CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
It had taken Sheriff Harrison five minutes to arrive at the old mine. A fleet of police vehicles was with him, their blue and red-light bars blinking and flashing. But no sirens.
Harrison’s truck skidded to a halt at the bottom of the track, where it came together with Main Street. Harrison found Nash knelt at the junction, checking what appeared to be fresh tire treads.
“What the hell happened, Nash?” Harrison barked as he threw himself out of his truck.
Nash looked up at him. He still wore the waders, not contaminating the scene with different shoeprints.
“I went to check out the mine for evidence. Jordan was gone when I came back,” Nash gave the briefest account. He’d have to give a fuller statement later. “Funny thing was, I didn’t hear anything,” Nash said.
“W
