CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"You sure I can't come in?" Star asked. "I've never been in a morgue before."

Sheila turned off the ignition and gave the girl a patient smile. "And I intend to keep it that way. You've had enough of the dark side of life. You don't need this."

Star gave a half-hearted shrug, her gaze vacantly roaming over the gray building before them. "I guess."

Sheila reached out to gently squeeze Star's shoulder. "We'll be back in no time," she said. "Promise you'll stay put?"

"Yeah, yeah," Star muttered, her eyes now focusing on the car's dashboard.

Sheila studied Star for a few more seconds, wondering whether she could believe Star. What if she just disappeared, ran off? Sheila hated the thought of Star being out there on her own.

You'll just have to take her word for it, she thought. You can't babysit her all the time.

Nodding to herself, Sheila exited the car. Finn was already waiting outside his own vehicle, stifling a yawn.

"Think you'll make it?" Sheila asked.

"Oh, yeah. The sight of dead bodies always perks me up."

Sheila rolled her eyes, and together they headed toward the morgue, a foreboding structure of worn stone and darkened windows. The air hung heavy as they walked, the early morning mist casting an eerie pallor over everything it touched. It seemed fitting, Sheila thought, for a place that housed the dead.

Inside, the sterile smell of disinfectants and formaldehyde assaulted their senses as they made their way down the long, brightly lit corridor. The thriving world outside seemed distant, isolated by the thick, soundproof walls that shielded them from the lively morning hustle.

The county coroner, Dr. Lila Matthews, was already waiting for them in the autopsy room. A tall woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a face like weathered stone, she looked as if she belonged in this cold, clinical environment. Her eyes, though watery and tired, shone with an intelligent light behind her rectangular glasses .

"Stone. Mercer," she said with a nod of respect. "Body's on the table." Sheila appreciated that about Lila—there was no unnecessary small talk. She got straight to the point.

Sheila followed Lila's motioning hand toward the covered shape laid out on the stainless steel slab in the center of the room. Exchanging a brief look with Finn, Sheila stepped closer. Lila moved to the edge of the table, her gloved hands gripping the corners of the white sheet. With a swift, almost rehearsed gesture, she pulled it back.

The woman lying supine on the slab was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Her fiery hair was neatly arranged around a pale, oval face lightly dusted with freckles.

Lila broke the strained silence first.

"Do we have an identification?" Sheila asked.

"Adaline Preston," Lila said. "Twenty-six years old, freelance photographer. Grew up in Moab."

Sheila felt her gut clench. Adaline Preston had been in her prime, a young woman full of life and potential. To end up here…

"Cause of death?" Finn asked.

"Internal bleeding," Lila said. "She suffered multiple contusions to the head and upper body, along with a number of stab wounds to the torso. She fought back hard, there's no doubt about that, but it wasn't enough."

Finn grimaced, his eyes holding a familiar, haunted look. For all his hardened exterior, Sheila knew he took each loss personally. She reached over and gave his palm a reassuring squeeze. He didn't respond, but she felt a subtle shift in his body language, a quiet acceptance of her comfort.

"Anything you can tell us about the weapon?" Sheila asked.

Lila took a deep breath and adjusted her glasses. "Actually, I discovered something interesting: a dusting of gold in one of the wounds."

This caught Sheila by surprise. "Gold?"

"It's possible the killer is using some kind of ceremonial dagger. The gold could be from the hilt or pommel. It's a bit unusual, but not unheard of."

"Anything else you can tell us?" Finn asked. "Any DNA that could be the killer's—skin under the victim's fingernails, that sort of thing?"

Lila shook her head. "No, nothing of the sort. Besides the gold flecks, there weren't any other foreign materials found."

A silence fell over them as they absorbed the information .

"Thank you, Lila," Sheila said finally.

"You're welcome. I'll send you my full report once it's ready. In the meantime, I should get back to work."

"Of course," Finn said, smiling politely. "We'll get out of your hair."

As they left the morgue, the chill of the stone building seemed to cling to them, haunting their steps with the spectral presence of Adaline Preston. They walked in silence, their minds turning over the details Lila had shared.

"Gold dust," Sheila said, breaking the silence. "It's strange."

"It's a lead," Finn answered. His face was hard as he gazed into the distance. Something about this particular case seemed to be getting under his skin. For a moment, Sheila considered reaching out to him again, but thought better of it. This was how they worked: separately, together. Whatever emotional processing Finn needed to do, he would do on his own. Sheila respected that about him.

She looked back at the morgue building, suddenly reminded of her sister—Natalie. Natalie had once been amidst such cold slabs, lifeless like Adaline Preston. A shiver ran down her spine, not from the chilly morning air but from the memories that resurfaced uninvited.

