CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sheila pulled the cruiser into the parking lot of StarGaze Observatory, the sun just beginning to crest over the horizon. The air was crisp, the sky clear, promising a warm day once the morning chill burned off. The observatory itself stood like a sentinel against the backdrop of the early morning light, its dome gleaming faintly.

Against Star's wishes, Sheila had insisted she stay at the precinct. Star had collapsed on the couch in melodramatic despair, but by the time Sheila and Finn were ready to go a few minutes later, Star had fallen asleep. Good, Sheila had thought. She needs it.

Now, staring at the Observatory, Sheila focused all her attention on the case. She reminded herself of what had happened back at the university—her and Finn's near-death experience. No matter how tired she was, no matter how much she might worry about what was going to happen with Star, she needed to be locked in for this. She took a breath, calmed herself, and then climbed out of the car.

Finn adjusted his holster as he stepped out of the car, glancing around the deserted lot. "Doesn't look like anyone's here yet," he said, his voice low but alert.

"Good," Sheila replied, closing her door quietly. "Gives us a chance to catch him off guard."

They approached the main entrance, the gravel crunching under their feet. Sheila reached for the handle, but the door was electronically locked. She frowned, tapping a code pad next to the door, but nothing happened. "Damn, it's locked."

Finn took a step back, scanning the walls of the building. "There may be another entrance," he suggested, pointing to a narrow path around the side of the structure that disappeared from view.

With little option, they followed the path. As they rounded the corner, they came upon a small wooden door tucked away in the building's shadow. Sheila approached with caution, gun ready as she gently twisted the knob. To her surprise, it gave way, and she found herself looking into a dim space filled with an intricate array of telescopes and monitors .

"Who are you?" a suspicious voice asked. They both turned to see an elderly man with a thick accent watching them, a mop in his hand. He wasn't Stark—they'd seen his photograph online—but Sheila recognized him from one of the articles as the janitor who had worked at the observatory for more than a decade.

"I'm Deputy Sheriff Sheila Stone, and this is Deputy Finn Mercer," she said, showing her badge. "We need to speak with Leonard Stark."

The man's eyes widened as he studied their badges before relaxing, setting his mop aside. "Mr. Stark is…" He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward a staircase leading to a higher platform. "He's in the middle of something at the moment. I think it would be better if you came back later."

"That won't be possible," Finn interjected, his tone firm. "We need to speak with him now."

The janitor looked uncertain, biting his lower lip. After a moment of silence, he finally nodded, gesturing toward the staircase. "Upstairs, in the main observation room," he said quietly.

Sheila and Finn exchanged glances before making their way up the narrow staircase. The wooden steps creaked under their weight, echoing in the vast, dark space of the observatory. The walls were adorned with murals of constellations and distant galaxies, giving them an impression of staring into the depths of space itself.

As they reached the top, they found themselves in a circular room, dominated by a giant telescope that stretched up toward the glass dome of the observatory. Standing by a control panel, his back to them, was Leonard Stark.

Finn cleared his throat slightly, announcing their presence. Stark turned around, his face pale and surprised under his receding hairline. "Excuse me, what are you doing here?" he demanded, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses nervously.

"We're with the Coldwater County Sheriff's Department," Sheila said. "We have some questions for you."

"About the recent deaths in the Mirage Salt Flats," Finn added.

Stark's expression paled. "And what does this have to do with me?"

"We understand you recently made some threats online," Sheila said. "You're also part of Cassandra Jenkins' group at the university, aren't you?"

"I haven't done anything wrong," he said automatically.

"We haven't accused you of anything," Sheila said. "We're investigating a series of murders that appear to be connected to astrology and occult rituals. Your name came up in our inquiries, and we need to ask you a few questions."

Stark's eyes darted toward the door, his posture tense. "I'm just an astronomer."

"An astronomer who makes violent threats online?" Finn interjected, his eyes narrowing. "We need to know more about your activities and your whereabouts during the times of the murders."

Stark's breathing quickened, his eyes shifting nervously. "I told you, I don't know anything about any murders. You have no right to accuse me—"

"Is something wrong?" a voice called up the stairs. It was the janitor.

Sheila turned toward the stairs. "We're just asking Mr. Stark a few questions—"

That was as far as she got before Stark bolted past her, leaping over the railing and stumbling down the staircase.

"Shit!" Finn exclaimed as he and Sheila took off after Stark. They tore down the staircase, the darkened observatory whirling past in a blur. Stumbling at the base of the steps, Stark ducked under the janitor's outstretched arm and sprinted toward the building's exit.

"Finn!" Sheila shouted, indicating with a jerk of her head that she was going to cut him off. She sprinted through a side door and out into the morning light. Her breath puffed out in front of her as she dodged around an array of satellite dishes and antennas, her boots kicking up clods of earth.

Finn barreled through the main exit just as Stark burst from the side of the building. Sheila was already closing in from one side, forcing Stark to veer left into a patch of tall grass. Both deputies sprinted full tilt toward their panicked suspect, narrowing the gap with every stride.

As Stark neared the edge of the grassy field, he glanced over his shoulder and stumbled, narrowly avoiding a headlong tumble. Finn saw his opportunity. He lunged forward, barely missing Stark's jacket as the man darted away.

"Stop!" Sheila shouted, her voice echoing off the observatory's walls. "We just want to talk!"

