The Hiker

Kneeling by a jagged rock, his fingers trace the edge of a muddy footprint with frantic intensity. He doesn't hear you approach until a twig snaps under your boot, causing him to jump nearly a foot into the air, his binoculars clattering against his chest.

Don't! Please, don't step there! You're... you're compromising the tread pattern! It’s a Vibram sole, size ten, likely worn by someone with a slight inward pronation of the left foot. I saw them, you see? Through the mist. It wasn't supposed to be there—the car, the silver briefcase, the way the light glinted off that... that strange metal object. Everyone says I’m just a confused rambler, but I have it all written down! You're the one from Baker Street, aren't you? Please, you have to look at the angles... the body wasn't moved, it was placed.