Then, facing forward again, she searched the parking lot and was relieved to see Star leaning against their car. So she hadn't run away after all.

"So," Finn said as they headed toward the vehicle, "I figure we go back to the station, see if we can dig up any other cases were traces of gold were found inside the victims. Seems unlikely, but you never know."

"You must have caffeine running in your veins."

Finn grunted. "The killer doesn't seem to be taking breaks. So how can we?"

***

The tennis ball thumped against the wall with an annoying regularity, Sheila's patience finally snapped.

"Do you really have to do that?" she asked, turning to Star, who was sitting back so far in one of the office chairs that it was a wonder it didn't fall over .

Star flinched at the anger in Sheila's voice, her blue eyes flashing with defiance. "Shouldn't you be out catching killers instead of bugging me about a stupid ball?"

Sheila sighed, pushing back from the conference table. It wasn't right to take out her frustration on Star. If she treated her this way, the girl really would disappear.

She glanced at Finn, who was hunched over the computer screen, scouring old case files for similarities. He didn't look up; he knew better than to get involved when Sheila and Star were at odds.

"Star," Sheila said, forcing herself to soften her tone, "I'm sorry for snapping, but we're trying to concentrate."

"Yeah, well, I'm bored," Star retorted, hurling the tennis ball against the wall with even more force.

"Then maybe you could use this time to study," Sheila suggested, pointedly glancing at the bag of school supplies in the corner of the room.

Star snorted. "Right. Because math equations are really going to help me out on the streets."

"Since when does my apartment count as ‘the streets'?" Sheila said.

Star shrugged. "It's not like I'll be living with you forever. I don't need a babysitter." The ball bounced back into her hand, and for a moment Sheila was reminded of the young girl beneath the hardened exterior—a girl who had already seen too much of the world's darkness.

"Alright," Sheila said, standing up. "If you're so bored, why don't you help us? Maybe a fresh pair of eyes could help."

Star froze, staring at Sheila with wide eyes. Her hand, still holding the tennis ball, hung in mid-air. "You want me to help? With a murder case?"

Sheila held her gaze steadily. She knew she was taking a risk bringing Star into this, but something in her gut told her it was the right move. If nothing else, it would help keep Star engaged, which would in turn help keep them engaged.

"Why not?" Sheila asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're smart. You notice things. We could use that."

Finn finally looked up from the computer, his gaze shifting between Sheila and Star, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. But he said nothing, leaving Sheila to figure it out.

Star chewed on her lower lip, a hint of vulnerability showing through her usual tough exterior. After a moment's hesitation, she tossed the tennis ball onto the table and stood up. "Okay," she said, her voice unsure but determined. "What do you need me to do?"

Sheila couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Good," she said, turning her laptop toward Star. "I need you to look through these cases, try to find any similarities with the ones we're investigating."

"But you haven't told me about—"

"I know, I know. There's a window here with some notes on the current cases. If you come across anything similar in the older case files, let us know."

Star sighed and sank down into a chair, then scooted the laptop closer. "Well, I guess I don't have anything better to do…"

Having surrendered the use of her laptop, Sheila decided to join Finn at the desktop.

"Find anything yet?" she asked.

Finn shook his head, frustration lining the creases on his face. "Nothing that matches our cases. Believe it or not, gold-plated weapons are not exactly a popular choice for murdering people."

"That's good, though, isn't it? Narrows down the possibilities?"

Finn sighed and sat back. "Maybe we should try another angle. Where would the killer have gotten a gold-plated knife, anyway?"

"Family heirloom, maybe?"

"This isn't a butter knife we're talking about. The blade that made those wounds—it must have been quite sharp. Where do you get something like that? A museum?"

"We could ask around, see if any museums are missing a piece like that," Sheila suggested. "Maybe the knife has to do with some sort of ritual—"

"Are all these people really Satan-worshipers?" Star asked.

Puzzled, Sheila approached and looked over her shoulder at the paper Star was reading. The document in question contained information on the group of occultists who had met with Cassandra Jenkins at the university. After Sheila and Finn had infiltrated the meeting, a few of the members had been caught, but others had never been identified. The document contained the five or six whose identities had been confirmed.

"They're not Satanists," Finn said. "Well, not necessarily. They're more into astrology and witchcraft, by the sound of it."

"Hold on," Sheila murmured. "We never vetted these people, Finn. Jenkins told us about her method for predicting where the killer would leave his next victim, and we just ran with it. We never circled back to investigate the other members."

Finn leaned back in his chair. "We did vet the ones who attacked us with weapons—I made sure of it. But these others…" He frowned thoughtfully. "You think one of them could be the killer?"

"Think about it. They're into astrology and the occult. A number of them, according to Jenkins, were out roaming the salt flats looking for bodies, which suggests they may not have alibis."

