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"Who?" Sage asked, feigning confusion. She glanced at the pictures but quickly looked away, as though the faces meant nothing to her. "My memory isn't great, especially when it comes to faces. They all start to blur together after a while."
Sheila narrowed her eyes, studying Sage's expression. Something was off; she had a nagging feeling that the psychic was lying. But why? Because she had harmed them? If so, why?
"Think carefully, Sage," Sheila said. "These women were murdered. We found tarot cards on their bodies, just like the ones you use."
"Like I said," Sage said, her voice flat, "I don't remember them. I see so many clients, it's hard to keep track."
As she watched Sage's face for any sign of deceit, Sheila's thoughts raced. What was it about this woman that set her on edge? Was it her fascination with death, or something more sinister lurking beneath the surface?
Trying to maintain control over her emotions, Sheila took a deep breath and reminded herself that they needed concrete evidence to make an arrest. She couldn't let her suspicions cloud her judgment.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted Sheila's thoughts, and she looked up to see the metal handle turning. The door opened, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered officer with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He was wearing latex gloves and held a small plastic evidence bag in one hand.
"Detective Stone," he said, nodding at her. "Could I speak with you a moment?"
Sheila nodded and, after exchanging a glance with Finn, stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.
"We found this in Sage Walker's purse," the officer said, handing her the plastic bag.
Sheila opened the bag and peered inside. A small, compact knife rested within, its handle gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Her heart raced as she studied the weapon, examining it for any signs of blood or other evidence that could link it to the murders.
"Thanks, Officer Daniels," Sheila said, her voice tight with anticipation.
"Of course, detective," he replied before retreating down the hallway, leaving Sheila alone with the potential murder weapon.
Taking a deep breath, Sheila clutched the bag and re-entered the interrogation room. She felt a chill run down her spine as she locked eyes with Sage, who sat across the table, her face a mask of defiance.
"Recognize this?" Sheila asked, holding up the knife for Sage to see.
Sage's eyes widened, and her face grew pale. For a moment, she said nothing, her lips pressed together in a tense line. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper.
"It's mine," she admitted reluctantly. "I got it for self-defense. You know, considering what Derek Steele did to me, I think it's pretty clear that I need to protect myself sometimes."
"Not many people have the stomach to stab someone," Finn said. "Most would rather use something like pepper spray."
Sage glared at him but remained silent, her gaze flicking between the knife and Sheila's face. The atmosphere in the room seemed to thicken, tension hanging heavy like a storm about to break.
In Sheila's mind, a whirlwind of questions churned. She could feel the weight of the knife in her hand, and she wondered if it had indeed been used to end the lives of Juliette Reed and Natasha Petrova. If it had, then they were one step closer to solving this case. But if not, then what was Sage hiding?
"Talk to me, Sage," Sheila said. "Why was this knife in your purse? Is there something you're not telling us?"
The psychic hesitated, her eyes darting away from the detective's intense gaze. She looked smaller now, more vulnerable, and Sheila sensed that whatever secrets Sage was keeping, they were buried deep within her, hidden beneath layers of fear and mistrust.
"I don't know what else to tell you," Sage murmured, avoiding eye contact. "It's just for self-defense, I swear."
Sheila's eyes narrowed. "Cut the crap, Sage," she said, her patience wearing thin. "We both know you're lying. Why do you have that knife?"
Sage's breath hitched, the corners of her eyes crinkling with distress. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, swallowing hard before she finally spoke. "Fine," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The knife...it's for a ceremonial ritual. That's why I have it."
"A ritual?" Finn asked skeptically, his brow furrowed. "What kind of ritual?"
"An offering," Sage said, her voice steadier now. "I use the knife to cut a small piece of my hair and burn it as an offering to the spirits. It's just a way for me to stay connected with the other side. Lots of people do it—it's no big deal."
"Right," Sheila muttered, not entirely convinced. But she had more pressing matters to focus on. "Let's talk about last night. Where were you?"
"I...I was at home," Sage replied hesitantly, her gaze fixed on the floor.
"When?"
