Silent House, page 3
Sheila clenched her fists, trying to keep her anger in check. She knew she had a lot to learn, but she also knew that time was of the essence. Every day that passed without answers about her mother's death was another day of unbearable uncertainty.
"Look," she said, forcing herself to remain calm, "I've come too far to turn back now. I just need to ask Rayland a few questions. That's all."
The warden's expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. "You listen here, Ms. Stone. You're not going to talk to Rayland Bax now—or ever. He's off-limits."
"Off-limits?" Sheila's brow furrowed, her confusion turning to suspicion. "Why? What are you trying to hide?"
"Nothing," the warden replied sharply. "But you're not entitled to know the reasons behind my decisions. This is a prison, not a playground, and I have to protect its security and that of the inmates."
"I thought this was about my inexperience? Now it's about his 'security'? Do you think I'm going to try to kill him, get revenge for what he might have done?"
"I hadn't thought of that. Now that you mention it, though…"
Sheila couldn't hold herself in check any longer. "Listen, warden, this is about my mother. My mother. Tell me, what would you do if your mother was murdered and you were denied the chance to speak with the only man who might know something about it? How would you feel? Would you tuck your tail between your legs and run off?"
Abbott sighed and rubbed wearily at his face. "I'd help you if I could, okay? But my hands are tied. I don't make the rules."
She stared at him, puzzled. "What rules are you talking about? Last I checked, it wasn't against the law for me to talk with a prisoner."
He leaned back and raised his hands as if to say he couldn't do anything about it.
Sheila shook her head, unable to believe this. "So you're not even going to give me a reason? You expect me to be okay with that?"
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I told you, it's out of my hands. Understand?"
She blinked at him, uncomprehending. Before she could ask a follow-up question, however, he cleared his throat and raised his voice. "Barry?" he called. "Would you please see Miss Stone out?"
"Right away," Barry said, stepping into the room. Evidently, he'd been standing within earshot the whole time.
"This is absurd," Sheila said, glaring at the warden. Barry placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. "One way or another," she told Abbott, "I'm going to talk to Rayland Bax."
The warden shook his head, as if to indicate she was a lost cause. "Good luck doing so without my blessing, Miss Stone."
Biting back the sharp retort that came to her lips, Sheila turned and followed the guard down the sterile hallway, her thoughts racing. Why was the warden so intent on keeping her away from Rayland? Was he corrupt or simply worried about what she might learn during their conversation?
And why had he repeatedly told her that it was out of his hands?
As Sheila stepped outside into the bright sunlight, she took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. The fresh air was a welcome reprieve from the suffocating tension that had filled the warden's office moments before.
She was reaching for the car keys in her pocket when her phone buzzed, announcing an incoming call. Seeing Natalie's name on the screen, Sheila hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Hey, Nat," she said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice. She didn't want her sister to know just how shaken she was by the confrontation with the warden.
"Hey, Sheila," Natalie replied, her voice sounding troubled, lacking her usual confidence.
"Are you okay?" Sheila asked, her worry evident in her tone.
"I'll be fine. Just a little under the weather lately," Natalie assured her, though the lack of conviction in her voice did little to ease Sheila's fears. "Listen, I called because there's a new case that I think you can help with. I've arranged for you to work as a CI while you finish your police training."
"What's the case about?" Sheila asked, her gaze stealing to the imposing walls of Blackridge, her mind still on the conversation she'd been unable to have with Rayland Bax.
Natalie's next words, however, pulled her back into the moment. "Brace yourself," Natalie warned, her voice taking on a serious tone. "This one's bad. We've got four victims, all hanged. And the worst part is…" There was a somber pause.
"They're all family."
CHAPTER TWO
Sheila's knuckles rapped against the wooden door of Natalie's office, her heart thudding in rhythm with the sharp sound. She knew she was walking into a case involving four homicides, and it sent a shiver down her spine. It felt overwhelming, but Sheila was determined to rise to the challenge.
As she waited for an answer, Sheila thought about the rigorous training she'd gone through over the past few weeks. The long hours spent at the firing range honing her accuracy, the grueling self-defense classes, and the intense crash course in criminal investigations had all been exhausting yet invigorating. Thanks to her sister's influence, she was on track to join the force officially as part of their fast-track program. Despite her initial reservations, Sheila found herself growing more accustomed to the idea of being a full-time law enforcement officer.
She had previously thought that her background as a kickboxer had taught her all the self-defense skills she needed, but she'd quickly learned that she would need a new skill set for the type of streetfighting law enforcement sometimes required. Unlike kickboxing, this kind of fighting wasn't about technique or form, but about survival. Sheila had learned how to use her surroundings to her advantage, how to strike quickly and efficiently, and how to incapacitate her opponent as quickly as possible.
Now she felt ready for anything—physically, anyway. The emotional toll of working a case involving the murder of an entire family was another matter.
