Page 30 of Silent Night

Jack sighed, disappointment clouding his face. "It didn't go well," he confessed. "We just didn't hit it off, you know? She wasn't what I expected, and I guess I wasn't what she expected either."

"So then what happened?" Sheila asked. "You just left her at the restaurant?"

He nodded, tight-lipped. "That was the last I saw of her."

Sheila studied Jack's face, looking for any hint of deception. His eyes darted away from hers, and she couldn't help but feel that he was hiding something.

"Listen," Finn said, "the more you lie, the more complicated this gets for you. It looks pretty damn incriminating, too."

"Look," Jack finally admitted, his voice strained, "I didn't want to tell you this, but the truth is, I made a move on Jennifer that night, okay? She rejected me. It caused a scene at the restaurant, and I was humiliated."

"But you didn't see her again?" Sheila asked.

Jack shook his head vehemently. "Not once."

Natalie spoke up. "Where were you early this morning, shortly before dawn?"

Jack's expression changed, becoming more resolute as he met Natalie's gaze head-on. "I was out hiking in the woods," he explained, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. "I took some photos of the sunrise with my camera. I can show you the timestamped images, if you'd like."

Sheila felt a flicker of doubt, wondering if Jack's alibi could be that conveniently perfect. But as he produced his camera and scrolled through the images, her skepticism waned. The photos were indeed timestamped, showing that Jack had been miles away from the Great Salt Lake when the murders took place.

"If that's not enough," Sawyer continued, "there's an old man who lives just down the road. Hardly sleeps a wink. He knows every vehicle that goes by, so if I'd left this morning, he'd be able to tell you about it."

"We'll talk to him," Natalie said, though her tone made it clear that she wasn't particularly optimistic they'd learn anything. She rose, and Finn and Sheila did the same.

"Thank you for your time," Natalie said. "We'll reach out if we have any further questions."

"Please do," Sawyer said with a tight smile.

As they left the cabin, Sheila's attention was drawn to the darkening sky. Night would soon fall, giving the killer the perfect circumstances under which to hunt.

And they still had no idea who or where he was.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The precinct's fluorescent lights cast a stark, unforgiving glow over the disarrayed reports and statements strewn across the table in front of Sheila as she slumped in her chair. Frustration simmered below the surface of her usually composed demeanor. Jack Sawyer had been another dead end, and optimism was becoming increasingly difficult to cling onto.

"Back to square one," she muttered under her breath, raking a hand through her hair.

The room felt colder than usual, as if the building itself shared the team's collective disappointment. Natalie sat to her right, her wheelchair parked close to the table as she scanned the coroner's reports for anything they might have missed. To Sheila's left, Finn's fingers flew across his laptop keyboard, searching for connections that remained elusive. Their silence hung heavy in the air, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of paper or the soft tap of keys.

"Anything?" Sheila asked, almost without hope. She stared at the lab report detailing the nail found at the crime scene, but no new revelations emerged from the sterile words on the page. Just another piece of the puzzle they couldn't quite solve.

"Nothing yet," Finn said, not looking up from his screen. His tone was strained, hinting at the weight of the situation. Sheila knew he was trying his best, pushing himself beyond his limits to uncover the truth. But they desperately needed some lead, some reason for optimism.

"Keep looking," Natalie said, her voice steady despite the dark circles under her eyes. "We'll find something eventually."

Unsure what else to do, Sheila rose, crossed the room, and stood beside Finn. She appreciated his stoic determination, his drive to keep pushing himself regardless of what setbacks they faced.

"See, I've been going through the Birds of a Feather app," he said, gesturing at the screen filled with various user profiles. "I've been trying to find anyone else who might have met both victims, but so far, I can't find anyone—no one I can't disqualify by establishing an alibi through social media or bank records, that is."

Sheila bit her lip, mulling it over. "What if the killer used multiple profiles? Like a catfish?"

Finn nodded thoughtfully. "It's possible." He opened another window on his laptop, revealing a complex web of connections between app users. Sheila watched as he deftly isolated several profiles that had interacted with both victims. His fingers flew across the keyboard, tracing digital trails left by these mysterious personas.

"Take a look at these," he said, pointing out the similarities in certain profiles' messaging patterns. "They could be the same person…or they could just be random users with similar interests. Problem is, profile pictures can be taken from anywhere, so we can't rely on those to confirm anything."

Sheila's heart raced, her mind spinning with the possibilities. The killer could be hiding in plain sight, taunting them with every message sent.

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