Page 11 of Dark Shadows
“We’re ready,” the man said.
Mason nodded. “Clear the site.”
One of the techs grabbed his radio and gave a short command to clear the scene.
Another closed the latches on a metal case filled with sealed evidence bags.
The workers didn’t linger. A few exchanged nods with Mason before slipping past the tape and heading toward the vans.
“Holler if you need us,” one of them called over his shoulder.
As the others followed, every set of eyes shifted to Savanah instead of Mason. No one said a word, but the message was clear. They were all curious about why she was there.
Mason handed her gloves and disposable booties. “Put these on. We’ve got to keep the scene clean, or the lab techs will have my head.”
He gestured to the barn’s open doors.
“You must have some clout in the FBI world if they’re taking direction from you.”
“I do what’s necessary to get the job done. Besides, my success rate doesn’t suck since my best friend can hear the pissed-off ghosts.”
“Then why isn’t she here instead of me?” Savanah asked.
“Cree’s nine months pregnant, and she believes you’re the one that’s crucial to figuring this out.” He tipped his head toward the barn. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Savanah rested her hand on her stomach, trying to still the butterflies taking off. She swallowed around her dry throat and stepped inside the open barn doors.
Her name was painted in red on the weathered barn slats, making her heart race. Next to her name was a symbol painted on the wall. A spiraled circle with a line cut through the middle. If seeing her name had been left there for shock effect, it worked. She was fighting every instinct in her body that demanded she run. “Is that…”
“Blood? No.” he said, looking in the other direction.
“You weren’t kidding when you said my name was left at the crime scene. That’s a little over the top.”
Mason raised a brow. “You impressed?”
“Oh, thrilled. Nothing screams welcome home like a corpse and a handwritten invitation in fake blood. Any idea what that symbol is supposed to represent?”
“Not a clue. I was hoping you’d recognize it.”
“Afraid not.” She shook her head and turned toward the man hanging from the rafters. Bile rose in her throat.
His pale body had a bucket under his feet filled with blood. “That isn’t the guy I saw. That guy is older with a different build. The man I saw was clean-shaven, and he didn’t have a scar near his jawline.”
“Yeah.” Mason gestured to a set of skeletal remains sitting on top of a blue tarp next to a freshly dug hole. “We believe that’s the one you saw.”
“I don’t understand,” Savanah said.
“The age of decay on that one matches the timeframe of your statement when you were a kid. This guy…” Mason gestured to the hanging man. “He’s recent, and there was a note attached to his shirt, addressed to you. We’ll run the prints on everything here, including the tarp, to figure out who we’re dealing with. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Two dead guys.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“We might get DNA from the inside of the note if it was sealed before being pinned. All evidence is being routed directly to our FBI lab in Quantico through expedited channels. We're not relying on local facilities for processing, other than the coroner.”
“That’s probably smart considering they didn’t believe me about that guy. How did you know to dig in that spot to find him?” She pointed to the tarp. She turned her attention back to the hanged man.
“We didn’t. We believe the perp who killed the hanged man dug him up and left him for us to find. We should have some ID’s and preliminary results within twenty-four hours and full analysis within days instead of weeks.”
She didn’t dare get too close, afraid she might contaminate the scene. She could just make out her name scrawled on the front of the note attached to the man’s shirt. “What does it say?”
