The Echo Killing: A gripping debut crime thriller you won’t be able to put down!. Christi Daugherty

the ambulance was parked with its back door open, sending light flooding out onto the street. A team of paramedics was working on the two living shooting victims – plugging them into fluids, stopping other fluids from leaching away.

      They were a bit late with that, though. There was blood everywhere.

      Both wounded men looked like teenagers. The one closest to her still had baby fat in his cheeks.

      They were dressed like the dead guy – T-shirts, jeans, matching Nikes.

      Harper made notes, but kept her distance. Trying to be invisible.

      Miles appeared across the road, crouching down on one knee to get a shot of the body. He had to be careful – the paper wouldn’t use it if the dead guy looked too dead. So he angled himself to get a shot of the guy’s hand, one finger pointing out, reaching for something now lost forever.

      Movement in the distance caught Harper’s attention and she looked up to see two men in cheap suits, their eyes focused on the ground, walking with slow deliberation. They were both listening intently to a uniformed patrol officer who was pointing and talking animatedly.

      Detectives are easy to spot, once you get to know them.

      Taking care not to step in the blood, she made her way toward them, sticking to the edges of the road.

      She knew both men from previous crime scenes. Detective Ledbetter was short and portly, with thinning hair and a kind smile. The other detective was Larry Blazer. Tall and thin, with dark blond hair going artfully gray, he had cheekbones to die for and eyes as hard as copper pennies.

      All the TV reporters had a thing for him, but Harper found him cold and self-aware, in the way of men who are handsome and know how to use that as a weapon.

      Absorbed in their work, neither man noticed as she navigated the shadows until she was close enough to eavesdrop.

      ‘The shooters came up from the Anderson Projects. The victims won’t say how they knew each other, but this wasn’t random,’ the uniformed officer was saying as she walked up. ‘Someone wanted these guys dead.’

      He was green. This could even have been his first shooting. His words poured out in an excited rush.

      By contrast, Blazer’s questions were delivered at a slow and deliberate pace; trying to communicate calm and hope it was contagious.

      ‘You say the vics told you the three shooters ran off together. They give any idea where they went?’

      The officer shook his head. ‘All he said was, “that way”.’ He pointed roughly towards the building in front of them.

      Ledbetter said something Harper couldn’t hear. She took a step closer.

      In the dark, she never saw the empty forty-ounce beer bottle in the gutter, but the rattle it made when she kicked it was hard to miss.

      She winced.

      All the cops looked up. Blazer spotted her first. His gaze narrowed.

      ‘Careful,’ he said. ‘Press on scene.’

      Stepping back, Harper waited warily, hoping Ledbetter would be lead detective on the case.

      But it was Blazer who walked towards her.

      Crap, she thought.

      ‘Miss McClain.’ His voice was cool, with an oddly flat intonation. ‘What a surprise to see you standing in the middle of my crime scene. I don’t suppose you’re a witness?’

      He was tall, over six-one, and he used that height to intimidate – looming over her. But Harper was five-eight, and she wasn’t easy to impress.

      ‘Sorry, Detective,’ she said, her tone a cultivated mixture of contrition and respect. ‘There’s no crime tape. I didn’t mean to get in your way.’

      ‘I see.’ He studied her with distaste. ‘And yet you are standing where no journalist belongs. Shedding DNA all over the place.’

      Who was he trying to kid? They weren’t going to collect that kind of evidence at this scene. The cops cared no more for a dead gangbanger than Baxter did.

      Harper blinked innocently.

      ‘I know you’re busy,’ she said, all sweetness, ‘but could you give me a little information for the morning paper so I can get out of your hair? Names of the victims? Number of suspects?’

      ‘Our investigation has just begun.’ Blazer recited the familiar words in a tone that said he saw right through her. ‘It would be premature to say anything at this time. We’re still identifying the deceased and have not yet notified next of kin. Now, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the scene immediately.’

      Clearly, he wasn’t in a giving mood.

      Still, Harper gave it one more try. ‘Detective, is this part of a drug war? Should local residents be concerned?’

      Rocking back on his heels, Blazer studied her with an interest she didn’t like.

      ‘McClain, a few small-time scumbags stepped on the turf of some bigger scumbags and they got a lesson in why that’s a bad idea. Why don’t you put that in your rag?’

      She opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off.

      ‘It was a rhetorical question. I have no official statement at this time. Now, kindly get the hell out of my scene before I have you arrested.’

      Harper knew better than to argue. Holding up her hands in surrender, she backed away.

      When she made it back to the ambulance, Miles was leaning against it casually, checking his shots on the camera screen.

      ‘Blazer’s lead detective, so I’ve got nothing,’ Harper announced glumly. ‘That man hates me like a canker sore.’

      Straightening, Miles motioned for her to follow him back towards the Mustang.

      ‘I shot the lead paramedic’s wedding two months ago,’ he said quietly, when they were a safe distance away. ‘Gave her a cheap deal. She owed me a favor.’

      Harper grabbed his arm. ‘You got an ID on our dead guy?’

      ‘More than that.’ He held up a crumpled piece of paper. ‘I’ve got it all. Melissa had a wonderful honeymoon. She was very chatty today.’

      ‘You hero.’ Harper mock-punched his arm. ‘What’ve we got?’

      Miles squinted to read his own writing.

      ‘Our dead guy is Levon Williams, nineteen, recent graduate of Savannah South High School – played for the baseball team. Hell of a hitter, I’m told. Also, apparently, an up-and-coming heroin dealer. The two wounded victims are his known associates. Suspects are three black men, slim, two are average height, T-shirt and jeans, one is short and stocky, wearing a bandanna around his neck. All are late teens to early twenties. Suspected members of the East Ward gang.’ He handed Harper the page. ‘It’s all here.’

      Harper scanned the paper quickly, seeing nothing that said page one. As soon as they reached the Mustang, she called Baxter to give her the bad news.

      ‘Damn it,’ the editor said when she’d heard the rundown. ‘Get back here and write it up for page six. It’s better than nothing.’

      Miles started the engine as Harper ended the call.

      ‘Page six?’ he guessed.

      Harper folded the paper and put it in her pocket.

      ‘Buried in the weeds.’

      He shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some.’

      Turning the wheel, he began to pull out of the parking space, before braking hard to let a white van creep by. The words ‘COUNTY CORONER’ were emblazoned on the side in sepulcher black.

      ‘The iceman cometh,’