They pulled up to The Old Chapel at a little after four PM that same Wednesday in a convoy of two vehicles. Tara rode shotgun with Mike in the front of his Jeep, with Scotty bringing up the rear in his T4, hauling all of the kit he’d loaded up back in Cowes. Much of it was theirs but a fair bit that also belonged to SwitchBack TV.
All signs that this had been the scene of a major police forensics operation had gone, save for one solitary length of police tape. It was still tied around the flaky old bark of a gnarled old oak at the far side of the property’s boundary, the tape had been snapped six inches or so before the knot and the tail end fluttered lazily in the breeze.
Tara let out a terse breath through her teeth and lifted her oversize shades off her face as Mike brought the Jeep t
