"I understand that you're upset," she said, trying a gentler approach. "But we're just doing our job. We need to find out who killed the Hubbards, and your daughter's connection to Roy Hubbard is important."

  "Don't you dare use my daughter's name in the same sentence as that...that bastard!" he said, raising the shotgun and sighting down the length of the barrel as his finger caressed the trigger.

  Just then, Finn emerged from the shadows along the porch, taking Albert by surprise. He lunged forward and shoved the gun aside just as Albert reflexively squeezed the trigger. The deafening blast tore through the still night air, leaving a gaping hole in the farmhouse wall where it had narrowly missed Sheila.

  With lightning-fast reflexes honed by years of combat experience, Finn wrestled the shotgun from Albert's grasp and pinned the older man to the ground, his knee pressing into Albert's back. The dog barked, but didn't seem inclined to interfere.

  "Albert Cartwright, you're under arrest," Finn said.

  "Arrest me if you want," Albert said, his eyes bright with hate. "You can lock me in a cell and throw away the key for all I care. Roy Hubbard got what he deserved, and I won't be sorry for what happened to him!"

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sheila's gaze locked onto the man behind the one-way mirror, her eyes narrowed as she sized up Albert Cartwright. The fluorescent light above cast a pale glow on his weathered face, highlighting his unkempt beard and piercing eyes. His hands clenched into fists on the table, knuckles turning white.

  He looked like a man capable of violence, but was he capable of murdering an entire family in cold blood?

  "Hey, you okay?" Finn Mercer's voice startled her, causing her to jump. Her heart raced as she turned to see him holding two cups of coffee.

  "Jeez, Finn, you scared me," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I didn't hear you come in."

  "Sorry about that," Finn replied with a hint of concern. He held out one of the cups to her. "Thought you could use this."

  "Thanks." She sipped the hot liquid gratefully, feeling it warm her insides and provide a sense of much-needed comfort.

  Finn studied her face for a moment before asking again, "You sure you're alright? You've been through a lot today."

  Sheila knew he was referring to the incident at Albert's farmhouse when the old man had nearly shot her for looking inside his garage. It had certainly upset her, but she wasn't about to let fear dictate her life. Not now, not ever.

  "Maybe your stoicism is rubbing off on me," she said with a forced smile, attempting to lighten the mood. "I'm a little shaken up, but I'll be okay. Can't let fear get in the way of solving this case, right?"

  He nodded, saying nothing as his gaze turned back toward Albert.

  "Thank you, by the way," she said. "For saving my life."

  He shrugged, as if it were of no great consequence. "Just doing my job, Sheila. You would have done the same for me."

  Sheila smiled again, grateful for Finn's unwavering support. That was one of the things she appreciated most about him—his dependability. She always knew he had her back.

  "Well," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "I think we've left him stewing in there long enough. What do you say we go see what he has to say for himself?"

  Sheila nodded and followed Finn out of the room. As they entered the interview room, Albert looked up and glared at them. Sheila could see the veins bulging in his fists, clenched tightly together like a coiled snake ready to strike.

  "Where's my damn dog?" he demanded, his voice like gravel. "Titus ain't used to bein' alone. Someone better be takin' care of him."

  "Your dog is being taken care of, Mr. Cartwright," Sheila reassured him, her tone firm yet gentle. Despite her own fears, she understood that Albert's concern for his dog was genuine. She knew that Titus was probably the only living thing that Albert had any real connection with.

  "Listen, Albert," Finn said, cutting straight to the chase. "You've got more serious problems than your dog getting lonely right now." He slid a folder across the table, opening it to reveal photos of the rope and the rusty knife found in his garage. "Care to explain why we found these items in your possession?"

  Albert scoffed, rolling his eyes as if Finn's question was beneath him. "You think I'm the first farmer in the world to have some rope and an old knife? Hell, every farmer within a hundred miles probably has similar stuff lyin' around."

  "True," Finn said, leaning in closer, his eyes locked on Albert's. "But not every farmer within a hundred miles has a motive for killing the Hubbard family."