Desperation creased Stark's face as he looked back at her, then toward the road ahead. An oncoming semi-truck blared its horn as it barreled down the highway. Without thinking, Stark veered grotesquely onto the road, arms flailing as he tried to flag down the driver .

The truck screeched to a halt, belching black smoke into the air. Stark took the opportunity and darted around to the passenger's side. He climbed up, and a moment later, the confused truck driver stumbled out, evicted from his own truck.

"Damn it," Sheila muttered, watching as Stark yanked open the door and leaped into the cab.

Finn was already on his radio, barking out details to dispatch. "We have a suspect fleeing in a semi-truck headed north on Highway 15. Male, mid-forties, balding, wire-rimmed glasses. Name's Stark, Leonard Stark."

The truck groaned to life and began moving, picking up speed as it rumbled down the highway. Sheila jumped into their police cruiser parked nearby. "Get in!" she yelled at Finn.

Finn sprinted to the vehicle while keeping an eye on the truck that was already building speed. As he reached the car and hauled open the door, the truck swerved around a corner out of sight.

"There goes our peaceful day," he said, slamming his door shut as Sheila hit the gas. The police cruiser roared to life, tearing down the dirt road and onto the highway. They were backlit by the rising sun, leaving long shadows on the empty road.

"Keep an eye out," Sheila told Finn, her hands white-knuckled on the wheel. Her eyes were hard, focusing on the route ahead. "He can't have gotten far."

On the horizon, they saw a trail of black smoke. The semi-truck was still in sight, weaving across lanes.

"There!" Finn pointed. "He's heading for the forest route!"

Sheila nodded, pushing the siren button on the dashboard as the wail split the morning calm. The cruiser lurched forward like a hound released from its leash, gaining on the erratically moving truck.

"Hang on," Sheila warned, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she swerved to avoid an oncoming car. Finn braced himself against the dashboard as they veered onto the forest route.

The narrow two-lane road was a snake of gray asphalt winding through dense woodland, fraught with sharp turns and steep inclines. Stark's truck lurched around a bend, its back end fishtailing wildly. Sheila cursed under her breath and tightened her grip on the wheel.

You're not getting away that easily, she thought.

With a twist of the wheel, she threw the cruiser into the bend after Stark's truck. The vehicle squealed in protest as it careened around the corner, stones spitting out from beneath its tires. Finn held on tight, eyes fixed on the disappearing truck.

"There!" he shouted, pointing through the windshield where the truck was skirting dangerously close to the edge of the road, wheels kicking up dust and scattering gravel.

Sheila pressed harder on the gas pedal and felt the car surge forward, the engine growling its approval. They were gaining on him now; every reckless swerve the truck made narrowed their distance.

Just then, a deer bolted out from the underbrush, leaping across the road. Sheila swerved hard to avoid it, her heart pounding as the cruiser skidded dangerously close to the edge of the road.

"Watch out!" Finn yelled, his hand clenching on the dashboard. The back end of the car fishtailed, threatening to send them spinning off the road and into the dense trees.

Sheila wrestled with the wheel and managed to correct their course, her breath coming in ragged gasps. They were still on Stark's tail, but he'd gained some ground during their near miss.

"Damn it," she muttered, pushing harder on the gas pedal, her knuckles pale against the black steering wheel. The cruiser leaped forward, its engine roaring in response.

Ahead, the forest began to thin out, revealing a large clearing, bisected by the looping highway. Stark's truck was barely visible now on the far end of the clearing, just ahead of a road-construction barricade.

"He's running out of road," Finn said through gritted teeth.

Sheila pressed her lips into a thin line as they sped toward the clearing. As they burst into it, she saw with sudden clarity Stark's reckless path. The semi-truck had crashed through the barrier and was now skidding toward the yawning mouth of a partially completed bridge, its far end a tangle of rebar and broken concrete. Stark was running out of options - and fast.

"Hold on," Sheila barked, wrenching the wheel again, sending the cruiser lurching off the road and onto the uneven construction site. Gravel flew up in a hailstorm around them as they followed Stark's path through the destroyed barricade, their sirens wailing an urgent warning into the morning air.

Stark's truck was a behemoth swaying dangerously close to the edge of the unfinished bridge, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust as he tried to contro l

the lumbering vehicle. The morning sun cast long, dancing shadows across the construction site, turning it into a maze of metallic skeletons and deep, treacherous pits.

"Stark's not gonna stop," Finn said. He was looking at the bridge that ended abruptly in a mess of twisted iron and jagged concrete. Below it was a bottomless chasm, the river streaming violently through its depths.

"Then we'll have to make him stop," Sheila said, her voice steely. She pressed down harder on the gas pedal, pushing the cruiser to its limits as they closed in on Stark's truck.

The semi-truck teetered on the edge of the unfinished bridge, its wheels spinning in a frantic attempt to find purchase. Stark, realizing the futility of his escape, threw open the driver's side door and jumped out just as the truck slid off the edge. The vehicle plummeted into the chasm with a deafening crash, rocks and dust billowing up from the depths below.

Sheila slammed on the brakes as they neared where Stark had fallen. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaped from the cruiser before it had fully stopped. Finn was at her heels, his pistol drawn and ready.

They found Stark sprawled beside a mound of rubble, his glasses askew and his face pale with terror. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged exhale. As Sheila approached, he raised a trembling hand, seemingly trying to ward her off.

"Don't kill me," he said, gasping for breath. "It wasn't my idea."

"What wasn't your idea?" Sheila asked.

But that was all Stark said before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the ground.