The door to Natalie's office remained closed, despite her knocking, so she took a moment to survey the chaotic scene unfolding in the sheriff's department. Phones rang incessantly while deputies scurried back and forth, clutching coffee cups and stacks of paperwork. The energy in the room was palpable; it was certainly not a place for the faint-hearted. She imagined what it would be like to don the uniform and truly be a part of this world.
"Hey, Sheila," a voice said, snapping her back to reality. She turned to see Finn walking toward her, his deputy uniform crisp and clean. He had an easy swagger, probably something he had picked up during his days as a fighter pilot, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes.
"Looking for your sister?" he asked.
Sheila nodded. "Something about a murder investigation?"
Finn slipped his hands into his pockets and sighed. "Well, she's not here, I'm afraid."
"Really?" Sheila asked, surprised. "Where is she, then?"
Finn ran a hand through his disheveled hair, appearing somewhat flustered. "She told me she was feeling under the weather and needed some sick time. She didn't mention anything to you?"
"No, she didn't," Sheila replied, furrowing her brow. This wasn't like Natalie at all. Her sister was tough as nails and hardly ever took a day off. Something felt off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
Finn's phone buzzed and he pulled it out. "Sorry, just let me send a quick text…" He trailed off, his fingers typing away in a flurry.
"Everything alright?" Sheila asked, noting the tension in his posture.
"Uh, yeah," Finn said, pocketing his phone and offering an apologetic smile. "It's just that things don't run as smoothly when Natalie isn't around. I'm technically in charge of this investigation now, but I had been planning on her being here to help guide us through it. Then she changed plans at the last minute."
"Sounds like we're both feeling a little lost without her," Sheila admitted, her mind racing with worry for her sister. What could have caused Natalie to suddenly take sick leave like this? She hadn't sounded ill.
"Come on," Finn said, motioning for her to follow him. "We should head to the crime scene and get started. Maybe Natalie will join us later."
"Alright," Sheila agreed, following him out of the sheriff's department. As they walked, she couldn't help but ask, "Has Natalie been acting strange lately? Anything out of the ordinary?"
Finn seemed to consider her question for a moment before answering, "She's been a little down, I guess. But otherwise, she's been normal."
Sheila furrowed her brow, still not sure whether to read into things or not. Was there more going on with Natalie, or was it just her imagination?
They reached Finn's car, and Sheila slid into the passenger seat, her thoughts consumed by Natalie as they pulled out of the parking lot.
Driving through the small town of Coldwater, Utah, the quaint familiarity of the place was apparent in every detail. The streets were lined with modest, well-kept homes, each with its own tiny yard that showcased the care and attention of its occupants. The main street boasted a handful of local businesses – a diner, a hardware store, a small grocery market – all proudly displaying their hand-painted signs and welcoming smiles from the owners.
The sun cast a warm, golden glow over the town, illuminating the vibrant colors of the surrounding mountains. From afar, Sheila could see the shimmer of the Great Salt Lake, a reminder of the natural beauty that surrounded this seemingly peaceful community.
Yet within this picturesque town, darkness lurked, and Sheila felt a chill run down her spine despite the warmth of the day. She knew that beneath the surface of even the most idyllic places, secrets and danger often hid in plain sight.
As Finn navigated the streets, Sheila tried to focus on the upcoming investigation, pushing her concern for Natalie to the back of her mind. She reminded herself that she was here to learn, to grow, and to prove herself capable of handling whatever challenges lay ahead. Natalie could take care of herself.
"Four homicides," Finn said suddenly, breaking the silence between them. "That's what we're dealing with."
Sheila took a slow breath and, with an effort, turned her mind back to the investigation. "All one family, right?" she asked.
Finn nodded grimly. "The Hubbards. Two parents, two teenage kids. They were all found hanging in the cemetery near their house."
"Damn," Sheila whispered, her hand instinctively going to cover her mouth in shock. The image of four lifeless bodies swinging from the branches of a tree in a graveyard made her shudder involuntarily. "What kind of monster would do something like that?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Finn replied, his voice tight with anger. "But I'll tell you this much—we're not going to rest until we find the person responsible and make sure they pay for what they've done."
"What do we know about the family?" Sheila asked.
"Well, you might be interested to know that they moved back here to Coldwater just a few months ago. They were in Seattle before that."
"Why'd they move back?"
"The husband, Roy Hubbard, works for a tech company that recently opened a branch in Salt Lake City. They wanted to be closer to family and have a more affordable cost of living."
Sheila nodded, taking in the information. "Do we have any leads?"
"Nothing concrete yet, but we do have a couple of witnesses who saw some suspicious activity in the area the night before the bodies were found. We're also looking into the family's background, trying to see if there's any connection to someone who might have wanted to harm them."
"You said they moved back here," Sheila said. "They have a history in Coldwater, then?"
Finn nodded. "Yeah, Roy's family has been in the area for generations. They used to run a cattle ranch outside of town. As far as I know, there hasn't been any bad blood or anything like that, but we're still looking into it."
"Who are the rest of the family? What are their names?"
