"Hallie Marie Whitmore, aged twenty four, found dead on June 10th at 11 p.m. She was sitting in the driver's seat of her Lexus out on old Route 44, the car engine still running. She'd been dead approximately four to five hours, placing her time of death between 6 and 7 p.m. The driver side door was open, her purse was still sitting in the passenger seat, cash and credit cards still in her wallet, her jewelry still on her person," Officer Collins explained as Tessa opened the file folder emblazoned with Hallie Whitmore's name.

The first sight to greet her was a crime scene photograph, taken from a couple of feet back, capturing Hallie Whitmore in her death pose. The young woman was lovely, if not a bit...requisite. Blonde hair, overly enhanced facial features, pale flesh that had been contoured and highlighted to the hilt, thick false lashes framing her milky, staring eyes. Her thin frame was clothed in a little black dress that was too tight and too short, but that showed off her wasp-like waist and her breasts that were at least two sizes too big for her body weight.

She seemed every inch the wealthy young socialite, from the large branded purse lying open beside her, to the red bottomed stilts on her feet, right down to her enormous diamond earrings and the gigantic engagement ring on her left hand.

Her body was slumped sideways, leaning slightly out the open door, her left arm dangling, her head lolling to the right so that it rested on her shoulder, which left the entirety of her face and length of her throat exposed, revealing the cluster of deep puncture wounds there. Some were situated midway up her neck and several wounds were lower down, just at her collar bone. There was so much dried blood...it was actually hard to distinguish just how many wounds there really were.

Owing to those wounds, Hallie Whitmore's death had been a bloody one. Her dress was darkened with it, it ran down her left arm in rivulets, both her hands were covered in it, her engagement ring coated in it, her chest and the tops of her breasts were bathed in it, it was splattered up onto her face and soaking some of her long, perfect blonde curls. It was jarring, all that rust colored blood, baked and dried by the sun and the heat, standing out in such stark contrast against the woman's pale flesh and fair hair. It almost looked like a macabre art piece...a stunningly beautiful woman, painted in her own life's blood...

The girl's last moments had to have been harrowing. Awash in her own bodily fluids...terrified as she realized her life was quickly ebbing away. The panic of those final seconds could almost be seen on her ashen, blood splattered face...in the way her cloudy eyes were opened so wide, the way her mouth was agape in a silent scream...

"There were bloody fingerprints on the hand's-free screen that were matched to Ms. Whitmore's," Officer Collins continued, "but no other useful physical evidence inside the vehicle."

Tessa moved on to the next photograph in the file, this one an up close snap shot of the garish puncture marks on Hallie Whitmore's neck. The next photograph in the pile captured an image of the blood that had ran down the girl's dangling arm and hand and had pooled on the inside of the door frame, dripping off her long, French tipped acrylic nails to form a blackened puddle on the asphalt.

"The lack of blood splatter on the driver's side door and inside the car, along with the blood splatter near the driver's side front fender, as well as the blood trail leading toward the car, indicate that Hallie Whitmore sustained seven countable stab wounds, with the jugular sustaining four of those wounds, while standing outside the vehicle."

Flipping through the photos, she saw the snaps that depicted a heavy spray of dark blood on the asphalt, followed by a thick trail of droplets leading right back toward the sleek black Lexus, the trail marked by small yellow placards.

"There was no viable evidence collected from around the vicinity of the vehicle," the young officer went on. "The only item bagged at the scene was what appeared to be the back of a tie tack or possibly a lapel pin, found lying just in front of the vehicle, but its too small to be tested for even a partial print."

Rifling through the last of the photographs, she landed on the closeup of the button shaped bit of silver metal...a clutch-back that did, indeed, look like the back of a lapel pin. Men in suits wearing American Flag pins on the 4th of July came to mind.

"Other than that, there was absolutely nothing to be found. No fiber evidence, no DNA, there were no defensive wounds, and no signs of recent sexual activity," said Officer Collins as Tessa finished with the photos and moved on to thumbing through the medical examiner's report. "As near as they could tell, Hallie Whitmore was traveling down Route 44, stopped the car and for some reason, got out, but left the engine running and the car door open. Considering the blood evidence that was found, it appears she was facing her attacker when she was stabbed. She then turned around, moved back toward the vehicle and managed to get back inside, making a few swipes at the hand's-free, probably trying to call for help, but she didn't last long enough."

