Page 25 of The Echo Man (Major Crimes)

Libby points to another arc of dark red. “And this here,” she says, “is suggestive of arterial blood, which I’m guessing would tie up with a peri-mortem wound on the victim’s neck or similar. Postmortem report back yet?”

Cara shakes her head. “Today, I hope.”

Libby walks around to the other back door and opens it. She directs Cara’s attention to a speckled pattern of blood on the back of the driver’s seat, some drops dribbled downward, some hollow and round. “This looks like expirated blood. See the air bubbles within the spots? And the stringing where it’s mixed with saliva? I’d guess this is the victim coughing after being stabbed in the chest.”

Libby’s eyes narrow.

“Those poor girls,” she repeats. She takes a deep breath in. “We have fingerprints in blood all around the car, some smudges, some patterns from material.”

“From gloves?”

“Could be. Let’s hope that at some point he nicked himself on the knife and we get something from him.”

Cara looks at the position of the driver’s seat. It’s a big car, but there’s little leg room behind: it’s been pushed right back, the rearview mirror tilted up to a high angle.

“What’re your thoughts about that?” Cara asks, showing Libby.

“We noticed it. Definitely not moved postmortem. You see the linear pattern of drips?” She moves out of the way so Cara can see. “Where the victim’s blood ran down to the floor from the back of the seat?”

Cara nods. “So could be our guy’s natural driving position?”

“Could be. We took a few measurements. Estimated a height between five ten and six four.”

They walk away from the car. Outside the cordon they pull their suits off, balling them up.

Out of her usual crime scene outfit, Libby cuts an impressive figure in tight black jeans and a black sweater, thick eyeliner and long lashes highlighting her light blue eyes. She takes the white gloves off, revealing shiny, silver-painted nails.

“You’ll have my formal report within forty-eight hours,” she finishes. Then she peers closely at Cara. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine? You’re the senior investigating officer for a violent double homicide, one of the worst I’ve seen for a while, and you’re fine?”

Cara shrugs. “You know. Still on for drinks tonight?”

“Of course. And Deaks? Is he coming?”

“No, he’s busy.” Cara grins. “Hoping for a repeat performance?”

“Would never hurt.” Libby smiles in reply. “He’s not seeing anyone then?”

“Free and easy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Libby says, reaching over and giving Cara a hug goodbye. “Nothing about Noah is easy.”

* * *

Cara appreciates the quiet on the drive back, but any sanity she’s managed to preserve is ruined as soon as she steps in the building. DS Taylor is waiting for her at the door. Cara forces a smile.

“Griffin’s been hanging around again,” Taylor says, eschewing any sort of friendly greeting. “I thought you should know.”

Cara beckons her over to the side of the corridor, out of earshot of other coppers.

“What do you mean, ‘hanging around’?”

“Interviewing my arson suspect, for a start,” Taylor snaps. “Somehow got in there first, made me look like a right idiot.”

But you make it so easy, Cara thinks, but doesn’t say out loud.

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