CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

"It was probably just a hallucination," Finn said as he and Sheila strolled out of the hospital. "He was out in the hot sun, and he imagined there was some terrible creature behind him. That's all."

Sheila pushed open a door and stepped outside, saying nothing. As easy as it would be to discredit Stark's story out of hand—and she certainly wasn't buying the idea that the killer was a supernatural creature summoned by a group of occultists—there was something about the terror in Stark's eyes that had seemed genuine. Stark might be many things, but he was not a good actor. That much was clear.

"Maybe," she finally said, squinting at the bright sunlight. "But what if it wasn't a hallucination?"

"You really think the killer's a supernatural being?"

"No, probably not, but what if the killer hung around after leaving the body? Then he notices Stark at the body, and he goes over there because he doesn't want anyone to disturb the body. He realizes Stark isn't the enemy, so he leaves him alone."

Finn shrugged. "It's possible. Doesn't really help us, though. Assuming that person—if there was anything at all—was the killer, Stark didn't get a look at him or hear his voice. We've got nothing but a smell—and who walks around smelling like sulfur?"

"Maybe the killer works with chemicals, something that could leave a sulfur smell," Sheila suggested.

Finn glanced at her, one eyebrow raised in doubt. "Maybe," he said, though it was clear he wasn't convinced.

"In any case," Sheila said as they approached the car, "we ought to look into the other members of that occultic group, see what we can find. It's not much of a lead, but—"

Her phone vibrated. There was a message from her boss, Dawson: another body found out in the flats. get out there ASAP.

The news came down like the hammer of a gavel in a silent court, leaving Sheila frozen on the spot. Another body. Another victim. The words echoed in her mind, pounding against the walls of her skull. Her hands clenched around the phone and the car keys as a sense of guilt washed over her .

"Another one?" Finn asked, reading the change in her expression.

Sheila merely nodded, holding up her phone so that he could read the message for himself. His face hardened, his eyes darkening with fresh anger and determination.

"Let's go," he said, wrenching open the car door. Sheila followed suit, shaking herself out of her frozen state. Her heart pounded in her chest as they sped through the quiet streets, the sirens wailing out a mournful dirge.

As they neared the crime scene, they saw the flashing lights of police vehicles and the distant figures of officers moving about. Sheila felt a tight knot of dread settle in her stomach. Another woman had been murdered, and they were no closer to finding the killer.

They parked the car and stepped out into the glaring sunlight, the heat already beginning to rise despite the early hour. A young police officer approached them, his face solemn. He had dark hair and wore a crisp uniform that contrasted starkly with the dusty environment.

"Deputies," he said, his voice steady but respectful. "I'm Officer James Martinez. I was first on the scene."

"Officer Martinez," Sheila said with a nod. "What do we have?"

Martinez gestured toward a figure in the distance, covered with a white sheet. "The body was found early this morning by a jogger. We've secured the area and started collecting evidence, but there's no question this is the work of the Mirage Murderer. Same symbols, same herbs."

"Who found the body?" Finn asked, scanning the area.

"A man named Robert Fields," Martinez replied. "He's over there." He pointed to a middle-aged man sitting in the shade of a police car, his face pale and his hands shaking slightly.

Sheila and Finn approached Fields, who looked up at them with wide, haunted eyes. "Mr. Fields," Sheila said gently, "I'm Deputy Stone, and this is Deputy Mercer. We need to ask you a few questions."

Fields nodded, swallowing hard. "Of course. I just...I can't believe it. I come out here to run every morning. I never expected to find something like this."

"Take your time," Finn said, his tone reassuring. "Can you tell us exactly what happened?"

Fields took a deep breath, his gaze distant. "I was jogging, like I always do. The sun was just coming up. I saw something on the ground ahead of me, thought it was trash at first. But as I got closer, I realized...it was a person. She was just lying there, so still. "

Sheila's heart ached for him. "Did you see anyone else around? Any vehicles?"

Fields shook his head. "No, it was quiet. Just me and the salt flats. I called 911 as soon as I realized what I was looking at."

"Did you touch anything?" Finn asked. "Move the body or anything around it?"

Fields shook his head again, more vigorously this time. "No, I didn't touch anything. I knew better than that."

