seymoure

Chapter 8
“Blood Prints”

The Police were done and gone.

The 40 member crime unit had been called in and they had all exhausted every trick in their voluminous repertoire. If there was a stone anywhere nearby it had been turned.

Now Jason was ready to start his investigation of Kadavore’s graveyard base.

He had already been to the club and found it to be a human abattoir. It was like few things he had ever seen. The slaughter had taken place quickly and there was so much destruction that it was impossible to get a
worthwhile piece of evidence.

Sure there was a lot of blood evidence, but little of anything else.

Nobody should die like that.

Now he scoured the ground and the trees in Bandecott, but there was little to be found.

Every piece of evidence gathered at the scene was being collated and cataloged.

His wedge into the department computers told him all they knew, and it wasn’t much.

This site, like the other was covered in sprays of blood. Nearby tombstones, trees and a family crypt that happened to be too close, all were painted with someone’s life.

The saloon blood was the blood of those present without any independent contributions.

The graveyard blood was from a single source, but no one in any of the DNA databases available for comparison.

Jason’s eyes swept the ground, knowing full well that the area had been sifted like the dirt at an archeological dig by the evidence technicians.

He was going over the space for the third time, if he got nothing with this attempt he would return home.

He knew he was going to have to do something different this time around if he was going to bring anything new into the evidence locker.

While expanding his circle of inspection another 20 feet he at last ran across something. There was a scrap of newspaper on the ground. The blowing wind did not move it. That was the Tell.

No one would have noticed it, and neither would he, had not the wind been blowing. But the breeze told him it was stuck to the ground.

When he picked it up he saw what the adhesive substance had been. It was more blood. That was not unique; there had been enough blood to float a fleet of toy boats.

But the pattern of the blood was of a shoe.

There were no other prints of any kind recovered at the scene.

Back in his vehicle he photographed the paper impression and sent the image back to his lab.

Then he placed the paper in a bag, put the bag in an envelope and addressed it. At the first opportunity he pulled over and slipped the evidence into a mail box.

It was only fair that since, even though they were not aware of the fact, the police were sharing their information with him, he should do the same.

After all, though they didn’t acknowledge it, they were on the same side.

He knew they were scared by this guy.

They had every reason.

He had wiped out the heads of the most vicious gangs in town and left his bloody card at the graveyard. He was obviously there to take over, and it looked like no one stood in his way.

There was going to be a lot of killing done before this affair was over with, and Jason was going to be responsible for some of it.

Jason already hated this guy for that fact.

Now he was going back to the complex to take whatever information the foot print would give him. Then he would read the compilation of media his investigators were putting together for him about this
guy.

By then French would be insisting that he have breakfast.