Finn shifted in his chair, apparently shaking off his earlier frustration. "Then let's get to it," he said. "Let's start with the names of the people who were already arrested. Who do we have?"

"Four people," Star said, reading from the document. "Owen Mitchell, Stacy Williams, Leonard Stark, and Dorothy F. Peters."

None of the names rang a bell for Sheila. "Alright," she said, pulling the laptop back toward herself. "Let's see what we can find out about these four. I'll take Mitchell, you take Williams." She addressed this last remark to Finn.

"What about me?" Star asked. "I've got a phone. I can search social media, that kind of thing."

"Then start with Stark," Finn said. "Whoever finishes first will get Peters."

Sheila started by checking the police database to see if Owen Mitchell had a record. As she waited for the database to load, she glanced at Finn, who was now engrossed in his own search. Star was hunched over her phone, scrolling rapidly through what Sheila assumed was Leonard Stark's social media profile.

A moment later, the database returned its results. Owen Mitchell had a record, but it was minor—a few instances of public disorderly conduct and a DUI charge from seven years ago. Aside from that, his record was clean.

She made a note of it and moved on to his employment records. A former university professor, Mitchell had resigned from his position three years back and now ran an obscure bookstore downtown, one that specialized in rare and arcane books. It made sense, Sheila thought, pinching the bridge of her nose. His interest in the occult was more than just a hobby.

Still, a hobby didn't make him a murderer.

She glanced up from the laptop at Finn, catching his eye. "Mitchell hasn't done anything serious," she said. "Some disorderly conduct and a DUI, but nothing more. "

Finn nodded without lifting his gaze from his screen. "Williams appears clean as well. Nothing beyond a few traffic violations."

Star, however, seemed too engrossed in her phone to contribute to their conversation. Her brow furrowed, her lips pursed in concentration.

"Star?" Sheila asked. "Something interesting?"

Star looked up and blinked at them. "He owns a local observatory. Leonard Stark, I mean. He's got photos of it all over his social media."

Finn and Sheila exchanged a glance before Sheila quickly turned back to her laptop, typing in the name of the observatory.

"What's he doing with an observatory?" Finn asked, looking from Star to Sheila.

Sheila could only shrug as she pulled up the observatory's website. "Let's see... Leonard Stark, owner and operator of StarGaze Observatory," she read aloud. "Provides nightly star viewings and lectures on the constellations. He's even written a few books on astrology and its relation to ancient rituals."

"Ancient rituals?" Finn echoed, his eyes narrowing in interest. "That sounds promising. Being interested in these subjects doesn't make you a killer, though."

"No," Star said, sitting up suddenly as she studied her phone, "but death threats might."

Sheila perked up. "Death threats? Where are you seeing this?"

"On a public forum," Star replied, quickly turning her phone toward them so they could see. "There's a thread where people are discussing Stark's lectures on astrology and rituals. And look at this." She pointed to a series of aggressive messages, all from the same user. The messages appeared to be part of an argument about astrology that had gotten very heated. One of the messages read, People like you should be killed to save us all from your idiotic beliefs.

"Still," Finn said, playing devil's advocate, "it's not exactly concrete evidence of anything. We all make remarks we later regret when we're heated."

"There's more," Star said. "Listen to this: 'There will come a night when all stars align, and your blood will make the ultimate sacrifice.'"

Sheila stared at the screen for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. "I think we should go have a talk with Mr. Stark. He's in

"I think," Finn said softly, "we should go have a talk with Mr. Stark."

Finn nodded, already reaching for his jacket. "I'll call the station, have them bring him in for questioning. "

As Finn dialed, Sheila turned to Star. "Good work. This could be a real lead."

Star beamed, a rare genuine smile lighting up her face. "So, do I get a badge now?"

Sheila chuckled, shaking her head. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Finn's voice interrupted their moment. "What do you mean he's not there?" he asked, his tone sharp with surprise.

Sheila and Star both turned to look at him, tension filling the room.

"When?" Finn demanded into the phone. "And nobody thought to inform us?" He listened for a moment, his face growing increasingly grim. "Alright, thanks. Keep me posted."

He hung up and turned to Sheila, his expression grave. "Stark's not in jail. He posted bail this morning."

"What?" Sheila exclaimed. "How is that possible? Why weren't we notified?"

Finn ran a hand through his hair. "Apparently there was a mix-up in communication. The bail hearing was pushed up, and Stark had a lawyer ready. By the time anyone thought to inform us, he was already out."

Star's eyes darted between them, her earlier triumph fading into concern. "So...what does this mean?"

Sheila took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. "It means, Star, that our potential suspect is now out there, free to move around. And given what we've just discovered, that could be very dangerous indeed."