You would never guess the strain he was under; his brown eyes had a sparkle, his capped white teeth gleamed in a smile as seemingly genuine as the choppers were not. The fortyish Harrison reminded Warrick of Dean Martin just after leaving Jerry Lewis and prior to his drinking reputation: darkly tan with curly black hair, dimpled chin, and just generally the kind of matinee idol good looks that lured female voters across party lines.
Now it was time for individual greetings.
Knowing to honor rank, he went first to Brass, saying, "Hello, Jim. Been too long."
"Yes, sir."
Harrison's knack of remembering the first name of almost everyone he met-a typical but nonetheless impressive politician's trick-played up a widely felt perception that this man cared about every single person in the city. Then, turning to Grissom, Harrison said, "Gil-it's been a long time."
"Yes, sir," Grissom said.
"I think the last time we spoke was after you put that evil 'Deuce' character, away."
"I believe so, Your Honor."
"And I meant to call about that torso case-what was that woman's name?"
"Lynn Pierce."
His features assumed a grave cast. "Terrible thing. Tragic family situation." Then he beamed at all of them, flicking from face to face, saying, "I don't know why I should be so damn friendly to you people-it's the great job you're doing putting the bad guys away that gives Brian Mobley a shot at unseating me!"
Smiles and nervous laughter ensued.
He turned to Warrick. "We've met before," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"Warrick Brown, isn't it?"
Surprised, Warrick smiled. "Why, yes, sir."
"You were commended for bravery, what-two years ago? And Ms. Sidle, we haven't met. But I've kept up with your impressive accomplishments."
Sara grinned. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I don't know what accomplishments those would be…."
Warrick noted the mayor didn't elaborate, and the CSI was getting the distinct impression the mayor had done some quick homework before their visit….
Grissom moved his head, in that little gesture that indicated he was about to cut through the b.s., and said politely, "Your Honor? We need to talk. Privately?"
Harrison put his arm around Grissom's shoulder and began to walk him toward the open door of the inner office. Warrick, catching Grissom's wide-eyed, almost horrified response to this physicality, smiled just a little; touchy-feely, Gris was not.
Harrison was saying, "I realize that. That's why I canceled all my appointments and blocked out fifteen minutes for you people…and my assistant will hold all calls."
"Fifteen minutes," Grissom said, moving his head again. "Very generous."
Harrison removed his arm from Grissom's shoulder, gestured graciously for the CSI to enter the office, which he did, and in fact held the door open for all of them, though it was Woo who finally shut the door behind the mayor.
The office, not unexpectedly, was spacious. The facing wall-behind a kidney-shaped desk that was itself no larger than a Caribbean island-consisted of tinted windows offering a hazy, filtered view out on the downtown activity. A large, round worktable sat off to the right side of the desk and, beyond that, a sofa hugged the wall. A quartet of chairs were arrayed facing the desk and Harrison waved a hand toward them as he circled his desk and sat down.
The CSIs and the detective exchanged various glances, then finally-Grissom going first-took the chairs.
"Coffee?" Harrison asked. "Soft drinks? Bottled water?"
Brass said, "No thank you."
Actually, Warrick could've used some water….
The mayor folded his hands, prayerfully, and his expression became business-like, almost somber. "Then what can I do for you, Jim?…Gil?"
Brass fielded the question: "I told your secretary…that is, Mr. Woo…that this concerned the Candace Lewis case."
"I am aware of that. And I'm of course aware that you've taken over the investigation, now that it's…" He swallowed, and Warrick wondered if this was acting or actual emotion. "…now that it's a murder case."
"That's right," Brass said, and slipped the search warrants out of his jacket and set them on the edge of the mayor's desk. The mayor, himself a former district attorney, looked at them with a steady gaze; he did not need to be told what the documents were. He leaned a bit on his elbows, his clasped fingers tented, providing a slight barrier between him and his guests, as he peered over his knuckles.
The voice seemed flat, now-that melodic friendliness gone. "Just tell me one thing, Jim. And I expect an honest answer."
"You'll get one."
"Is Mobley behind this?"
Sitting forward, Grissom, his voice quiet and authoritative, said, "This is my doing, sir. I requested these warrants."
"I see."
"I hope you do. If you do know anything about me, you'll know I've never been accused of doing Sheriff Mobley any favors, personal or otherwise."
"I have heard about…certain tensions."
"Yes, sir. But I will say, Brian has behaved himself professionally, thus far. Starting with recusing himself from this case."
Harrison's eyes narrowed. "That's not just lip service?"
"He seems sincere."
"This…Anthony, this political advisor of Mobley's. He's a bad apple. Did Brian really fire him?"
"He did."
"Do you know why?"
Grissom shrugged. "I presume he was dissatisfied with the man's services. Beyond that, you'd have to ask the sheriff."
The mayor nodded, as if to say, Fair enough.
"My question now is," Grissom said, in his oddly pixie-ish way, "are you prepared to be as professional and cooperative as Brian Mobley?"
A smirk dug a small cynical groove in the mayor's cheek. "Why-have you served him with a search warrant?"
Grissom smiled angelically. "Yes."
The mayor shifted in his seat. He laid his hands out on the table, palms down. "Well, of course, Gil-I'll do whatever I can to help you catch the madman who killed Candace."
That sounded a trifle rehearsed to Warrick.
But Grissom seemed prepared to accept the response at face value: "That's what we were hoping to hear, Mr. Mayor. To start with, I'd like you to go over those two warrants on your desk."
The warrants were just out of reach and Sara picked them up and handed them to the mayor; she smiled, a little embarrassed, and Harrison gave her a small meaningless smile in return, as he took the documents.
He withdrew reading glasses from his inside suitcoat pocket, put the glasses on as he picked the papers up. He read them, then looked from Brass to Grissom. "My house? Why my house?…Candace worked here, at the office."
"You can read the specifics in the warrant," Grissom said. "But know that the judge, who shared your concerns about the sheriff's intent, didn't grant these lightly…. And if you don't mind, I'd like to send Warrick and Sara over there, to your home, now."
Harrison sighed. The documents were on the desk before him. He raised a cautious finger. "A question, first."
"All right."
"Is the media going to hear about this?"
Grissom half-smiled. "You're the mayor of this city, and you weren't aware that we'd served the sheriff a warrant."
"True."
Then Harrison's eyes traveled from face to face, stopping on Grissom's. A small smile played on the mayor's lips. "Gil-Jim…any of you. Do you think your job will be harder, or easier, should Brian Mobley leave the sheriff's office and take this chair from me?"
Grissom said, "I haven't given that any thought, Mr. Mayor. It has nothing to do with how I approach my job."
"The sheriff has been a thorn in your side for some time, Dr. Grissom."
Grissom's shrug was barely perceptible. "Another politician will replace him. Meaning no disrespect, I will find a way to do my job, and do it well, despite the best efforts of any and all politicians."