Silent Night, page 6
"Yup," the driver said, nodding solemnly. "Pretty scary stuff."
As Jenson weighed his options, the man's cell phone rang, its shrill tone cutting through the tense atmosphere. The driver's attention shifted immediately to the call, providing Jenson with a momentary reprieve.
"Hello? Oh, hey honey," the driver answered, his voice softening as he spoke to his wife. "Yeah, I'm on my way home now. Just met this hiker guy. I'll be there soon, promise."
"Alright, love you too," he said before ending the call and sliding his phone back into his pocket.
"Sorry about that," the driver told Jenson, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "The wife's waiting for me at home. You know how it is."
"Of course," Jenson replied, forcing a smile in return. "Have a good one."
"Take care, man," the driver said, all hint of suspicion gone from his eyes. Within moments, the truck was speeding down the road, leaving Jenson alone with the echoing silence. His heart thumped in his chest as he wiped the sweat from his brow, relief mingling with fear. He had narrowly escaped a dangerous situation, but he couldn't afford any more close calls.
Jenson crossed the road, his steps quick and purposeful. He scanned the brush along the roadside, searching for the familiar outline of his vehicle. Hidden behind a dense cluster of bushes, the sedan's gray paint provided a muted backdrop to the foliage. He had chosen this spot carefully, ensuring that it would be concealed from passing motorists.
"Almost there," he whispered to himself, parting the branches. The door opened with a soft creak, and Jenson slid into the driver's seat. The familiar smell of leather upholstery filled his nostrils, providing a small measure of comfort.
"Damn, that was too close," he muttered under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly. His knuckles turned white as he tried to quell his racing thoughts. He'd just need to be extra cautious when he was out and about in the future.
As he tried to calm himself, his mind wandered back to the feeling of power that had surged through him as he strangled the woman, her life slipping away between his fingers. The memory sent a shiver down his spine, and he reveled in the sensation. It was addictive, intoxicating—a high unlike any other.
"Never again," he told himself, his resolve wavering. "I can't risk getting caught."
But as he sat in the car, replaying the scene over and over in his mind, something shifted within him. The fear of capture began to fade, overshadowed by an insatiable hunger for control. The thrill of taking a life coursed through his veins, an undeniable urge he could no longer ignore.
"Maybe just one more," he said softly. "I'll be careful this time."
And if he decided he didn't want to be done then, what of it? It wasn't like the police were going to stop him, was it?
CHAPTER SEVEN
A knot formed in Sheila's stomach, a swirling mixture of eagerness and unease, as she realized that she would soon be face-to-face with the victim. She had only ever seen one dead body before, during a previous investigation. If this experience was anything like the last one, she would need to steel herself for the grisly sight that awaited her.
Late morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a pattern of shadows on the linoleum floor as Sheila, Natalie, and Finn entered the coroner's office. Sheila found herself wondering how long Jennifer Bainbridge's body had been submerged in the cool waters of the Great Salt Lake before they discovered her. Could the killer still have been lurking nearby, watching them from a distance as they examined the scene?
She glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings, taking in the rows of filing cabinets, the cluttered desk piled high with papers, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. She had never set foot in a coroner's office before, but she was determined to learn everything she could about this case. She knew that knowledge would be their greatest weapon in catching Jennifer's killer.
"Are you okay, Sheila?" Natalie asked, picking up on her sister's anxiety. Her voice was gentle, yet carried the authority of someone who had been in this line of work for years. Despite their competitive nature, her concern for her sister was evident.
Sheila nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm fine," she replied, attempting to sound more confident than she felt. "I just…I've never done anything like this before."
"Seeing a body is never easy," Finn said, his gruff voice revealing a hint of the pain he'd endured in his own past. "But it's important to remember that we're here for Jennifer—and for justice."
Sheila took a deep breath, bracing herself for what was to come. She knew that she couldn't let her emotions get in the way of her work. Jennifer deserved better than that.
The door to the autopsy room creaked open, and Dr. Jin Zihao stepped into the coroner's office. He was a tall man, with neatly combed black hair streaked with silver, and sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to take in everything around him. His lab coat was pristine, as if he had just put it on, and it contrasted starkly with the somber atmosphere of the room.
"Dr. Zihao, this is my sister, Sheila Stone," Natalie said, gesturing to Sheila who stood by her side. "She's assisting us with the investigation."
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Stone," Dr. Zihao said, extending his hand for a polite shake.
Sheila took his hand, noting the firmness of his grip and the confidence in his voice. There was something about him that commanded respect, even though she had just met him. She couldn't help but feel reassured by his presence—he clearly knew what he was doing.
"Please, call me Sheila," she replied, trying to match his level of professionalism. "I'm eager to learn from you."
"Of course, Sheila." Dr. Zihao nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Follow me, please."
He led them through the door and into the autopsy room. The room itself was a cold, clinical space, with stainless steel tables and instruments laid out in precise order. In the center of the room lay Jennifer Bainbridge's body, covered in a thin white sheet.
