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off at least until he could find the victim’s car and have it secured by Crime Scene.
    Holding the black plastic key in the air, he pressed the red rectangular button. Twenty or so yards away a car alarm went off. Jack followed the sound until he spotted the red Toyota whose lights were flashing. He silenced the alarm and called Sergeant Walker’s cell phone.
    â€œFound her car,” he said when Tony came on the phone.
    â€œI heard,” Tony said. “I’ll send someone.”
    A few minutes later a female crime scene tech pulled up in a marked car. She was as tall as Jack, strongly built, and he imagined that if her hair wasn’t pulled back into a tight ponytail, she would be a knockout. She looked like a bodybuilder, her face angular and sharp but pretty.
    â€œHello, Detective Murphy,” she said, and they shook hands.
    Jack had been expecting someone who was already on scene to come out of the hotel and process the vehicle.
    She noticed his hesitance and said, “Officer Martin.” Her voice was deep and pleasant, almost sultry, but she was all business. When he still didn’t speak, she said, “Don’t worry, Detective Murphy. I may be new—and a woman—but I’m very competent.”
    â€œI have no doubt,” Jack said, a little offended by her attitude. Maybe more offended that she was slightly on target about his thought process. “I just wondered how much you know about what is going on here, Officer Martin.”
    Instead of answering right away she slipped on a pair of gloves and pulled a digital camera from her vehicle. “You’ll tell me what I need to know. So what are we looking for, sir?” She offered Jack a pair of gloves, but he declined.
    â€œThe car should be fingerprinted first before we open it,” he said, and walked a little away and called Sergeant Walker.
    â€œTony, Officer Martin is here, but I think she may need another pair of hands.”
    â€œSorry, Jack. I’m out of officers. You’ll have to be her backup.”
    Jack put the phone back in his pocket and walked back to the young tech. “It appears that I’m your backup.”
    She grinned and offered him the gloves again. “Well then, let’s get to it.”
    For the next fifteen minutes Jack alternately watched and/or handed Officer Martin fingerprint brushes, print-lift kits, and her various cameras, until she declared the car securely fingerprinted on the outside and pertinent areas inside. Jack had to admit that she was very competent, and probably more thorough than some of the more experienced crime scene officers that he knew. He had to resist the impulse to tell her that she had done excellent work, for fear that this might be taken as a gender-biased remark.
    â€œWhat now?” he asked.
    She opened the driver’s door of the Toyota. “You can look inside, but not get inside. Please don’t disturb anything,” she said, and then seeing the look on his face, added, “sir.”
    There was nothing in plain view inside the vehicle, or in the trunk, but in the glove box he found the rental agreement. Otherwise, the car was so clean and tidy it didn’t appear to have been driven. Jack doubted the killer had been in it, but it would still be towed to storage for a thorough examination by Walker’s crew.
    Jack straightened up and stretched his back, and said, “Thanks for the assistance, Officer Martin.”
    â€œI’ll have it towed to our garage. We’ll call you when it’s been processed, sir.”
    Jack slipped off the latex gloves and stuck them in his pocket, then pulled out his notebook and wrote down the description of the car, including license plates and location in the parking lot.
    The rental agreement was from Alamo Rent A Car at Evansville Dress Regional Airport, less than a mile away. Why would she rent a car from there? he wondered. The answer might be at Alamo. His next