Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Seven
The warehouses stood like gutted beasts by the time Demir arrived.
Metal doors hung crooked on their hinges, locks snapped clean through. Inside, the air smelled wrong. Yet, the rooms were too clean, and too empty. Items that once brimmed with contraband lay overturned, their contents vanished without so much as a scuff mark to hint at direction. No footprints were left as well as no shell casings.
Only dead bodies and blood soaked into concrete, dark and sticky, carrying a metallic stench that clung to the back of Demir's throat.
He knew very soon that if they didn't clear this mess the police would be there soon.
Demir paced the length of the warehouse, jaw clenched so tight it ached. His men fanned out, lifting tarps, prying open false panels, checking ceilings and drains, anything that might whisper a clue. They found nothing. Not even another brand of a careless cigarette butt.
