All three looked stunned. I nodded at Milo and he said, “Appreciate your patience, we’ll take it from here.” We accompanied Ballou and LaGuardia out of the house, stayed with him at the bronze Jaguar, and let her approach the white Infiniti. Marissa Corey had already raced far ahead of them and was backing the red BMW fast enough to set off a dust storm. Fishtailing, she straightened and sped off toward the gatehouse, tires squealing. Ballou said, “Whoa, Speed-Racer. So can we go ahead with the staging, Lieutenant?” “Not yet, sir.” “When?” Milo motioned to the crime scene van. The two techs got out, retrieved cases from the rear, and walked toward us. Ballou said, “Whoa. CSI?” “Just like on TV,” said Milo. “You think something bad actually happened here? I mean there was nothing but food. Maybe it’s just a kid pranking.” “Maybe but we need to check it out.” Mick Ballou said, “Can you at least give me an estimate of when?” The techs reached us, a couple of men in their twenties.