  Albert's jaw tightened, and Sheila could see the battle raging within him. "Look," he said, his voice strained. "I use that rope for all sorts of things—tying down tarps, hanging clothes to dry, you name it. And the knife? It's just an old one I use for cutting baling twine. There ain't nothin' sinister about 'em."

  "If you've got nothing to hide," Finn said, unrelenting, "why'd you pull a shotgun on us?"

  "Y'all were trespassing!" Albert cried, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. "I got a right to protect my property from strangers snooping around."

  "Protect your property? Or cover up a crime?"

  "Enough!" Albert slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the metal cuffs that bound him. "I'm tired of being treated like a damn criminal! My rights have been violated, and I won't stand for it!"

  Sheila watched as Albert's anger boiled over, his words coming faster and more forceful. "It's people like you," he said, pointing a finger at Finn, "government lackeys who think they can trample all over honest citizens' lives. That's what's wrong with this country!"

  Sheila could feel the tension in the room reaching a breaking point, and she knew she had to steer the conversation away from the precipice.

  "Let's shift gears," she said, speaking up before Finn had a chance to answer Albert's accusation. Finn gave her a long look, but she stared back, willing him to trust her to take the lead. After a few moments, he nodded and stepped back, sighing.

  "Tell me," Sheila said to Albert, "why is it that, when we were arresting you, you said you 'wouldn't be sorry' for what happened to Roy Hubbard?"

  Albert's eyes flickered to Sheila, and for a moment, his rage seemed to subside, replaced by a deep, burning pain. "Roy's a monster," he growled, his voice low and heavy with sorrow. "His abuse drove Lisa, my sweet daughter, to take her own life. He deserved to pay for what he did."

  "Was that your plan, then?" Finn asked, as if unable to keep himself completely out of the conversation. "To make him pay with his life—him and his family, too?"

  "No!" Albert's eyes welled up with unshed tears. "I never wanted any harm to come to them. They were innocent in all this. I just... I wanted Roy to hurt like Lisa did. Like we all did."

  Sheila studied Albert's face, the lines of grief and anger etched into his features. She could see the raw emotion, the pain that tore at him, but she sensed no malice toward the rest of the Hubbard family. For an instant, Sheila imagined herself in his shoes, grappling with the weight of such a loss, and she couldn't help but feel a flicker of sympathy.

  "So when you heard Roy had moved back into town," she said, "how did that make you feel?"

  "Angry," Albert admitted, a scowl forming on his weathered face. "The man destroyed my daughter's life and waltzed back into town like nothing happened. It made my blood boil."

  "Angry enough to kill him?" Finn asked.

  "Listen," Albert snapped, his hands clenching into fists. "I'm not gonna lie—I thought about confronting him. I wanted him to know what he did to Lisa and our family. But I could never hurt innocent people. Jane, Max, Lily…they were all just caught up in Roy's mess."

  Sheila watched Albert closely. He was a man driven by anger, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he wouldn't have taken it as far as murder. She needed more information, though, before she could draw any conclusions.

  "Albert," she began, her tone calm and measured, "where were you last night?"

  "Working on my truck," he replied, his voice steadier now. "I've been having trouble with the engine, so I was out in the garage fixing it. My neighbor, Jerry, came over for a while to help me out. We were there until past midnight."

  Finn raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of Albert's alibi. "We'll look into that," he said.

  Sheila, however, found herself believing Albert's story. As she looked into Albert's eyes, filled with pain and sorrow, she couldn't reconcile the image of him as a cold-blooded murderer.

  "Okay, Albert," she said finally, rising and retreating to the door. "Thank you for your time." As her hand tightened around the doorknob, the cold metal pressing against her skin, she added, "We'll check your alibi and get back to you."

  "Wait," Albert called, desperation lacing his voice. "How long am I gonna be stuck in here?"

  Sheila glanced over her shoulder, taking in the old man's haggard appearance. "That depends on what we find out during our investigation."