Scanning through the autopsy write-up, she noted that the murder weapon was assumed to be something thin and straight edged, such a 4mm flathead screwdriver. Other than that, Hallie Whitmore was clean. There were no bruises, nothing to suggest she had a chance to fight back, no drugs or alcohol in her system, there was not even a single, minor health issue to be found.

Hallie Whitmore had been perfectly fine and thriving one second and the next...she was bleeding out in the front seat of her car, trying in vain to call for help.

Closing the folder, Tessa looked up at the young man, who was watching her with eager eyes. "Have any viable suspects turned up?" she questioned, finding herself hoping for at least a direction to point herself in, because with no physical evidence, she wasn't exactly starting out ahead of the game.

Officer Collins gave his head shake. "The detective working the case interviewed the standard cast of characters. Family members, the fiancé. Everyone alibied out, except for the fiancé, Nathan Rutherford."

"The fiancé," she repeated and Officer Collins stepped forward, picking up another folder and switching it out with Hallie Whitmore's file. "If statistics hold, he would be the most likely culprit."

"Well, with no other leads, that was the guy Detective Rogers was focusing on," he advised as Tessa opened the folder. "But..."

"Why is there always a but?" she wondered out loud, finding herself staring down at the blown up driver's license photo of a young man who was handsome enough to make her jaw drop a fraction.

"But, things are a little complicated," came the statement. "Nathan Rutherford was the one who actually found Ms. Whitmore."

"That's...a little too on the nose," she intoned, taking in the mussy dark hair, dark brows, the gleaming green eyes, full mouth, and chiseled chin and jaw that was just shadowed with stubble.

Nathan Rutherford could have graced any catwalk in Paris. He was that stunning. However, even posing for a DMV photo, he had a cocky, indifferent kind of look about him. He struck her as an entitled rich kid, used to getting his way...and used to getting away with anything and everything because he had the money to make it disappear.

"It gets better," Officer Collins added, bringing her attention back up to him. "Not only did Nathan Rutherford find the victim, but old Route 44 is a back road that leads straight to the Rutherford residence, which happens to be the only residence along that road. And Nathan Rutherford just happens to live in the guest house there on his parent's property."

Tessa felt her brows raise. "Well, that's more than just on the nose."

"Right? But, Detective Rogers couldn't get anywhere with Rutherford. He has no alibi.  And he admits that Ms. Whitmore was meeting up with him for a night out.  But there was absolutely nothing physically connecting him, or anyone else, to the crime scene. Not a hair, not a fingerprint, not a scrap of usable evidence."

Thinking on things for a moment, Tessa closed the folder and leaned back in the chair. "Hallie Whitmore's death was bloody. Was Nathan Rutherford's residence or property searched? He'd have to get rid of whatever he was wearing somehow."

"Rutherford's family allowed a walk-through of the house and a sweep of the immediate property within only a couple of hours after our guys arrived on the scene, but nothing was found. Of course, according to Detective Rogers' timeline, he had a small window that would have allowed him to toss or destroy his clothes and the murder weapon."

"Rutherford could have driven out into the desert and buried the evidence. That'd be the best way to make sure nobody ever found hide nor hair of it," Detective Dalton posed as he, too, ruminated.

Well, that could prove to be quite a hinderance to the case.

"And that's where the case stalled. No evidence. No leads. No suspects other than Rutherford," Officer Collins concluded. "And since his family is loaded and they have a stable of lawyers protecting him...he's pretty much a dead end."

A shrill, electronic beep filled the room, followed by a gruff voice. "Collins? Where did Ms. Stark get to?"

Officer Collins snatched his cell from the case clipped to his belt, punching the screen with his thumb. "We're in the office directly across the hallway, sir," he responded.

"On my way," Sheriff Gonzalez replied.

Tessa found her shoulders tensing, preparing for Senator Whitmore to burst through the door, still foaming at the mouth. She was used to withstanding the barrage of suspicion and outright hatred from her peers and betters, but that didn't mean that she enjoyed it. Or that she would continue to swallow it when it was coming from a man who had nothing to do with signing her paychecks.

"Its alright, Ms. Stark," Detective Dalton assured, pushing away from the desk and positioning himself beside her. "I'll deal with the senator. I think he's ran off at the mouth enough for one day."

She was also used to, upon occasion, some of her peers and betters deciding that she, a mere delicate seeming woman, needed someone to protect her. She didn't enjoy that behavior, either, though it was less irritating than mistrust and outrage.