Dr. Zihao gently pulled back the sheet, revealing the young woman's lifeless form. As Sheila's eyes fell on Jennifer's face, she felt her breath catch in her throat. The sight was both eerie and unsettling—the woman's skin was pale, almost translucent, and her body was encrusted with a white substance.
"Is that… salt?" Sheila asked hesitantly, forcing herself to look at Jennifer's body despite the unease it caused her.
"Yes," Dr. Zihao said, his voice clinical and detached. "The high salinity of the lake has covered her body in salt crystals. It also affects the preservation of the body, making our job a bit more challenging."
Sheila could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the victim, trying to process the reality of the situation. This young woman could have been alive just hours before, and now she lay cold and still on an autopsy table, her life stolen by a ruthless killer. It was a sobering reminder of the stakes involved in this investigation—and the responsibility Sheila felt to bring justice to Jennifer and her family.
"Could you explain more about the effects of the salt on her body?" Natalie asked.
"Of course," Dr. Zihao said, adjusting his glasses as he leaned closer to Jennifer's body. "The high concentration of salt in the Great Salt Lake creates a unique set of conditions for preservation. In this case, the salt has actually mummified parts of her skin and tissue."
"Does that make it harder to determine the cause of death?" Natalie asked, her eyes narrowing as she studied Jennifer's body.
"Somewhat," admitted Dr. Zihao. "However, I'm confident in my assessment that the cause of death was strangulation." He gestured toward the victim's neck, where dark bruises stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin. "You can see the distinct pattern of finger marks here, likely from the killer's hands."
Sheila felt a surge of anger as she looked at those marks, a burning desire to make the murderer pay for what they had done. Swallowing hard, she asked, "When do you think she was killed?"
"Based on the state of her body and the evidence of rigor mortis, I would estimate that she was murdered early this morning, before dawn," Dr. Zihao replied, his voice steady and professional. "It's difficult to pinpoint an exact time due to the salt's impact on the decomposition process, but the absence of nocturnal insects and their larvae suggest it didn't happen last night—or that her body wasn't exposed to the open air last night, at least."
Sheila's heart raced as the gruesome details of Jennifer Bainbridge's murder washed over her like an icy wave. She swallowed hard, trying to maintain a neutral expression, but she felt her stomach twist into knots with each new piece of information.
"Sheila?" Natalie asked gently, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay?"
Sheila blinked and looked at her sister, attempting a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just...processing everything."
Natalie gave her a knowing nod, clearly aware of Sheila's inexperience with such grisly investigations.
Finn, meanwhile, furrowed his brow and addressed Dr. Zihao. "Have you noticed any signs of a struggle? Defensive wounds on her hands or arms?"
Dr. Zihao nodded. "Yes, there are bruises on her forearms, consistent with someone trying to fend off an attacker." He gestured to the bruises in question.
The room seemed to close in around Sheila as she thought about the fact that whoever killed Jennifer was still out there, waiting to strike again. She clenched her fists, determined to find this monster and make them pay for what they'd done.
"Another thing," Dr. Zihao said. "Jennifer wasn't the first victim found in the Great Salt Lake. A week ago, another young woman was discovered under similar circumstances."
Sheila's eyes widened in shock, her surprise mirrored by Natalie and Finn. "Who was she?" she asked.
"Her name was Hadley Ferguson. She was discovered by a group of birdwatchers early one morning, just after sunrise."
"Strangled?" Finn asked.
Dr. Zihao nodded. "The fact that both victims were left in the lake like that...it's difficult not to suspect there's a connection."
Sheila's thoughts raced as she considered the implications of this new information. If there was a pattern emerging, it was vital to find the link between the victims and put an end to these brutal murders.
"Can we get the report on Hadley Ferguson?" Natalie asked, her voice steady despite the weight of the situation.
"Of course," Dr. Zihao said, walking over to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room. He pulled open a drawer and rifled through the folders within, finally extracting one and handing it to Natalie. "Here's Hadley's report. I'll give you Jennifer Bainbridge's as well for comparison."
"Thanks," Natalie replied, taking both files and spreading them out on a nearby table. Sheila joined her, her eyes scanning the documents with an intensity born from years of athletic focus.
Finn frowned as he looked at the two victims' photos. "Why would the killer leave them in the Great Salt Lake?" he mused aloud. "If they wanted to dispose of the bodies, why not weigh them down and drop them into a regular lake? The salt in the Great Salt Lake only buoys the bodies and preserves them."
Sheila considered Finn's question, the gears in her mind turning. She glanced back at the reports, searching for any clues that might reveal the significance of the salt.
As the two sisters studied the reports, Sheila began to notice differences between the two young women. Hadley was an aspiring artist, while Jennifer worked as a waitress. Jennifer had a wide social circle, whereas Hadley seemed more introverted, with just a few close friends. Their hobbies, interests, and backgrounds appeared to have little in common.
"Other than living near each other, these girls don't seem to have much in common at all," Sheila observed aloud, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What could be the connection between them that would make the killer target both?"
Natalie's eyes narrowed as she continued to scan the documents. "It's strange," she said, tapping a finger on Hadley's report. "They lived only a few blocks away from each other, but their lives seemed to be worlds apart."
"Could it be just a coincidence?" Sheila wondered, her mind racing with possibilities.
