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rapidly until they were satisfied that they had every shot theyneeded. Catherine hung back, supervising, while the guys lifted the confusing mélange of footprints onto clear plastic gel filters. The body’s supine position suggested that much of the blood had collected in his chest, cutting down on the size of the blood pool around him. Nonetheless, they would have to collect the carpet as well, once it no longer had a corpse lying on it. She walked around the body one last time before deciding that there was nothing more to be learned from its placement here. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s get Mr. Novak on his way.”
    While Greg labeled the footprints, Nick helped David flip over the body. Sure enough, an exit wound in his back confirmed that the bullet had passed all the way through him. They zipped the cadaver into a pristine white body bag made of polyvinyl chloride. The white fabric ensured that loose bits of trace evidence could be easily spotted should they fall off the body in transit. They loaded the body onto a gurney and David wheeled him out the door. Matt Novak’s next starring role would be at the morgue. The violent circumstances of his death mandated an autopsy, although Catherine would be surprised if Doc Robbins turned up anything unexpected. How Novak had died appeared obvious. Why was another matter.
    The big question: was this just a tragic accident— or something more premeditated?
    â€œHow about the witnesses?” she asked Brass.
    â€œWe’ve got them herded upstairs,” he informed her. “In the VIP lounges. Officers are keeping them apart until we can take their statements.”
    Catherine nodded. Separating any suspects andwitnesses was standard protocol. You didn’t want them comparing notes with each other. Even if there was no deliberate attempt to fabricate a phony story, too much chatter could mess up people’s memories, make them start to second-guess their own initial impressions. You wanted each person’s account, exactly as they remembered it, not some sort of consensus version.
    â€œAnd the shooter?” she asked.
    â€œPretty messed up,” Brass said. “No surprise. Paramedics are checking her out now.” He cocked his head toward the north wall. “There’s a bunch of studio trailers parked out back. I figure we can question people there. Give your guys plenty of room to work in here.” Nick and Greg were busy rolling up the carpet. “I’m going to talk to the shooter first. You want to sit in?”
    Probably not a bad idea. She needed to check the woman’s hands for GSR anyway, to confirm that she had indeed fired the fatal shot. “All right.” She packed up her field kit and addressed Nick and Greg. “You guys finish working the scene. Brass and I are going to ask some questions.”
    â€œWhatever you say, boss.” Nick took a breather before lugging the carpet out to the SUV. He unzipped his jacket to cool off. “We can handle things here.”
    â€œDon’t I know it,” she said. After taking charge of the night shift, she had drafted Nick as her second-in-command. So far, that was turning out to be one of her better executive decisions. “Keep me posted.”
    She vacated the office with Brass, leaving Nick and Greg to collect the remainder of the physical evidence, including the bullet in the wall. She knewshe could count on them to make sure everything made it safely back to the lab.
    â€œOkay,” she told Brass. “Let’s find out just what sort of colossal screw-up we’re dealing with here.”
    The trailers in the parking lot were of the sort used by film crews when shooting on location. Catherine had been in several such trailers before; she’d lost track of how many movies and TV shows had been filmed in Vegas. It was a popular location. Crossing the lot, she noticed that one of the trailers was larger and more