In desperation, I called Thomas, pleading with the coordinates.
I activated the mic. “Eric here, calling Thomas. We require urgent support. Coordinates are next.” Carefully, I relayed each number, while Dana continued recording. “Received,” Thomas acknowledged. “Arriving in two minutes.” I confirmed our position again: north ridge, marker 17, with a dry wash to the west. I informed him of a puzzling device talking from within a saguaro. “Protect the site,” instructed Thomas. “Avoid any more interference.” “Got it,” I replied. I attached the GPS data to the evidence board, ensuring all equipment had full power.
In desperation, I called Thomas, pleading with the coordinates.
Cradling My Friend’s Last Words, I Sealed the Whispering Recorder
Inserting the forceps deeply, I snagged the tiny speaker unit by its clasp. “Got it,” I murmured as it emitted a series of clicks and hisses. “Eric,” it echoed. I maneuvered it carefully into an evidence bag while Dana recorded every detail up close. “Seal one,” she instructed, noting the exact time. I pressed the zipper firmly before placing the first bag inside another. “Seal two,” I declared. I marked it with the place, date, and my initials. “Chain of custody is official,” Dana affirmed, signing off on the logboard.
Cradling My Friend’s Last Words, I Sealed the Whispering Recorder
