Faded from months of exposure to the seasons, lengths of tattered yellow crime scene tape still fluttered in the breeze where it was caught in the branches of the shrubs dotting the old Omega auction house grounds.
The building itself was mostly boarded up, water-damaged copies of the county condemnation order declaring it unsafe were slapped onto the plywood screwed over the side and back entrances. A plastic-sheeted copy graced the only remaining access, the front door that I was unlocking.
When the key turned, I pulled the heavy steel door open and Colby shoved a large rock in place to hold it as we filed inside.
Now that the intertwined criminal cases that the Council of Packs, Security Division had spent years investigating were closed, and the sentencing hearing scheduled for the following day, all of the crime scenes had been officially slated for demolition, but I'd received special permission to bring a few of the victims into the burned-out auction house for one last visit.
To bring their experience full circle.