How the hell do you get in?
A man wearing some sort of gas mask appeared from the right side of the barn through a much smaller door.
There, I guess.
Clad in a black windbreaker, with “CSU” in yellow lettering on the sleeve, the man was holding a strange-looking device in one hand.
He removed his mask, propped it on the top of his head. Red lines marked his face from where the rubber seal had pressed into his skin.
The machine in his hand beeped. He looked up, noticed them.
“You must be Detectives Ryan and Sacker.”
“Sacker.” Darnell pointed at his chest then at Vaughn. “Ryan.”
A nod.
“CSU tech Landon. You’re cleared to enter—don’t need a mask. It still smells a little, but it’s no longer dangerous.”
Now Vaughn wished that Darnell had given him a little more background.
Gas masks? Smell? No longer dangerous to enter?
What the hell was going on here?
“Follow me.”
Landon opened the door and Vaughn waited for his eyes to adjust before entering. It wasn’t dark inside the barn, not really. It was just... different. The lighting was harsher, less natural.
Landon went first, then Vaughn, then Darnell.
The smellwasbad. Rotten eggs. Just shy of strong enough to make Vaughn’s eyes water.
Bodies at crime scenes tended to be on the floor, so he, not wanting to be distracted by death and thus miss a potentially vital piece of evidence, made sure to keep his gaze confined to the upper third of the room.
And a room, it was.
This wasn’t a barn in any traditional sense. There was drywall, and a ceiling that looked much lower than the exterior of the building would have suggested. Not peaked. No exposed beams. No stalls or stables for livestock.
It was as if someone had built a modern room inside the barn. Retrofitted it. Tube lights ran along the ceiling. The construction wasn’t perfect—no one had bothered mudding or taping the drywall seams. No paint, either. A rough job.
An amateur job?
There was some sort of portable speaker mounted on a cheap shelf on the back wall, the power cable exiting through a hole behind it. An air vent—new—directly above.
Vaughn took two steps. He didn’t want to look down yet, but his shoes kicked up dirt, drawing his eyes. Whoever had made this room had stopped short of constructing a floor.
He saw the bodies now—two of them. Both face down, their arms and limbs posed awkwardly, but not unnaturally so. Both were male.
The face of the closest victim was aimed toward the door. His skin was pale—no, it had a bluish tinge to it—and his wide eyes were cloudy. A white substance had accumulated in the corners of his lips.
Vaughn craned his head around, looked at the door they’d just walked through. The knob was warped, the circular shape dented out of true. There were scratch or pry marks near the frame.
“The exterior door—” Darnell began.
“Locked,” Landon said, predicting the detective’s question.
“Like the padlock out front?” Vaughn asked absently.
