He then stood up and moved to a box. He bent over, sitting on his heels as he reached inside, where dozens of compasses lay within. He grabbed hold of one and held it in his hand for a moment. Just like all the others, it was defective and he carefully moved the needle, pointing it to the southern point, where it remained no matter which way he moved it. He carefully placed it in his pocket and exited the barn—the smell still lingering in his nose—and looked off into the distance, to the forest.

Chapter Six

Twenty minutes later Tara stood at the first crime scene, with Warren, Sheriff Russo, and two other cops by her side. She was right. Just above the deep red stains on the forest floor stood a tree, its branches outstretched and winding in every direction—and dangling off of one was a compass. Underneath, the same engravings from the last scene were dug out in the tree as well. It was almost identical, except for one thing—the compass was pointing north, the way they just came from.

Warren and the other officers stood in shock, and Tara could see the fire in the sheriff’s eyes as he looked to his officers. He had mentioned that they had been patrolling the area around the clock, but now, they all knew that one of them wasn’t doing his job.

“Who was on watch early this morning?” the sheriff snarled.

One of the cops’ eyes fell to the floor, his face flushing a deep red, almost the same shade as his hair. He was clearly guilty. The other cop stood there quietly, looking between his friend and his boss, unsure if he should speak.

“Well?” the sheriff asked again, this time moving closer to the guilty-looking officer.

“I might’ve dozed for a minute. I’m really—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Sheriff Russo looked at the cop dumbfounded and threw his arms in the air. Tara could see the blood boiling through his skin as a vein pulsated on his forehead. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

“How long?” he asked.

The cop’s eyes remained fixated on the ground. “It could’ve been about thirty minutes.”

The sheriff suddenly burst. “Thirty minutes?!” he screamed, his voice echoing off the trees until the forest fell again into silence.

He was about to open his mouth again. But suddenly, Warren placed his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder.

“Let’s focus on what’s important right now,” he uttered, as he pointed to the tree. “You got a map of the trail?”

The sheriff gave one last blazing glare at his officer before grabbing hold of a map in his pocket and handing it to Warren. They all knew the cop made a terrible mistake and would likely be suspended, but Warren was right—the mistake already happened and now they needed to focus.

Warren bent over, laying the map upon the ground, and motioned with his hand for Tara to come near. She sat on her heels next to him. He was beginning to trust her, letting her in on the workings of his mind, seeking her opinion, and she felt her confidence grow at the slow gain of his trust.