  "Look, I'm sorry for aiming that shotgun at you earlier," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I didn't mean any harm. Please don't press charges."

  Sheila considered his words carefully. "I think you need help, Mr. Cartwright, and I mean that in the kindest way possible. Whatever happens, I'm going to do my best to make sure you get the support you need."

  He stared at her, looking puzzled by her meaning. Deciding she'd said enough, Sheila stepped out into the hallway.

  The door clicked shut, leaving Sheila and Finn alone in the sterile corridor. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she studied her partner, searching for any hint of his thoughts.

  "Well, what do you think?" she asked, breaking the silence.

  "Albert's a dangerous, crazy old man," Finn replied bluntly, his eyes narrowing. "He's capable of anything."

  "Maybe," Sheila said, her brow furrowing as she considered the evidence. "But I don't think he'd be capable of murdering the rest of Roy's family, not as carefully as the killer did. And I'm not sure he'd have the physical strength to haul the bodies up that tree."

  Finn let out a slow, measured breath, the air whistling between his teeth. He absently fingered the compass necklace around his neck. "It's true that Albert doesn't seem like the most likely suspect," he admitted. "But we can't afford to rule him out just yet."

  He leaned against the cool cinderblock wall of the hallway, his brow furrowed in thought. "Let's take a breather," he suggested, his voice betraying the weariness that had settled into his bones. "Then we can go back in and ask Albert another round of questions. We'll crack him, one way or the other. If he's innocent—"

  Before he could finish the sentence, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

  "Excuse me," Finn muttered, stepping away from Sheila to answer the call. His face grew increasingly pale as he listened, concern etching deep lines into his forehead. "We'll be there right away," he said urgently, snapping the phone shut with a decisive click.

  Sheila watched Finn's reaction, her heart pounding in her chest, anticipating something terrible. "What's going on?" she asked.

  "Another family, murdered," Finn replied grimly, his jaw clenched tight. "Bodies found in a graveyard. We need to get over there now. And given how fresh they are, I'd say it seems pretty darn unlikely Albert Cartwright is our guy."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the cemetery as Finn's car rolled to a stop. Dread gnawed at Sheila, her stomach twisting into knots at the prospect of what they were about to find. She clenched her fists, resting them on her lap.

  "Hey," Finn said softly, giving her a reassuring look. "You'll get through this. And remember, take a break if you need to."

  Sheila nodded, swallowing hard. As much as she wanted to be strong, the thought of another family brutally murdered weighed heavily on her mind.

  They stepped out of the car into the chilly night air. The hectic scene before them was a macabre ballet of activity. Uniformed officers scurried about, setting up a perimeter with yellow police tape flapping wildly in the wind. Harsh work lights were being set up by a burly officer, illuminating the crime scene in an unforgiving glow.

  "Shit," Sheila whispered, her breath visible in the cold. She watched as forensic technicians photographed the area, their faces grim behind their masks.

  Finn glanced at her, concern etching his features. "Focus on the task at hand, Sheila. We're here to find answers and bring justice to these families, okay?"

  Sheila took a deep breath, steeling herself for the horrors that awaited her. Her thoughts shifted to the Hubbard family, their lives cut short so violently. She couldn't shake the feeling that every second counted, that the killer was still out there, ready to strike again.

  "Right," she replied, her voice firm. "Let's do this."

  A heavyset man in uniform approached them. His dark hair was peppered with gray, and his eyes held years of experience and an air of authority.

  "Deputy Mercer," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Officer Edgar Sheffield."

  "Nice to meet you, Officer Sheffield," Finn said as they shook hands. "This is Sheila Stone. She's working with me as a consultant."

  "And training to join the force," Sheila added.

  "Can you fill us in on what happened?" Finn asked Sheffield.

  "Sure," Edgar began. "A single mother was out walking her dog when it slipped off its leash and bolted. The woman chased after it and found her dog digging at a fresh grave. When she got closer, she..." He paused, pressing his lips tightly together as if unsure how to say what came next.

  "Go on," Finn said. "We can handle it."

