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- Military background (special forces?)
- Religious connection
- Local knowledge of mines
- Father was a miner
- Likely 55-60 years old
- Uses night vision equipment
- Patient, methodical
"His father being a miner," she said slowly. "That's not just background information. It's central to who he is, how he operates." She grabbed the stack of mining accident reports she and her father had previously gone through. "My dad and I—we were looking at this wrong. We were focused on miners who died in accidents, thinking our killer might be an orphaned son."
"But?"
"But what if we're looking for someone whose father survived? Someone whose father worked these mines and lived?" She spread the reports across her desk, pushing the maps aside. "Ray said the killer mentioned something about carrying on a legacy."
Finn moved closer, studying the reports. "You think his father taught him about the mines?"
"More than that." Sheila pulled out the report about the 1961 collapse. "Three miners died that day. But look at the supervisor's statement—it's signed by Frank Whitman, mine foreman."
She grabbed another report, this one from 1963. "Here he is again. And again in '64." She laid out more papers. "Frank Whitman supervised these mines for almost twenty years. He would have known every tunnel, every access point."
"And if he had a son..."
"He would have taught him everything he knew." Sheila was moving faster now, energized by the possibility of a lead. "Pull everything we have on Frank Whitman. Employment records, incident reports, anything."
Finn was already heading for the door when another thought struck her. "And check church records. Ray said the killer wore an old silver cross—might have been his father's. If Frank Whitman was as religious as his son seems to be, he would have been active in a local congregation."
As Finn left, Sheila turned back to the reports, scanning for any mention of Frank Whitman's family. The man had supervised these mines during their most productive—and most dangerous—years. He would have known about the illegal mining, the covered-up accidents, maybe even the corruption her father had discovered years later.
But something else nagged at her. Something about the way the killer operated, the way he used the darkness as a weapon. That wasn't just knowledge passed down from father to son.
That was experience.
That was personal.
She picked up her phone to call her father, then stopped. Gabriel was supposed to be talking to Hank Dawson, trying to uncover another piece of this puzzle. But maybe there was someone else who could help—someone who'd been studying these mines and their history for decades.
She dialed his number. He answered on the second ring, the sound of coffee brewing in the background. "Doc Sullivan."
"Doc, it's Sheriff Stone. I need everything you have on Frank Whitman. Especially anything about his family."
"Frank Whitman," Doc Sullivan said, his voice carrying the weight of memory. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in years." Papers rustled on his end of the line. "Give me a minute to pull his file."
Sheila put the phone on speaker so Finn, who had just returned, could hear. More rustling, then the sound of a drawer opening.
"Here we go," Sullivan said. "Frank Whitman, mine foreman from 1959 to 1977. Respected member of First Baptist Church, served on the town council for three terms. On paper, he was a pillar of the community."
"But?" Sheila prompted.
"But there were rumors. Things the older miners still talk about, though never above a whisper." A pause. "Frank had... unusual ideas about safety protocols. Accidents that should have shut down operations for weeks were cleaned up overnight, paperwork filed showing all proper procedures were followed."
"He was covering up unsafe conditions?" Finn asked.
"More than that. According to these notes, he was actively hiding evidence of rich copper deposits, helping the mining company claim certain veins had played out when they were still viable."