"Anybody been in or out of the door?" he asked Susan.

"Not since I got here," she said, standing up. "Maybe they're afraid of it."

Nick gave her a quizzical look. He'd been on assignment with Susan before. She was very good. Once they had responded as a team to a late-night homicide down by the city marina. At first it looked like a drive-by, but in the wrong neighborhood. The cops were surrounding a nice Lincoln Town Car with the driver's window blown out and were particularly closemouthed about the I.D. of the dead man slumped over the wheel inside. Susan snapped a shot of the license plate of the car just before the arriving detectives covered it with a dark towel. She called the plate numbers in to research and they matched with a prominent casino tour boat owner. The paper got a damn nice exclusive of a mob-style hit on a high-profile businessman. Mob hits were something that rarely happened in Florida. Since the days of Al Capone and the high-flying Miami Beach of the late 1920s, Florida had been considered "open territory" by the northern mobsters. Since no one mob owned it, they didn't have to kill each other. So to have someone capped Chicago-style was page one.

"What do you mean, afraid?" Nick said. "Of the door?"

She lifted her digital camera to him and started flashing through her previous shots and stopped at a bland photo of the wall just to the left of the doorframe. She zoomed in on a pattern of discoloration she'd noticed on the beige paint.

"Blood spatter?" Nick said.

"You got it. And from the height on the wall, it looks like somebody got head-shot," she said.

Nick looked back at the door in the distance, figuring, and shook his head.

"You've been at this too long, Susan."

She looked at him and grinned. "You got that right too."

Unlike a shooting in a city neighborhood or in a shopping area, there were few witnesses to talk to on this one.