  "She saw a human hand sticking out of the soil. Then it hit her—why wasn't the body in a casket? She called the police, and we found five fresh graves altogether. This all happened less than an hour ago."

  Sheila cursed silently, her stomach twisting into knots.

  "Have the bodies been exhumed yet?" Finn asked.

  "The coroner's overseeing the process right now," Edgar replied, pointing toward a group of people carrying shovels.

  Sheila watched them, her heart pounding, feeling sick at the thought of what was happening just a short distance away.

  "Have you identified the family?" Finn asked.

  Edgar nodded solemnly. "They're the Warrens. Bob and Macy are the parents, and they have three teenage children—Josh, Isabelle, and Tim. Bob had an affluent job as a lawyer in town, and Macy's family, the Dobsons, were well-respected pillars of the community." Finn's brow furrowed at the mention of the Dobson name, as if a memory was trying to surface.

  "Can you show us the crime scene?" Sheila asked, her throat tightening with anxiety.

  "Of course," Edgar replied, leading them farther into the cemetery.

  The moon cast eerie shadows over the tombstones as they walked, the wind rustling through the trees above them. Sheila could feel the dread creeping up her spine, but she pushed it down, focusing on the task at hand. The graveyard seemed to stretch on forever.

  "Here we are," Edgar said quietly as they reached the center of the graveyard.

  Sheila's breath caught in her throat when she saw the five bodies laid out before her. The exhumed corpses were pale and lifeless, their faces contorted with fear and pain. It was clear that their final moments had been filled with terror. Even though she had tried to prepare herself for this sight, seeing the victims up close was incredibly unsettling.

  Dr. Jin Zihao was meticulously cleaning one of the bodies with a soft-bristled brush, gently removing dirt from the lifeless skin as if he were preserving a delicate artifact. The tall man's silver-streaked black hair glistened under the work lights, and his sharp, intelligent eyes remained focused on his task.

  "Dr. Zihao," Finn called out as they approached, causing the coroner to pause and rise slowly, revealing the full extent of his height. He looked at them with a somber expression.

  "Deputy Mercer, Ms. Stone," he said, nodding in their direction.

  "Have you been able to determine anything so far?" Finn asked.

  "From what I can tell, all the victims were shot," Dr. Zihao explained. He gestured at several patches of blood in the grass nearby. "The blood spatter suggests that they were killed here in the graveyard. Additionally, it seems their valuables have been taken, much like with the Hubbards."

  Sheila clenched her fists, anger bubbling up inside her at the thought of this ruthless killer. How many more families must suffer before we catch this monster? she wondered, her determination growing stronger.

  "Did you notice any signs of a struggle or the use of restraints?" she asked, hoping for some clue that might help them understand the killer's methods.

  Dr. Zihao shook his head. "No, I haven't discovered any evidence of either so far. Then again, it's not unlikely that the very reason the killer used the gun was to avoid the necessity of restraints. Staring down the barrel of a gun can be quite intimidating, I imagine."

  Tell me about it, Sheila thought, recalling how Albert Cartwright had nearly shot her.

  Finn surveyed the crime scene, his brow furrowed in thought. "That's not the only advantage in bringing the gun. A bullet is a much more convenient execution method than a noose."

  Sheila stared at the lifeless bodies, her heart aching for the Warren family. "Maybe after Roy Hubbard fought back, the killer didn't want to take any chances."

  "Which also means we can track to identify the weapon he used," Finn pointed out, trying to stay optimistic.

  Sheila shook her head, her gaze determined. "We can't wait that long. There has to be something here we can use."

  As they stood there, Dr. Zihao cleared his throat. "Deputy Mercer, could you help me turn this body over? I need to examine the other side."

  "Of course, doctor," Finn replied, moving to assist the coroner.

  Left alone for a moment, Sheila glanced at her phone and decided to try reaching Natalie again. She walked away from the grim scene, her steps heavy as she dialed the number. The call rang and rang, but once more, her sister didn't answer. Sheila's worry grew with each unanswered ring, tightening like a vice around her chest.

 

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