"Thank you, Mr. Fields," Sheila said, offering a small, comforting smile. "You've been very helpful. If you think of anything else, please let us know."

Fields nodded, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the morning's events. Sheila and Finn walked back toward the crime scene, their minds heavy with the familiar sense of frustration.

The forensics team was already at work, carefully documenting the scene. The white sheet had been pulled back to reveal the victim. She lay in a carefully arranged position, her red hair fanned out around her head, astrological symbols drawn in salt around her body.

"Has anyone identified her?" Sheila asked the nearest forensic technician, a tall brunette with hoop earrings.

"Natasha Ivanov, according to her driver's license," the technician replied.

Sheila didn't recognize the name, though that was no surprise. It was one thing, though, to know there'd been a fourth victim and something else to see that person and learn her name. A wave of guilt crashed over Sheila.

"We should've watched these flats more carefully," she said to Finn. "We knew it was just a matter of time before he came back here."

"Hey," Finn said, taking her shoulders and looking into her eyes. "This area is massive. There's no way we could've kept surveillance on all of it."

Sheila knew he had a point, but it didn't make her feel any better. She felt personally responsible for every life the Mirage Murderer took. Each death was a sharp sting, a failure that resonated deep within her. She looked back at the body of Natasha Ivanov, at the life brutally cut short. This young woman had been someone's daughter, maybe a sister or a friend. And now, she was just another victim.

"Well," she said, "at least we have these symbols. We should go to Jenkins again, see if we can't get her to predict the location of the next body—assuming we haven't caught him by then. "

"No can do," Finn said, pressing his lips together regretfully. "Since we last talked with her, she's hired an attorney, and her attorney isn't keen on her giving information to the police for free. She wants immunity, the DA is pushing back…" He raised his hands helplessly.

"So they're still negotiating," Sheila said, clenching her jaw. "Which means we can't rely on her help." She sighed. "It's just as well, I guess. I have a feeling the killer will have changed things up after nearly getting caught last time."

She turned back to the technician. "You still have that wallet?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," the technician said, retrieving a clear plastic bag from her kit. Inside was a small, tan leather wallet. She handed it over to Sheila, who pulled on a pair of latex gloves before taking it.

She opened the wallet and found Natasha's driver's license, a few credit cards, and around thirty dollars in cash. A picture fell out as she was studying the items; it was of Natasha with another woman, their arms wrapped around each other, both laughing into the camera. On the back, someone had written 'Natasha & Lisa - Summer '22'.

Finn looked over her shoulder. "Who's Lisa?" he asked.

"That's a good question," Sheila murmured. "I think we'd better find out." She pulled out her phone, entered Natasha Ivanov's name in the search engine, and soon found the woman's social media page. The page was filled with photos of Natasha, her vibrant red hair and striking smile prevalent in every image. Scrolling through, Sheila found plenty of pictures with the same woman from the photograph in Natasha's wallet. One of the pictures showed the two women at a tech conference, their badges hanging around their necks and wide smiles on their faces. In the caption, Natasha had tagged Lisa: '@LisaJennings—Forging our path in a man's world!'

As Sheila scrolled further down, she saw posts about women's rights in the tech industry, advocating for equal pay and opportunities. Lisa was tagged in most of these posts, their shared passion evident.

"Looks like they were close. And activists too," Finn noted as he read the posts over Sheila's shoulder. "Think this Lisa could help us?"

"Only one way to find out," Sheila said, dialing the number listed on Lisa Jennings' page. The phone rang a few times before a woman answered. "Hello, this is Lisa."

"Hi Lisa, my name is Sheriff Sheila Stone. I'm calling in regard to Natasha Ivanov," Sheila said, trying to keep her voice steady .

There was a pause on the other end. "Natasha? Is she okay? What's happened?"

Sheila swallowed hard, knowing that she was about to shatter this woman's world. "I'm afraid I have some bad news," she said, her voice softening. "Natasha has been found dead."

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Sheila could hear Lisa's breathing hitch and then a faint sob. "No, no, that can't be true. I just spoke to her yesterday." Lisa's voice was trembling, filled with disbelief and sorrow.

"I'm so sorry," Sheila said softly, the weight of the words almost too much to bear.

Lisa took a ragged breath. "I guess I shouldn't be entirely surprised. She warned me something like this might happen."