Shiny black men's dress shoes sunk into the mud, coming out dirty and sticky. He made loud, squelching sounds with every step, wincing at the noise. Jason Barlow liked sneak attacks and if there was one element that didn't help a sneak attack it was mud.
He made his way across the park slowly, the mud sucking his feet into the ground and wetting the edges of his once-clean pants. He clenched a durable black flashlight in his hand, sweeping the beam across the wet ground, looking for clues, tracks, a shred of fabric – anything.
It was ironic how the next few events played out. If Detective Barlow hadn't slipped in the mud, landing flat on his wide stomach before he could catch himself, he would have never found the tracks. Funny old world, isn't it?
His managed to stop from face-planting into the dirty, brown, clay-like substance that he despised so much. His jaw barely touched the ground and his nose pointed towards the small footprints in front of him. He let out a groan, then a gasp as his eyes widened in realization – tracks!
He got up, slipping on the tracks and erasing a few. He cursed himself in his mind, careful to step around the tracks this time. He pulled a camera out of his front pocket, snapping a few pictures from multiple angles. He would come back to measure them – the tracks were pretty fresh. She could still be in the woods, just waiting to be found.
He took off at a sprint.