Twilight by Brendan DuBois Read Free Book Online

on him. Karen and Sanjay joined us, standing behind the front of the Toyota where the tires and engine block might protect us if something bad were to happen.
    Karen said, exasperation in her voice, “Damn it, there he goes again. A man with a gun. Ninety percent of the world’s problems—and one hundred percent of our particular problems—would be eliminated if we could figure out a way to get rid of men with guns.”
    I think I surprised everyone there—including myself—by saying, “Don’t be so quick to get rid of this particular man. He’d die fighting to protect you, Karen, so show some appreciation, why don’t you?”
    Karen made a dismissive noise and looked to Sanjay for something, maybe reassurance. But Sanjay was watching with the rest of us as Charlie carefully walked around the buildings, stepping in and out for a moment or three. He then went into the two-story farmhouse. The building was painted bright yellow, which made the scorch marks around the broken windows that bit more dramatic. I looked out beyond the trees, wondering if the gunmen had come from there or if they had been so blatant as to come right up the driveway.
    Charlie came out of the house, the M-16 slung over his shoulder, and I realized then that my legs had relaxed—earlier they had been threatening to start shaking. Charlie met with Jean-Paul and they talked for a moment. Then Jean-Paul came over to us, shaking his head.

    â€œNo bodies, but there looks to be evidence in the barn and in the downstairs living room,” he said quietly. “Time for all of us to get to work.”
    There. For the first time since I had joined the team I had heard those quiet words. I went with Peter and Miriam to the rear of our Toyota, where each of us pulled out our work rucksack.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I wasn’t sure who to follow—those going into the house or those going into the barn—but when Miriam headed to the open doorway of the barn I joined her, my heavy rucksack dangling from one hand. We stood there for a moment, letting our eyes adjust to the gloom inside. I was surprised at the concrete floor of the barn: such an expenditure wasn’t to be expected in such a poor part of the country. Before us were empty stalls, bags of feed and fertilizer, and one area piled up with hay bales. One wooden wall was splintered and broken, like something had battered it fast and with great violence, and on the concrete below the wall hay had been spread around.
    Miriam stood by the wall, started toeing away some of the hay. “Peter, Samuel,” she said, her voice as serious as I’d ever heard it. “We’ve got bloodstains here.”
    Peter started undoing his rucksack. “And we’ve got impact rounds in the far wall. Looks like someone got lined up and shot.”
    â€œYes,” Miriam said.
    I felt like I could not say a thing. They had been to such places before, had had experiences, had a history with each other. All I had was my own rucksack and my own pitiful tools. I spared a glance as Peter started working, examining the bullet holes in the chewed-up wall, making soft little exclamations of delight as he found empty brass casings on the concrete.
Each casing was picked up and placed inside a tiny plastic bag. Miriam worked just as diligently but much more quietly as she gently brushed away the strands of hay covering the floor. Each of them was now wearing latex gloves.
    I took out my own tools: a small laptop, a digital camera and a portable satellite uplink station. I powered up everything and when the camera was ready I input the day’s date and time and our coordinates—with the GPS signal they were accurate to a meter or two. Then I got to work also, photographing Miriam and Peter, and then photographing the evidence as well. It was quiet in the large barn as we worked, and I tried not to let my imagination take hold of me. I concentrated on the