He saw the black Ford Taurus pull behind the forensics van and knew who it was immediately. The Taurus, with its dents and bruises and scar tissue, looked like a mechanical Frankenstein. Or the poster child for a bad driving commercial. Taking a step back from the crime scene he was supposed to be working on, he pulled the rubber gloves off his hands and headed outside to talk to Marissa Hamm and Mike Bean.
“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” Joe said to the overweight, balding police detective.
“Me too,” Bean nodded, throwing an irritable glance at his partner, shoving hands into his slacks. “I’m not too sure about the kid on the motorbike she damn near ran over. Last time I saw him, he and the bike were heading for the banks of the Little Brown.”
“Both of you,” Marissa snapped angrily
