Brady had died barely two miles from Spansom. The three of them followed a village path for half an hour, then spotted a dense, thriving pine forest in the distance.
Most of the trees had stood for over a hundred years and towered more than forty feet high. Looking up, Roy saw their broad, thick, umbrella-shaped branches clustered together, lush and green, blocking out the sunlight.
A thick layer of dead branches and leaves carpeted the ground. The smell of soil and decaying plant matter filled their nostrils. Every so often, a small animal poked its head out from the pines, took a look, then fled in panic deeper into the forest.
"Gentlemen, the crime scene is just ahead. There's still dried blood there, so I'm sure you'll recognize it at a glance. I'll wait here. I won't be joining you."
According to Cassili, the village chief, places where people had died were unlucky and brought misfortune.
He had already visited the scene once. This time, he had no desire to go near it.
The two men didn't press him.
From a distance, at the edge of the forest, several unusually long branches among the orderly rows of pines bent inward and converged, forming a "spire" taller than a man. Beneath it, the leaf-covered ground had turned reddish brown. Flies swarmed over a few scattered scraps of flesh and bone.
Fortunately, it hadn't rained in the past three days, so the traces at the crime scene had been preserved.
The two moved closer. Human footprints were scattered messily across the ground, likely left by the villagers. A faint, rancid odor also hung in the air nearby.
As they went farther, a soft buzzing suddenly sounded in the quiet forest. Roy jumped, his body jerking as he arched his back like