ALF CROUCHED DOWN BESIDE the abandoned Cobalt luxury speed boat and ran a finger over the bullet holes peppering the red and black fiberglass along its side. The two windshields had several bullet holes and several inches of water covered the floor.
There were no casings or spent cartridges inside the boat...no evidence that its passengers ever returned fire. But there was blood. Lots of it.
He frowned, pushing to his feet. “Did you get a sample of that blood?”
The Crime Scene Unit from nearby Greenwood scurried over the boat, digging bullets from the fiberglass and dropping them into evidence bags. The technician nearest him nodded. “Do we know who owns this boat?” The man had chin length dark brown hair that hung in stringy strands around a long, narrow face. His eyes were a startling
