"It's not too much farther. We're almost there."
Famous last words.
…Or so Mike thought to himself, conquering another narrow path that led slightly uphill.
Admittingly so, Mears had taken a different route to get to the pond than Carl did and yes, it seemed as though they were moving into the general direction, as far as his memory served him- and his sense of smell that was once again picking up the sulfuric odor.
Steve was right behind him, quietly struggling through the assortment of bushes they should know by name now and which by no means had stopped tugging on their pantlegs or trying to rip the fabric of their clothes in half.
Every once in a while, he heard the young Inspector draw in a deep breath, a mixture of impatience, trepidation and sheer dread- something Mike couldn't exactly fault him on.
Ten minutes into their track to the "other side of the pond", most of the enthusiasm seemed to have come from Mears, who used every opportunity to remind them of the promise not to tell Morris.
Perhaps his senses were beginning to betray him but for once, Mike didn't notice Carl's presence, the hermit not following around like he usually did.
Was he busy doing stuff somewhere else? Had he not noticed their arrival yet? Or was it Mears's presence that he didn't like, quite understandable considering that he witnessed the killer's vile act when murdering little Kevin.
Forcing himself to remain calm as they played their game of naive city cops going after one bad apple at a time; he continued his travel, rubbing his cold palms against the soft material of his wool coat, generating barely enough warmth to get some feeling back.
After a couple more rounds of going up the hill, then down the hill, Mears's words had held true and they arrived at the other side of the small pond, overlooking it from a slight incline.
Across it, Mike could see the hole their lab crews had dug to expose Kevin's little body and remove it, leaving an area twice his size that was searched for any additional evidence.
The sight made his heart ache, his temper threatening to flare when present with the very man he was certain was responsible for the heinous crime.
Time.
He had to give it time, Mike told himself, trying to calm down in order to continue his charade of getting everyone involved indicted, remembering the importance of doing things by the book before he once again focused his attention on Mears.
He was about to ask the killer where he suspected Brandi LaRue's body to be, when he took in the faint scent of cigarettes, presumably belonging to the person with the red package he'd seen laying on Mears's table.