Page 57 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"...Caller waiting with Deputy Morgan..."

I barely heard any of it. My mind had already started working ahead. Why call in a necklace? Most hikers ignored jewellery. Maybe they'd recognised it. Maybe it was lying somewhere it shouldn't have been or maybe I'd spend the next six hours standing in wet boots while forensic technicians proved it belonged to someone who'd dropped it fifteen years ago.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. No. Not today. Fuck... Not today.

By the time I arrived, the forest had already begun swallowing the sound of engines. Blue lights flashed silently beneath the trees, their reflections dancing across rain-darkened trunks. Yellow crime scene tape stretched between two pines, fluttering lazily whenever the wind found it. Deputies were pushing back curious hikers gathering further down the trail. A forensic photographer crouched low to the ground, camera clicking in measured bursts.

Every movement felt deliberate, practised and controlled. I parked beside Walker's truck and stepped out into damp earth. The smell hit immediately. Rain, pine, wet moss, decaying leaves. The kind of smell that lingered on your clothes for hours after you'd left. Deputy Morgan spotted me first.

"Detective."

"What've we got?"

He gestured further into the trees.

"Hiker came through around seven this morning."

"Alone?"

"With his dog."

"They wandered off the trail about twenty metres."

I looked toward the woods.

"Why?"

"The dog."

He shrugged.

"Said it wouldn't stop sniffing around one particular patch."

My stomach tightened. Dogs, they always noticed things before we did. Morgan lowered the tape for me.

"Right this way."

I ducked underneath. Every instinct sharpened, every sound seemed louder, boots sinking softly into damp soil, camera shutters the distant murmur of radio branches creaking overhead. Nobody spoke unless they had to. That's how you could tell experienced investigators from television detectives. Real crime scenes were quiet because everyone was thinking. Morgan finally stopped beside a small clearing.

"There."

At first… I didn't see anything. Just leaves, mud and twisted roots. Then the photographer stepped aside. Half buried beneath a blanket of rain-soaked pine needles… Something silver caught the light. Small, delicate. A chain. Its pendant is barely visible beneath the earth. I crouched instinctively, careful to keep outside the evidence markers. The chain looked old. Weathered. The clasp had tarnished almost black, a tiny oval charm rested against the soil as if someone had simply... forgotten it. Except people didn't forget necklaces in places like this. Not usually. The forensic technician looked up at me.

"We haven't touched it yet."

I nodded without taking my eyes off it.

"Good."

For a long moment… Nobody moved or reached for it because the moment someone did… The questions would begin and I had a fucking feeling this tiny piece of silver was about to ask a lot of them.

"Photographs first," I said quietly.

The forensic photographer nodded once before circling the area again, camera clicking methodically from every possible angle. Wide shots, mid-range, close-ups. Every inch documented before a single blade of grass was disturbed.

I stayed where I was, waiting. Patience was one of the first things this job beat into you. Touch nothing and assume everything matters. The smallest mistake had buried more investigations than bad detectives ever had.

A woman in a white Tyvek suit carefully stepped forward, kneeling beside the necklace with practiced precision. Her gloved hands hovered above it for a moment before she reached for a pair of fine forceps.