evidently from defending herself. Strangest of all, the wounds had been bandaged.

"When would she have had time to bandage those?" Finn murmured.

"She wouldn't have," Sheila said. "Her killer must've done it. The real question is…why would he bandage her wounds if he was going to kill her anyway? Is that part of the ritual—the victims have to be…intact? Hair brushed, clothes unrumpled, wounds dressed?"

Finn crouched down beside Fiona's body, his brow furrowing as he examined the bandages. "Seems that way," he said. "And there's something else. These bandages—this is the work of someone with experience."

"A nurse or a doctor?" Sheila suggested, her mind spinning new possibilities.

"Or military. There are a lot of possibilities, but none that explain why the killer would care about leaving his victims so...neat." Finn rose, dusting off his pants .

"You're right," Sheila murmured, taking a closer look at the symbols. "But given the ease with which the killer has gotten to the victims…I can't help thinking it's another sign that he knows them."

***

Sheila's heart sank as she stared at the empty stretch of road where she had left her car.

"I don't believe it," she muttered. What was Star thinking, taking her car? Where had she gone?

"Want to go look for her?" Finn asked. "We can take my car."

"No," Sheila said with a defeated sigh. "We can't waste time chasing her around. I'll put out an APB on her, see if anyone can pick her up. Seeing the inside of a jail wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for her."

Finn raised his eyebrow in surprise. "Seems a bit harsh."

"Maybe. But if she keeps going down this road, that's where she's going to end up."

Finn said nothing, and the two of them stood there in silence for several moments.

"Sure, you don't want that ride?" Finn asked.

Sheila grunted. "Guess I don't have much choice, do I? Let's head back to the station, do some digging into Fiona's past. Maybe we can connect her with the other two victims."

Finn nodded, already striding toward his vehicle, parked a short distance away. Sheila followed, casting a last glance back at the vacant stretch of road, hoping Star was safe.

Once inside the rumbling beast of Finn's old pickup truck, she pulled out her phone and initiated the APB on Star and her stolen vehicle. That task done, she tucked her phone away and began to relax into the worn but comfortable leather seat. Finn's truck might have seen better days, but it was robust and reliable—much like Finn himself.

As Sheila watched the rugged landscape pass by, she couldn't shake the worry gnawing at her. Star was too young to be caught up in this mess, too young to be on the run. She needed guidance and protection, not a car chase with the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department. Her fingers clenched around the seatbelt, the vinyl cool against her skin.

"Don't worry about her," Finn said. "She seems like a very capable young woman. "

"She's fourteen, Finn. She has no business driving a car, never mind stealing one. What if she gets herself into a wreck? What if she—"

Finn laid his hand gently on hers. "She's stronger than you give her credit for. Besides, getting worked up over what-ifs won't do you or her any good. The best thing we can do right now is focus on the case."

Sheila nodded, relaxing back into her seat. "I know. It's just…"

"You feel responsible for her." It wasn't a question.

Sheila nodded. She suspected that if she were speaking with a therapist, she'd hear a line of questioning that would ultimately suggest her concern for Star was really her way of purging herself of guilt for Natalie's death. But if Finn thought the same, he didn't bring it up, and for that Sheila was grateful.

"You know what I like about you?" she said. "You know when to be quiet."

"Oh, is that the only thing?" His lips twisted into a wry grin.

She smiled. "No. But it's one of the things."

Finn's grin widened, his fingers still gently resting atop hers. Then Sheila's phone began to ring. Gently extricating her hand from Finn's, she answered it, hoping to hear Star's voice.

"Hello? Star?"

"Afraid not," Hank Dawson, her boss, said.

Sheila's heart sank. Please don't let this be another murder, she thought. Please don't let this be—

"Listen," Dawson said, "there's someone I need you to speak with."

"Oh?" Sheila cast Finn—who was leaning close to hear—a puzzled look.

"UCN just picked up on the third murder, and they've already linked the three. Calling the killer the Mirage Murderer."

"That was quick," Sheila murmured. "How'd they get the news so fast? We only just found the third victim."

"Don't know. But there's something even stranger: Someone called in, claiming to know all about the astrological symbols around the victims. A professor over at Felder University. Apparently, she's some kind of expert on this sort of thing—seems to know more about the murders than even I do."