After the disturbing way the morning had begun, Steve was grateful to see his inbox barren for once, leaving the remainder of the active homicide cases on the shoulders of the other detectives- and as such, allowing them more precious time to dig into the Saunders case.
The painful encounter with Carl the hermit was still fresh on his mind, as were the pressing questions he had for the illusive man.
Why had the attack changed when he saw his badge? Was it because he belonged to a different police department? Because he wasn't associated with Morris and his questionable ways? Had something happened during the murder that directly involved the Homicide Captain?
Those thoughts had circled his mind over and over again, growing his thirst to head back south and see if it was at all possible to track down Carl once more, see if they could convince the man to have a brief conversation, even if it would never be admissible in court.
In a case as dark and complex as this one, every tiny bit of information could lead to a breakthrough.
He could sense that Mike felt the same way when he suggested to get ready and leave for Burlingame after they shared a cup of coffee and had a chance to recover from the latest encounter with Verdant.
Thankfully, the Lieutenant had gone as far as to warn the front and back security guards of the defense lawyer, making sure that future attempts at trespassing would be duly noted.
An hour later, they left the misty and foggy morning in San Francisco behind to head south, navigating through the surprisingly dense traffic until they reached the crossing at I-280 that led to the park.
With limited room to park a vehicle, Steve carefully maneuvered the large Galaxie past the white railing aimed for pedestrian traffic and into a small clearing parallel to the highway, giving them enough room to get out safely despite the high-speed traffic driving by.
The weather down here was slightly better, the heavy mist all but disappeared now, the gray, cloudy sky showing the outline of the sun here and there.
Sighing quietly, Steve wrapped the beige overcoat a bit tighter around his body, hoping to trap in some heat that would ward off the chill he was feeling as they entered the forested path that once again seemed deserted today.
Next to him, Mike's gaze was focused on the trees, that experienced mind trying to make out any potential hiding spots, trying to decrease their odds for a repeat attack.
Protective as usual, the Lieutenant walked just a little ahead of him, enough to act as a shield, a strong wall of defiance in case Carl decided to go after them.
And for once, Steve relished the company and sense of safety.
As it was, the further they proceeded into the forest and down the winding path, the more he felt a distinct unease rise in his gut, the same one he sensed yesterday, shortly before being attacked.
It was a primal warning that they were being watched, that whoever watched them was tagging along, quietly, unseen, possibly waiting for the right time to strike.
Once again, it seemed as though Mike felt the exact same way, decreasing his communication to the bare minimum, using all his senses to take in the area, readying himself for an attack, imprinting their exact location in his mind to later pinpoint illusive Carl's Den, or so they hoped.
At the end of the day, even if the man didn't turn out to be a valuable witness, at least it would give them a start to offer some help in the form of finding him shelter and medical help.
Half an hour into their scouting session, Steve felt reasonably assured that they were close to the spot of the attack, the concrete walkway paralleling the trail he'd taken through the woods.
Nobody was in sight, even some of the wildlife seemed to have moved on for the time being.
Trying to shrug off his growing unease, Steve glanced around again, unable to make out anything amongst the thick underbrush and countless tree trunks that lined their path.
And yet, seconds later he made out the unpleasant scent that had accompanied Carl during yesterday's encounter, followed by the slightest brush against his sleeve.