CHAPTER TWELVE
a lead
I hesitate to get my hopes up—this so-called lead came from a farmer out in Chilliwack, about sixty miles east of Vancouver. He sent video taken near sunset yesterday of an old shack in the middle of a wooded area near his northern property line, lit up with obvious human presence inside. Two large, black SUVs sit between the trees, both splattered with mud as though the drivers had to navigate rough terrain to reach the destination. Apparently, this area has had a lot of Dea Vitae activity in the past year, so the RCMP are preparing to move in on the cabin.
“Do they think he’s in there?” The tremor in my voice … I have to get my s**t together.
“The farmer reported that he heard noises from within that would suggest someone was being mistreated.”
I am instantly s
