Three weeks previously…

Fade in.
SCENE 01:

"Baby you're much too fast,
Little Red Corvette
You need a love that's going to last."

Little Red Corvette by Prince is playing softly in the background. Daylight is beginning to fade. Nick walks past the back of an open ambulance and glances inside at a little girl being tended to by paramedics. She looks about eight years old. She isn't crying. She is sitting on the stretcher, still and silent and staring forward, seemingly unhurt – well, physically anyway. The coroner's van is nearby, LVPD cruisers with their lights flashing too.

A small crowd has gathered behind the crime scene tape. Nick winds his way in, his gaze falling on the crash site and the fifth generation black Chevrolet Corvette Coupe – a late nineties model if he was to hazard a guess. The car rests astride the sidewalk at a forty-five-degree angle to the road with its front-end wrapped around a lamppost.

Nick looks for skid marks on the road, finds them. He can see it happening in his mind's eye; the car rounds the corner too fast, the driver loses control, brakes sharply and the car mounts the sidewalk, hitting the pedestrian and finishing its course against the street light.

David and his assistant are crouching on the side of the car away from him, presumably where the body lies inert. He doesn't need to see it to know what David is looking at. Better him, than me, he thinks, then gives his head a shake and slips under the tape. Detective Vartann is waiting there, his black book and pen in hand. Nick joins his side. The music fades.

"The car's a write-off. Such a waste."

Nick gives his law-enforcement colleague a short sideways glance. He knows Vartann doesn't mean to sound crass but the comment is in bad taste. He sets his field kit down, slips on a pair of black gloves. "What have we got?"

"Hit and run with a twist. One fatality, white female, early thirties?" Vartann nods towards the victim's location. "That's all I have for now. We haven't found a purse, and David's checking the body for ID."

"And the little girl?"

"The daughter – assuming that's who she is – came out of it unscathed. The medics found her near the body. She's not talking."

Nick nods, then ducks his head to look inside the car through the driver's open door. The deployed airbag is deflated, hanging out of the steering wheel. There could be trace on it, or epithelial if the airbag blew up in the driver's face. The rest of the cabin's intact. No trace of blood or anything that would indicate injury to the driver or possible passengers. The inward curve of the cracked and bloody windshield indicates the victim's point of impact.

"The bastard was wearing his seatbelt," Nick says, showing his frustration. "Any witnesses?"

"Not as yet, but we're asking."

Nick straightens up and turns to Vartann. "Who called it in?"

"The liquor store clerk across the street. He heard the crash, came out of his store, saw the guy fleeing the scene."

"One guy?"

Vartann nods, opens his black book. "Medium height, medium build. Dark clothing, baseball hat, looked a bit dazed. The clerk never saw his face."

Nick nods, then looks up and all around them.

"No traffic cameras anywhere along this street," Vartann says. "I checked."

Nick points to the interior of the Corvette. "There's a sports bag on the passenger seat. You looked at it yet?"

"No. I was waiting for you guys to show."

Nick opens his kit, gets his camera out and lines up a few shots of the car's interior.

"RO is one…" Vartann consults his black book as Nick clicks away, "Rodney Carver, 47, domiciled in North Vegas. We're checking it out."

Nick pauses, motions at the car. "It's probably stolen."

"Isn't reported as such if it is," Vartann argues. "And the keys are in the ignition."

Nick's brow rises, and he checks for himself, takes photographic evidence of it.

"You're working solo tonight?"

Nick shakes his head. "Finn's on her way over."

"Sanders keeping a low profile?" There's mischief in Vartann's tone.

Nick smiles. "Man, those rumours aren't true, and you know it." He waves a friendly finger at Vartann. "So don't go round spreading them."

Vartann gives a quiet chuckle. "You CSIs always stick together."

"Always," Nick says with an easy smile, and both refocus on the scene in front of them. "Greg's processing the convenience store robbery on the corner of South Decatur and Pennwood."

Vartann's nod is thoughtful. "You know, that's only a few blocks away from here."

"Not a good place to be tonight."

Vartann jerks his head toward David, and both men walk round the car to the coroner. Camera in hand, Nick dips and cranes his head, checking all over the front of the car for more pertinent evidence, and stops to take a few more shots of the crumpled car.

"David," Nick says in greeting.

Clipboard in hand, David looks up and over his shoulder. He's looking grave. "Hey. The victim suffered severe head trauma, two broken legs in multiple places, broken ribs - all consistent with being hit by the car. And that's only what I can see. She died instantly."

Nick nods his head. His expression mirrors that of the assistant coroner.

Vartann looks like he's heard it before. "ID?"

David shakes his head. "How's the little girl?"

"Not talking."

With a sigh, Nick glances at the ambulance, thinking that he or Finn would need to process the girl and maybe question her. Maybe she had seen the driver. He takes a few steps back and begins photographing the body so that David can take it back to the morgue. He doesn't think the autopsy will aid in the investigation itself, but who knows what it might uncover?

"Sir?"

Nick, Vartann and David all turn at the uniformed officer's call. He's standing twenty yards or so down the sidewalk near a dumpster. He hooks his thumb over his shoulder.

"I think I've found the lady's purse," the officer says.

"Leave it where it is," Nick calls back as he and Vartann make their way over. Nick takes a photo of a green leather purse lying on the concrete pavement partially hidden from sight. The purse's chain link strap is snapped. He picks up the purse, opens it and finds a wallet which he opens. "We got a driver's licence. Diana Vasquez, 37. Lives in Vegas." He turns the licence toward Vartann. "The picture's a match."

Vartann nods in agreement, takes the wallet and writes down the name and address of the victim in his black book. He will need to notify next-of-kin and Nick doesn't envy him the job.

"You going to take a look inside that sports bag, or shall I?" Vartann asks impatiently as he hands the licence back and pockets his black book.

Nick nods, replaces the wallet back in the purse and the purse where he found it so he can bag and tag it later. They walk back to the car, and Nick carefully opens the passenger side door before taking a shot of the bag in situ. There is a name tag on the bag, but no card inside it and no name. The strap of the bag is snagged on the seat side lever and Nick eases it off before slowly unzipping the bag, revealing its content. He and Vartann share a look, a wry smile and a disbelieving shake of the head.

"Dumbass," Vartann says, echoing Nick's thoughts exactly.

Fade to black.
End of teaser.
Roll title credits.