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and then you can go in and pull the body out,” Mull said, beginning to make notes on a small writing pad. “But be careful. The initial reports say that it isn’t pretty in there,” he warned.
    â€œIs it a boy or a girl?” I asked.
    â€œIt appears to be a girl, but we don’t absolutely know yet. There isn’t enough light going into the opening for us to make anything more than an educated guess. The body is also face-down. Anyway, what does it matter?” he asked, as he showed his identification to another officer that questioned his permission to be on the scene.
    â€œI guess it doesn’t,” I said. I stepped into my diving suit and rubbed my hands together, as the steam of my breath mixed with the smoke from the remnants of a cigarette he had stepped on forcefully with his heel. Mull smelled like he had been up for days. More than likely the lack of progress on any one of the cases was starting to get to him. But I knew it was more than that. I think I would have been more concerned if the case hadn’t affected him. I looked towards him again when he questioned me. His eyes were nearly colorless, empty.
    â€œAre you alright?” he asked.
    â€œFine. Why?” I couldn’t tell if I was shaking because of the cold, or what was happening.
    â€œNothing. Forget it. I’m going to talk to the photographer. I want to make sure he gets pictures of the other structures as well, and not just the silo, but a wider scope of the acreage. I don’t want to miss anything,” he said. His determination was intense, but sometimes caution led to the corruption of certainty.
    I moved in front of the car and looked closely at the decaying silo and attached barn for the first time. It was situated to the direct left of what appeared to be dairy cattle housing, with metal bars separating the stalls. The paint and the materials underneath the exterior had started to decay away. It was hard to tell what color it had once been. Less than eight feet away from the body stood the barn, which was being searched thoroughly and had been sealed off by the department. There were rotted hay bales all around the sides of the structure. The dilapidated farmhouse stood opposite the barn. It was odd, but the smell reminded me of an old, musty book. Some fall decorations were toppled against an immobile tractor. The tires were missing. The intense flash of a camera flickered in the distance. A photographer came out of the barn and moved along the side of the house towards the rear of the property. Someone yelled out something about not forgetting to take pictures of the water well out back.
    â€œIt’ll be a couple more minutes,” one of the forensic experts said to me, reaching out for my shoulder as I started to move nearer the scene. When I looked closer I noticed that it was the coroner, Walter Fasman. I had seen him at the other crime scenes, but had never been this close to him until now. I tried, when I wasn’t in the water, to keep my distance.
    â€œYou can wait in one of the squad cars if you want to. Just put on gloves if you’re going to move around inside any of the buildings, especially the house, in case you touch anything. They haven’t checked some of the areas yet. Besides, they’ll help keep your hands warm,” he added.
    I ducked underneath more caution tape and pulled the collar of my coat higher up my neck. The screen door to the farmhouse, filled with holes, hung diagonally off its rusted hinges. I opened it slowly, hoping what was left of the supports would remain intact. The smell from outside had penetrated the oppressive darkness within. I felt for a light switch, but there wasn’t any power. Portable lights from the fire department were supposedly on their way, but it would take them some time to get here, as a result of the weather. There was just so much mud around the old house. The living room windows were broken, and what was