How to Solve a Crime?
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all Brass had on him. He laid a credit card on the bar counter and wished it luck. It only had to bear the price of a couple of rounds, but his salary and his expenses were not on speaking terms lately.
It was Christmas in Las Vegas. Every year, it set him back until April. Which was tax time. Which set him back until Christmas. There was a comforting rhythm to it.
‘They have some good single malts,’ Catherine said, and ordered a beer. That was one of the things Brass liked about her. She had class, but didn’t make a man pay for it.
Marg Helgenberger as Catherine Willows, Las Vegas Crime Scene Investigation senior supervisor. Catherine is the glamorous commander of a crack team of forensic criminologists
It was 4:30am on Christmas Eve, meaning it was Christmas morning to anybody who had got some sleep in the interim, and crime scene investigators Catherine Willows and Nick Stokes had just finished dropping off bodies and registering the evidence they’d gathered at a messy murder scene.
The fatal string of Christmas lights was wound around the female victim’s neck so many times the coroner was going to have to cut it from the corpse. The second victim was her husband; they assumed he was the one that did the strangling. With the steak knife in his neck, he’d only had just enough blood in him to finish the job.
‘The weird part,’ Nick remarked, leaning on the bar with his heavy forearms, ‘is the lights around her neck were still on when we got there.’
‘It lent a certain festive air to the scene,’ Brass replied.
Brass’s understudy for the evening, a young detective by the name of Ottman, known as ‘The Otter’ among the wittier senior staff, sat uncomfortably between Catherine and Brass. He looked ill. He hadn’t worked many murder scenes before, and this one wasn’t just bloody, it was ironic. Irony always made things worse.
The knife was part of a gift set intended for the dead man. It had his monogram burned into
It was Christmas in Las Vegas. Every year, it set him back until April. Which was tax time. Which set him back until Christmas. There was a comforting rhythm to it.
‘They have some good single malts,’ Catherine said, and ordered a beer. That was one of the things Brass liked about her. She had class, but didn’t make a man pay for it.
Marg Helgenberger as Catherine Willows, Las Vegas Crime Scene Investigation senior supervisor. Catherine is the glamorous commander of a crack team of forensic criminologists
It was 4:30am on Christmas Eve, meaning it was Christmas morning to anybody who had got some sleep in the interim, and crime scene investigators Catherine Willows and Nick Stokes had just finished dropping off bodies and registering the evidence they’d gathered at a messy murder scene.
The fatal string of Christmas lights was wound around the female victim’s neck so many times the coroner was going to have to cut it from the corpse. The second victim was her husband; they assumed he was the one that did the strangling. With the steak knife in his neck, he’d only had just enough blood in him to finish the job.
‘The weird part,’ Nick remarked, leaning on the bar with his heavy forearms, ‘is the lights around her neck were still on when we got there.’
‘It lent a certain festive air to the scene,’ Brass replied.
Brass’s understudy for the evening, a young detective by the name of Ottman, known as ‘The Otter’ among the wittier senior staff, sat uncomfortably between Catherine and Brass. He looked ill. He hadn’t worked many murder scenes before, and this one wasn’t just bloody, it was ironic. Irony always made things worse.
The knife was part of a gift set intended for the dead man. It had his monogram burned into