Page 51 of Silent Past

He took one last look at Cooper, who was still speaking with passionate intensity about continuing Mitchell's work. The federal agents remained obvious in their watchfulness, and they would no doubt be ready to pounce as soon as he set up a meeting with Cooper.

No matter. He was nothing if not adaptable.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Evening draped itself across Cooper's office like a tired animal, shadows pooling in corners where stacks of research papers created tiny paper mountains. The autumn air carried a bite of winter through the partially open window, stirring loose pages with ghostly fingers.

Cooper sat hunched over his laptop, the screen's blue glow painting his face in electronic twilight while Sheila and Finn maintained their quiet vigil.

Several hours had passed since his public statement—a long time to be continually refreshing an inbox, searching for a message from a serial killer. As much as Sheila reminded herself she needed to be patient, she found herself wondering what they would do if Whitman didn't take bait.

Had he sniffed them out?

"Maybe he's not interested," Cooper said, his voice carrying the strain of constant tension. A coffee cup sat cold and forgotten at his elbow, one of many that had marked the hours.

"He's interested," Sheila said from where she leaned against a bookshelf. "He's just being careful. Taking time to study you, like he did with the others."

The office felt smaller in the growing darkness, as if the weight of what they were attempting had physically compressed the space. Finn stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the dying light. Beyond him, campus buildings cut black shapes against a purple sky, their windows beginning to glow like tired eyes.

Cooper's phone rang.

The sound sliced through the quiet like a blade, making them all jump. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

"Remember," Sheila said softly as Cooper's hand hovered over the phone. "If it's him, let him lead the conversation. Show interest, but don't seem too eager."

Cooper nodded, his throat working as he swallowed. He pressed the speaker button, his finger trembling slightly.

"James Cooper speaking."

"Hello, Mr. Cooper." The voice carried the measured confidence of academia, each word carefully chosen. "This is Dr. Ethan Banner from Pacific Coast University. I hope I'm not calling too late."

Sheila and Finn exchanged glances. They'd known this moment would come, had prepared for it, but the reality of hearing Whitman's voice—so calm, so professional—sent ice through Sheila's veins.

"Not at all," Cooper managed, his voice steadier than his hands. "What can I do for you, Dr. Banner?"

"I watched your statement about continuing Dr. Mitchell's work. Her research on preservation techniques has always fascinated me, particularly her theories about how certain knowledge survives through time." A pause, weighted with careful consideration. "I'm curious—have you had a chance to review her notes on mineral content in preservation chambers?"

Cooper's eyes darted to Sheila, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. They'd prepared for this, rehearsed the academic dance that would draw Whitman deeper.

"Actually, yes," Cooper said. "She'd been documenting unusual mineral compositions in several cave systems. The combinations seemed significant, though she never got to complete her analysis."

"Fascinating." The word carried genuine enthusiasm. "You know, I've been studying similar phenomena in caves along the Pacific coast. The mineral content, the constant temperatures—they create perfect conditions for preservation. Not just of artifacts, but of knowledge itself."

Finn moved silently to Cooper's desk, his notebook ready. Every word Whitman spoke could help them understand his patterns, predict his next move.

"That's exactly what Dr. Mitchell believed," Cooper said, warming to the conversation despite his fear. "That certain environments could maintain not just physical artifacts, but the wisdom they represented."

"Would you be interested in comparing notes?" Whitman's voice carried the careful eagerness of a spider testing its web. "I'm actually in Utah now. Perhaps we could meet to discuss our research."

The trap was baited, the hook set. Cooper looked to Sheila again, his face pale in the laptop's glow.

"I'd like that," he said. "Dr. Mitchell always said sharing knowledge was crucial to preservation."

"Indeed she did." Something darker crept into Whitman's tone, like shadows deepening at dusk. "I'll shoot you an email. We have much to discuss, Mr. Cooper. Much to preserve."

The line went dead, leaving them in silence, broken only by the soft whir of Cooper's laptop fan. Minutes stretched like pulled taffy until Cooper's email chimed.

His hands shook as he opened the message. "He wants to meet tonight. Says he's found something in the geological surveys that matches Dr. Mitchell's notes perfectly. Wants to show me before he flies back to Oregon tomorrow."

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