Deep, jagged scratches in the pavement. A little blood. There was more police tape than evidence.
“What do you think?” Finley asked, gesturing at the grooves. They were clustered together, overlapping, like someone took a construction digger to the street but gave up when it turned out to be more work than they thought. Five or six feet long, and nearly as wide. Shain ran a gloved finger down the shallow trenches, pebbles scattering before her hand reached them.
“Claws,” she said. “Something big. Made of metal.”
“We didn’t find anything nearby.”
“No body, either?”
She nodded. “It took the victim. We’ve got a kidnapping here. If it were a murder they’d just let the golem collapse after the kill.”