Chapter Three
The sun had banished every grey cloud from the sky and a breeze swayed the heather brushes, but Callan’s thoughts were sour. He wanted to howl, rip something apart. But nothing short of a miracle could make things right again. He’d never find his best friend. Erwin took that secret to his grave.
They’d erected a tent to protect evidence from the rain, and its white sheets fluttered in the wind.
Callan swiped a hand over his face. Heat doused him in beads of sweat. The mist had faded, bringing the shrouded scene to life: shrubs spotted with dew drops, wet earth effusing its scent and a silence weighed down with death.
Dr Brown rushed in with pinched lips, the bags under her eyes more prominent than ever, her hair a violent tornado of grey.
He stepped back to let her do he
