My partner handed me the shot done with the Luminol spray, and I glared at the square void on the seat.

“Well, I don’t doubt that a press like this was in the car,” I said. “Enough times to make those impressions.”

“But not this time?” Remy asked, anticipating from my tone.

“Well . . .” I compared the picture to the size of the actual pill press in front of me. “Even though this is a small pill press, it’s still two feet high on its side, Rem. It would’ve blocked more of the blood spray.”

“Aww shit,” Carlos said, seeing it himself.

“Plus, if this press was in the car at the time of our double,” I said, “I don’t think the old man could’ve gotten off that shot at Carilla.”

I sat down in the back seat, mimicking the shooter’s action.

“Bam.” I pointed at the driver in the front seat with my finger. “Bam.” I pointed at the front passenger. Then I reached out to where Carilla would’ve been seated and my hand smacked against the pill press.

“He coulda side-armed it,” Remy said.

I held the gun like in a gangster movie, cockeyed, my hand extending in front of the machine.

“The other problem’s the spray,” I said. “It wouldn’t have gotten all over the back of the seat with this big-ass machine in here.”

“Truth,” Carlos said.

My phone pulsed in my jacket pocket. Heard Remy’s ring at the same time. But I ignored the noise, focusing on the task at hand.

“Let’s get it out,” I said, and Carlos grabbed the pill press from one side, while I held the other.

Once the press was back on the cart, I leaned into the back seat again, from the left side.

“Something was back here all right.” I motioned at the back seat of the car while grabbing Remy’s phone and holding the picture out. “It’s yea high. Maybe six or eight inches.”

“And goes out to here.” Remy tapped near the front edge of the seat.

“Hold on,” Carlos said, and walked over to the recycle bin.

He came back with two empty Amazon boxes. He placed the first one on the seat, and I shook my head. But the second was pretty close. I got out of the car, leaving the cardboard box in place. Remy and I stared in then, comparing the box to the picture with the void in the blue smears on her phone.

“A case of some sort,” she said, taking back her cell and snapping a picture of the cardboard box on the seat.

“The sort not found when patrol came upon the car with the two bodies,” I added. “So if Carilla ran—”

“The old man took the case with him,” Remy said. “After he cleaned up the car.”

My partner glanced down at her phone and nudged me to look. The text we’d both gotten was from Dispatch. A patrolman had found the hotel where the old guy had been staying.