Page 6 of Silent Trail

The college's interior was modest yet welcoming, with beige walls adorned by student artwork and bulletin boards announcing upcoming events. Despite the late summer warmth outside, the air inside was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of chalk and cleaning supplies. It was unnervingly silent, as if the building itself were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

"Where is everyone?" Sheila asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

Finn glanced back at her, his expression unreadable. "Most of the students are out on the soccer fields," he replied. "Officers are interviewing them about the incident, trying to determine whether anyone might have seen anything."

As they continued down the hallway, Sheila found her gaze drifting to Finn. He moved with a quiet confidence, his posture straight and his shoulders squared. There was a mysterious air about him that intrigued her. She tried to recall any information Natalie had shared about him, but came up empty. She couldn't help but wonder how he'd adapted to Natalie's injury—whether it had changed their working relationship in any meaningful way.

"Almost there," Finn said, pulling her from her thoughts. He paused in front of a section of lockers, cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. The morning sunlight filtering through nearby windows illuminated the gruesome scene, casting eerie shadows on the floor.

Sheila's heart quickened as she took in the sight before her. Blood splattered the inside of the open locker, and there was a small pool of it on the linoleum below as well, a chilling reminder of the violence the victim had suffered. A chaotic series of bloody footprints covered the area, along with drag marks where the blood streaked the floor.

Finn's voice broke the silence, shattering her reverie. "Kristen Lee was a junior here," he said. "Played for the volleyball team. A better athlete than a student, by all accounts. She was majoring in biology."

Sheila studied the chaotic scene, trying to make sense of what had happened. "Did the killer leave these footprints?" she asked, pointing.

Finn shook his head. "No, it would've taken time for the blood to pool like this. The killer would've had to stick around long enough for the blood to pool, then accidentally step in it, thus leaving incriminating prints. Not very likely." He paused to look at her. "Plus, one of the girls who found the body admitted to stepping in the blood, so I think it's pretty clear what happened." He winked at her.

Sheila's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She should have deduced on her own how unlikely it was that the killer could have left the prints, but she was very new to this world of crime-solving, and every misstep served as a reminder of just how much she had to learn.

"Right," she said. "So, we can rule out the footprints as evidence left by the killer."

"Correct," Finn said, his tone neutral.

Wanting to move past her mistake, Sheila decided to change the subject. "Tell me about the two girls who found Lee's body," she said, hoping to gain more insight into the situation.

"Rita Cohen and Claire Hutchinson," Finn began, his voice taking on a hint of authority as he recounted the information. "They opened the locker after Rita accidentally stepped in the blood."

"She stepped in the blood? How did she not see it?"

"The hallway was dark because some of the overhead lights were out—apparently a work order was put in to have the lights replaced, but the electrician hasn't been in yet."

"What happened after they opened the locker?" Sheila asked.

Finn shrugged one shoulder. "They screamed and ran. That's about the short of it, anyway, as far as I know. If you want more details, you'll have to talk to them directly. I'm just telling you what I heard from the officer who responded to the call."

Sheila mulled over the details, trying to piece together the puzzle. As her eyes scanned the crime scene once more, her attention was drawn to the streaks in the blood. It looked as though something had been dragged across the floor.

"Hey, Finn," she said cautiously, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Doesn't it look like the body might have been moved? What else would have caused these marks?"

Finn studied the traces of blood on the ground, his expression thoughtful. "It's possible. But why would someone move the body? The killer obviously wanted her in the locker."

Sheila grew thoughtful, her mind chasing down different possibilities. "Can you tell me where the nearest restroom is? I want to check something."

Finn straightened and looked down the hallway, first one way and then the other. "Let's go find out," he said.

Sheila and Finn walked down the hall, side by side. Before long, they saw a pair of signs, one for the men's restroom and the other for the women's. As Sheila entered the women's restroom, Finn hesitated.

"Come on," Sheila said. "I appreciate your sense of propriety, but this is murder we're talking about."

His eyes were glassy, stoic. Then, with a shrug, he gestured for her to go first.

Sheila pushed open the door to the ladies' restroom, the faint scent of lemon-scented cleaner wafting through the air. The room was pristine, with spotless white tiles reflecting the overhead fluorescent lighting. Three sinks lined one wall, their sleek chrome faucets gleaming under the harsh light.

"So what are we looking for?" Finn asked as he followed her inside, his voice rebounding off the tiled walls.

Sheila's gaze darted from sink to sink, her intuition telling her that the answer she sought lay hidden in this seemingly untouched sanctuary. She approached each faucet in turn, crouching down to study the undersides of the handles. The first two looked clean. As she reached the last sink, however, her heart skipped a beat—there, nearly invisible against the polished metal, were faint smears of dried blood.

"Look at this," she said, pointing out the incriminating evidence to Finn.

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