Momentarily, the office door swung open and Sheriff Gonzalez appeared, looking cool as a cucumber...but for the slightly hard set of his jaw and the low fire burning in his dark eyes. "Detective Stark, I apologize for Senator Whitmore," he said as he shut the door behind him and crossed the room. "But, as you can imagine, he's a bit overwrought"

Tessa waved the apology away. "Am I still working this case or should I be on my way? I do have other families waiting--"

"No, no. You're staying right here and you're handling this case, Detective," the sheriff cut in. "If its possible, I need this one cleared and the senator, the governor, and the mayor off my back."

"Is there a chance the senator will stop me from talking to his family? I won't be able to get very far if I can't question half the suspects," she stated, wanting the sheriff to understand that her investigation could be stunted from the get-go.

In her experience, family members and lovers were the front runners in the pool of suspects. If half that pool was off limits to her, then her work would be incomplete and there would be no point in trying to move forward.

"We can't allow Richard Whitmore to obstruct the process. So, go around him or go through him, if you have to. If he refuses to allow you to work, haul him in and I'll find a reason to keep him in lock up for forty eight. That'll give you time to have a go at the family."

The notion of hauling Richard Whitmore into the station made her feel all warm on the inside. "Well, I've been brought up to speed, so is there a desk I'll be using? The sooner I get set up, the sooner I can get work," she stated, getting to her feet.

"She can use the desk next to mine," Officer Collins prompted as he stepped up and began to gather the files. "Officer Veda is on medical leave for three weeks, so he won't need it."

"Done," the sheriff declared before turning back to Tessa. "Detective Stark, while you're here, Officer Collins will be at your disposal. He'll be your right hand man around the office, so anything you need, go to him first. If he can't help you, then you come to me."

Officer Collins made a noise in the back of his throat and as all eyes looked toward him, he swiftly pulled his eager expression back to neutral. "It'll be an honor to work with you, ma'am."

Sheriff Gonzalez huffed out a long breath and ran a hand through his midnight colored hair. "You will be reporting to me and only me. This case has been a disaster and an embarrassment for my office, so there'll be no discussion of it outside the four of us."

"Yes, sir," she answered, watching Officer Collins practically doing his own little victory dance from the corner of her eye.

"Detective Dalton will be assisting you," the sheriff continued onward. "He knows pretty much every nook and cranny of this city, so he can get you around and act as your backup. I'm also instating his Chief Deputy status, so with him behind you, there should be no questions about your authority to carry out this investigation. But, this is your case Ms. Stark. You call the shots. Your team follows your orders."

She slid a glance over to the man towering there beside her, finding him standing cross armed, a stoic expression etched onto his face. She only rarely worked cases completely alone, so she was used to having most times multiple law officers assisting her, however...she wasn't exactly enthused with her partner.

The gigantic, tree sized man with the piercing blue eyes and rough hewn air about him seemed to already want to act as her care taker and she didn't need to be smothered. She needed to be able to do her job, the way she saw fit to do it, without an enormous man getting in her way.

She couldn't tell the sheriff that, though. She couldn't catch a reputation as someone who was difficult to work with. Just being an outsider coming in, not to mention a woman, was difficult enough, despite her credentials, her record...and apparently her nickname.

If a negative image proceded her, she'd never get a case off the ground, if she was called in to work a case at all.

"Well, that's about it, then," the sheriff said on something of a sigh. "Just keep me updated and, like I tell all my officers, don't get dead."

"Yes, sir," she replied, feeling Detective Dalton taking a step closer to her.

But, despite that, she felt her blood beginning to pump the way it always did when she was facing the prospect of being able to help a family find the justice they deserved.

"Collins can take you to your desk and get you set up with a department cell. It'll be loaded with everything you need, including a pass for the municipal lot around on Seaver Street."

She gave an affirmative nod, abruptly finding herself hoping that she didn't let Sheriff Gonzalez down. He struck her as a good man who, in the words of Senator Richard Whitmore, needed the win. And she wanted to give him, as well as the Whitmore family, that win. But, just because she'd managed to solve the majority of her cases so far, didn't mean she'd be able to solve this one.

Considering the lack of evidence and the fact that the investigation had stalled so quickly, she had a feeling that putting this particular case to rest was going to be a hard fought, uphill climb.