"The mom's name was Jane. Taught math at a nearby high school. Kids were Max and Lily. Good grades, popular in school, active in extracurricular activities. Nothing that makes them stand out as targets for a murderer."
Sheila's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as they drove, her heart aching for the family that had been so brutally ripped apart. She knew she needed to stay focused and clear-headed if she was going to be of any help with this case, but every time she thought about those four bodies hanging lifelessly in the graveyard, she felt a cold shiver run down her spine.
"The bodies have been taken down," Finn continued, as if reading her mind, "so you won't have to see them like that, but the crime scene is still pretty much untouched."
"Thank God," Sheila whispered, relief washing over her at the thought of not having to see the gruesome sight of the Hubbards hanging from a tree in the graveyard.
The car fell silent as they continued driving, the passing scenery a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere inside the vehicle. Quaint, well-kept houses lined the streets, their front yards filled with colorful flowers and neatly trimmed hedges. Children played on sidewalks while their parents watched from porches, sipping iced tea. It was a picture-perfect small-town scene, marred only by the knowledge of the horror that had occurred within its boundaries.
Sheila's thoughts kept circling back to Natalie, who had been so uncharacteristically absent from this case. She glanced at her phone, biting her lip in worry before finally deciding to try calling her sister.
Come on, Nat, she thought. Pick up.
The call rang and rang, but there was no answer. Frowning, she hung up and quickly typed out a text message instead.
Hey Nat, just checking in on you. Everything okay? Call me when you can. Love you.
She hit send and stared at her phone for a moment, willing it to buzz with a response. When none came, she sighed and tucked the device back into her pocket, her concern growing with each passing minute.
"Everything alright?" Finn asked, his eyes briefly flickering to Sheila before returning to the road.
"Yeah," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just checking on my sister. You know how it is."
Finn nodded, though Sheila could tell he didn't quite believe her. But she couldn't bring herself to voice her growing fears, not when they were already dealing with the weight of a quadruple homicide on their shoulders. For now, she would have to put her concern for Natalie aside and focus on the task at hand—finding justice for the Hubbard family.
A few moments later, the crime scene came into view, a small graveyard nestled between rolling hills and the dense foliage of Coldwater's countryside. Despite its peaceful surroundings, an eerie chill settled over Sheila as she took in the yellow police tape cordoning off the area. Her heart began to pound in her chest as she mentally prepared herself for whatever was in store.
"Ready?" Finn asked, his voice low and steady.
Sheila swallowed hard, nodding. "As I'll ever be."
Finn pulled the car over and parked it, both of them stepping out onto the gravel road that led to the cemetery. The crunch of stones underfoot seemed unnaturally loud in the silence that enveloped them. With each step, Sheila braced herself, uncertain what to expect.
"The woman who found the bodies was fleeing from a stalker," Finn said, "so there's some contamination to the scene. But if we can isolate the footprints, rule out the ones we know aren't relevant…" He paused, his eyes grave. "We might just be able to find the killer's."
CHAPTER THREE
"Why would the killer choose this particular place to leave the bodies?" Sheila wondered aloud.
She was standing at the edge of the graveyard, hands on her hips, studying the scene before her. The early morning air was chilly, and a soft fog swirled around the headstones, giving the place an eerie atmosphere.
"Maybe because it's close to where the Hubbards lived," Finn suggested, his breath visible in the cold air. He looked around, taking in the somber setting, his face etched with concern.
"Convenient, maybe," Sheila replied, "but wouldn't it have been even more convenient to just leave the bodies wherever he attacked them?" She shook her head, her mind working through every detail, trying to piece together the puzzle that lay before her.
The graveyard itself was old, tucked away behind a small, weather-beaten church. The grass was unkempt, growing tall and wild around the worn gravestones, some of which tilted precariously, as if they might topple over at any moment. A rusting wrought iron fence enclosed the space, its gate creaking softly in the breeze.
Police officers moved methodically through the area, their faces grim and focused. Some were bent down, examining the ground for any evidence that might help shed light on this gruesome crime. Others stood guard, ensuring no one disturbed the scene or came too close. The yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the wind, cordoning off the central portion of the graveyard where the bodies had been found.
Spectators gathered at a distance, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the macabre scene. Hushed whispers and gasps punctuated the quiet morning air as people tried to make sense of the horror that had unfolded in their small town. Many clutched each other for support, fear and disbelief etched on their faces.
As Sheila and Finn continued toward the oak at the center of the graveyard, they were approached by a burly officer. The man had a thick build and a face weathered by years of outdoor work. His closely cropped hair was shot through with silver, giving him an air of authority. He extended a hand in greeting, his grip strong and firm.
"Patrick MacDonald," he introduced himself, his voice deep and gravelly. "I'm in charge of the crime scene here."
"Nice to meet you, Officer MacDonald," Sheila said as Finn nodded.
MacDonald gestured around them. "We've done our best to preserve the scene and keep the public back. But I have to say" – he shook his head in disgust –"this is one of the worst things I've seen in my entire career."
"All the more reason to catch whoever did this," Finn said.
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