CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

"Let's go over this again," Finn said, spreading his hands across the table. "The killer leaves Fiona Blake's body, then goes to the hot spring to hide the knife. Afterward he decides to return to the body and finds Stark closing Fiona's eyes. That's when Stark smells sulfur from the hot spring, but he doesn't get a look at the killer's face. How am I doing so far?"

"Sounds about right," Sheila said, leaning back in her seat. They were in their car, still outside the hot spring. Above them, the sun began its steady descent toward the horizon. The gold-plated knife lay on the console between them, sealed in a plastic evidence bag. There were traces of something brown on the blade—mud or blood, more than likely.

Fiona's blood?

"So why does he hide the knife there?" Finn asked. "And why does he return to the body at all?"

"The spring could have ritualistic significance to the killer," Sheila suggested, her eyes locked on the knife. "He might have performed some sort of cleansing or offering ritual with the weapon after the murder."

"And returning to the body?" Finn asked.

Sheila chewed her bottom lip, deep in thought, before shaking her head. "I'm not certain yet," she admitted. "Perhaps he forgot something, or maybe it was part of his ritual to return to the scene. He may have done the same with the other victims, and we just don't know it."

Finn nodded silently, his gaze hardening as he stared out the car window into the fast-approaching night. The darkness was creeping in, swallowing the desert and blanketing them in a cloak of uncertainty.

"Well," he finally said, "with any luck, we'll find some DNA on that knife and know exactly who we're dealing with. All we have to do is get it to the lab and cross our fingers."

He sounded optimistic—relieved, even—but Sheila was far less enthusiastic. "And what if he kills again while we're waiting for those results?" she asked. "Or what if the knife is clean—no DNA at all? We can't just wait around for the lab to work a miracle. "

Finn looked at her. His brow furrowed, concern etched into every line on his face. "I know this is frustrating. It's a slow process. But we're on the right track."

"I just feel like we're out of time," she said, gazing out the window.

"Believe me, I understand," Finn said gently. "But rushing things won't make it any faster. We need to be patient and thorough."

Sheila said nothing. She rubbed her forehead, sensing they were missing something.

"Those emails," she began.

"The threatening ones? What about them?"

"We never found out who sent them to Natasha."

"Probably the same person who killed her," Finn said. "Doesn't do us much good, though, if we can't trace them."

"Actually, it does." Sheila shifted in her seat and stared earnestly into her partner's face. "It tells us about him. He was threatening her because she disparaged astrology, right? Does that ring any bells?"

Finn frowned, silent for a few moments. "Just like Vanessa."

"Right. She had that book—the one Hawthorne wrote—because she was trying to prove him wrong about astrology."

"You think we got it wrong with Hawthorne?"

Sheila shook her head impatiently. "I'm suggesting that maybe there is a connection between the victims. Maybe the killer is targeting these women because they attacked his beliefs—astrology, the occult, that sort of thing."

Finn leaned back, considering the idea. "If that's true, where did they all interact with him?"

"It could've been online," Sheila said. "Or some type of event…" She trailed off, thinking. "Emily was a barista taking night classes at Felder University. Vanessa didn't attend the university, but she did have a reputation for being outspoken against astrology. Fiona was connected to the university, too—showed her paintings there. And Natasha…"

Finn's phone went off. "Yeah?" he said, holding it to his ear. He was silent for a few moments as he listened. "Roger that. Thanks, man."

"What was that about?" Sheila asked.

"That friend of mine I asked to trace the threatening emails sent to Natasha?"

Sheila's heart leapt. "He found who sent them? "

"Not exactly, no. But he did figure out the computer they were sent from. It's a public computer, so it could've been sent by anyone…but guess where it's located."

Sheila's throat tightened. "Felder University."

***

"It feels like we're going in circles," Finn said as they pulled into the university parking lot. "We already talked with Jenkins, we already investigated her group. You think the killer is one of the group members we haven't identified?"

Sheila, scanning a group of students passing along the sidewalk, shook her head. "Whoever this guy is, he's a lone wolf—secretive, solitary. I doubt he'd join a group like that."

She turned sharply to Finn. "Remember when we got into that altercation with Jenkins' group?"

"When they nearly killed us? Yeah, I think I remember that."

"One of the men outside the room said something about being spied on before. He thought someone had been keeping tabs on them, and he assumed it was us."

Finn arched an eyebrow. "So?"

"So what if it was actually the killer watching them? I'm sure he would've enjoyed seeing their rituals, their devotion to beliefs he himself espoused. Maybe that's why he didn't kill Stark—he recognized him as a true believer."

"Even if you're right, we're still not narrowing it down much," Finn said, rubbing his forehead.

"Actually, we are. If he's been spying on Jenkins and her people, then he's got to be here with some frequency. He's either a full-time student or someone on the faculty."

"Maybe he teaches a class on ritualistic killings," Finn said dryly.

"I doubt he'd teach anything remotely related to what he's doing," she murmured. "It seems too personal to him, too private. He wouldn't be able to handle any criticism from students. But he might be teaching a similar discipline—anthropology, comparative religion, philosophy...something that would give him access to Jenkins and her group without getting noticed."

Finn frowned at her. "That's a big assumption."

Sheila shrugged. "It's a start. Let's get the list of faculty members and see if anything stands out." She pulled out her phone to do some searching and was surprised to see a text from Star: I'm bored. can i join you guys

No, Sheila wrote back immediately. Stay put. Watch a movie or something.

Sighing, she went back to her search. She looked up Felder University's website, then navigated to their faculty page.

"Here," she said, turning her phone to Finn so he could see. "Four professors in the philosophy department, three in anthropology, and a handful more scattered across disciplines like history of religion, cultural studies..."

"Does anyone stand out?" Finn asked, squinting at the list.

Sheila scrolled through the names again, her eyes scanning the list for anything that seemed relevant to their investigation. "Nothing obvious," she admitted with a grimace. "But there has to be a way to narrow down the list. That building where Jenkins' group was meeting—who would have access to it?"

"Without their presence looking suspicious?" Finn tapped away at his phone. "According to this, that building houses the offices of three professors: Dr. Erik Solberg, Dr. Margot Lane, and Professor Alan Harris."

"What do they each teach?"

Finn looked back down at his phone, scrolling through some more information. "Harris is a professor of history, Lane specializes in art history...and Solberg teaches astronomy."

"Astronomy," Sheila murmured. "That would fit—a class where he can indulge in his love for the stars without drawing attention to his more radical ideas." The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like Solberg was definitely someone they needed to speak with.

"That's not all," Finn said. "He went to med school for a few years, too, before he dropped out."

"Why's that relevant?"

"Because of Fiona Blake," Finn said, looking gravely into Sheila's eyes. "Whoever bandaged her had medical training—and Solberg certainly ticks that box."