"Maybe," Natalie said. "But it's our job to find out if there's more to it than that."
"How do you propose we do that?"
Natalie sat back, coming to a decision. "We need to dig into their backgrounds, learn all we can about them. There may be similarities we just can't see yet."
Sheila nodded, looking down at Jennifer Bainbridge's report. "Jennifer's family lives nearby. We could start by talking to them, see if they can shed any light on this."
"Good idea," Natalie replied as she began gathering the files.
Finn, who had been quietly observing the sisters and pondering his own thoughts, cleared his throat. "While you two follow that lead, I'll see what I can learn about that nail you found, Sheila. Maybe it's nothing—but then again, maybe it's important."
"Sounds like a plan," said Sheila, curious about what Finn might uncover.
"Keep us posted on what you find," Natalie said.
"Will do," Finn replied with a nod, then left the coroner's office, determination in his stride.
As Sheila and Natalie exited the building, the cold morning air hit them, causing Sheila to shiver involuntarily.
"Whoever this killer is, they're smart and meticulous," Natalie said, breaking the silence. "But their motives are still a mystery. We need to find out what ties these victims together, because until we do, there's no telling who the killer might attack next—or when."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sun was high in the sky as Sheila maneuvered the van through the narrow streets of the dilapidated neighborhood. The cracked pavement bore witness to years of neglect, and the once vibrant murals on the walls of the crumbling buildings were fading echoes of a different time. Every now and then, she spotted a cluster of children playing amidst the litter and debris, laughter ringing through the air like a stubborn defiance against the hardships they faced.
As she drove, Sheila couldn't help but think of Star, the troubled young girl her sister had taken under her wing. She wondered how the girl was faring now that Gabe had stepped in to mentor her. A pang of worry tugged at Sheila's heart, but she quickly pushed it aside, reminding herself that there were other lives at stake, too.
Parking the van in front of a rundown house, Sheila glanced over at Natalie. Her sister's face, usually so confident and self-assured, was drawn and serious. They both knew what they were about to do wouldn't be easy.
"Okay," Sheila began, "I've got to be honest. I'm not looking forward to breaking the news to Jennifer's family." She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself.
Natalie reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I know it's tough, Sheila, but it's part of the job. They deserve to know, and we need to find out more about Jennifer to get to the bottom of this."
Sheila nodded, knowing Natalie was right. But the thought of the heavy burden they carried weighed on her, making her chest feel tight. She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead.
"Just…don't leave me to do it all by myself, okay?" Sheila asked.
Natalie smiled at her. "When have I ever not had your back?"
Sheila stepped out of the van, the gritty sound of gravel crunching beneath her feet. As she took in the dilapidated neighborhood, she couldn't help but notice the peeling paint on the houses, broken windows hastily patched with duct tape or cardboard, and overgrown yards littered with debris.
Natalie's voice broke through her thoughts as she maneuvered her wheelchair to the edge of the van. "Come on, Sheila. The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be done."
"Sorry," Sheila muttered, hurrying to assist her sister. Together, they made their way toward the Bainbridge residence, its battered front door hanging slightly askew on its hinges. A rusted bike lay abandoned in the unkempt grass, a silent testament to the family's financial struggles.
"Looks like they haven't had it easy," Sheila murmured, her heart heavy with empathy.
"Unfortunately, that's all too common around here," Natalie replied, her eyes scanning each sad detail of the neighborhood.
As they reached the house, Sheila suddenly realized there was no ramp for Natalie's wheelchair. The front steps, cracked and worn by time, would be impossible for her sister to navigate on her own.
"Uh, Nat," she said hesitantly, "there's no ramp."
"Damn," Natalie cursed under her breath, frustration creasing her brow. "Well, we're not turning back now. We need to find a way."
"Maybe we can use that plank over there?" Sheila suggested, pointing at a long piece of wood leaning against a nearby shed. It wasn't ideal, but it might work.
"Good idea," Natalie agreed. With determination, Sheila set to work dragging the plank toward the house. She carefully positioned it over the steps, creating a makeshift ramp for Natalie.
"Here goes nothing," Sheila said, gripping the handles of the wheelchair tightly as she guided her sister up the incline, the wood groaning beneath their weight. "Almost there...got it!"
The door creaked open, revealing a woman in her forties with weary eyes and strands of gray woven through her unkempt hair. Lines of exhaustion etched her face, and her clothes hung loose on her thin frame. She eyed the sisters suspiciously, her gaze lingering on Natalie's wheelchair.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice guarded. "What do you want?"
"Mrs. Bainbridge?" Natalie asked, her tone gentle as though approaching a wounded animal.
"Who's asking?"
"Ma'am," Natalie began, "I'm Sheriff Natalie Stone, and this is my sister Sheila. We're here to talk to you about your daughter, Jennifer."
At the mention of Jennifer, Mrs. Bainbridge's suspicion momentarily dissolved into concern. "Is she alright? What happened?"
Sheila exchanged a glance with her sister, feeling her throat tighten at the responsibility of delivering such devastating news. This was the part of the job that tore at her soul—shattering a mother's heart with the truth.
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