Sara couldn't seem to suppress a smile, and Warrick didn't even try to. Brass looked grave, and Grissom just wore that damn innocent expression of his.
The mayor studied Grissom for a long time; then he laughed. "By God, you really mean it…. Might I call Mrs. Harrison, just give her a 'heads up,' you're coming?"
Grissom and Brass exchanged quick alarmed looks.
Brass fielded that one. "We'd prefer that you didn't, sir-the intent of a warrant isn't to give a 'heads up' to anybody, with the exception of the police…. I'm sure you understand."
Sighing wearily, Harrison nodded. "I do. I do. I just hate to put my wife…It's just…how do I say this delicately? Mistakes were made."
Grissom said, "We know. I have a lab report putting your DNA in Candace Lewis's bed."
Harrison whitened. "Oh Christ…. When can I expect the press to get their hands on that?"
Brass said, "Well, when we do find Candace's killer, a defense lawyer will likely use your relationship with her to muddy the waters, and try to help clear a client. Your Honor, you need to prepare yourself for the day when this comes out."
"I understand. I appreciate the counsel."
Grissom, champing at the bit, sat forward again. "Now about Warrick and Sara…"
Harrison waved a dismissive hand, like the pope granting a reluctant blessing. "Send them. There's nothing to find. All I ask is that they not intrude on my wife any more than necessary. Jeanne and I are trying to hold the marriage together-she knows about my…indiscretion; but having the media pummel her with it, 24-7, has become a little…wearing."
"She needn't be present," Sara said, "when we do the search."
"Thank you, Ms. Sidle." Harrison said. "She may not be home, at any rate. She's not been spending much time at the house…" His expression turned glum. "…particularly when I'm there."
Warrick asked, "It would be helpful if someone's there to let us in."
The mayor nodded. "I'll alert our maid."
Grissom said, "That's fine." He paused, and seemed to be making a decision. He was: "Mayor, you can let your wife know my people will be dropping by. But a mention of the search warrant would, frankly, be a breach, Your Honor."
"I understand." And made the call right in front of them, short and sweet, to a servant named Maria.
After the mayor hung up, Grissom gave Warrick and Sara a nod; Warrick already had a copy of the search warrant.
They were at the door when Brass called out, "Call Conroy," referring to Detective Erin Conroy, with whom the team had worked on several occasions. "Have her go with you."
"Got it," Warrick said, then they were out the door and gone.
Gil Grissom settled back in the chair and allowed Brass to do his job.
"Now that the kids are gone," Brass said with wry humor, "I have a few more questions…questions that need asking that I thought you might feel more comfortable answering with…a smaller audience."
"Go ahead, Jim," Harrison said, only a hint of caution in his voice.
"I have to ask-how did your DNA get in Candace Lewis's bed?"
"It got there," the mayor said, "just how you think it got there."
"Had the two of you had a falling out, before her disappearance?"
"No-we had a warm, friendly relationship. Neither one of us thought it would be…lasting. We were two professionals who spent a lot of time together. My marriage was rocky, she was unattached…. Such things happen among adults."
"So there was no talk of divorcing your wife and-"
"Jim, I told you-our relationship wasn't like that. It was mostly about…well, companionship, yes, sex, where I was concerned. I was sort of…mentoring Candy. Discussing ways she could get ahead." Grissom thought, I am so glad Jim is handling this….
"No talk of divorce at all? Could your wife have seen Candace as a…threat?"
Harrison shook his head. "Why do you keep harping on this…. My marital problems predated my relationship with Candy. And-" Finally it dawned on him; his eyes widened with alarm and he lurched forward. "You don't think Jeanne could have done this?…You've really taken a wrong turn, there."
"How so?"
"My wife may be quite capable of making my life a living Hell, but she would never physically hurt another person."
Grissom felt Mrs. Harrison an unlikely suspect, himself; he found it difficult to imagine a scenario that would include the mayor's wife killing the woman and someone else acquiring the corpse for recreational purposes.
Another ten minutes of questioning accomplished little else. As they left the mayor's office-little of the politician apparent in the shellshocked man now-Grissom hoped Warrick and Sara would have better luck at the mayor's home.
* * *
If Mayor Darryl Harrison's office was grand, his home was opulent. Situated on Lake Las Vegas, a gated community for the truly wealthy, the plush digs of Mayor and Mrs. Harrison were just down the road from the multimillion-dollar estate of pop singer Celine Dion.
Warrick had gotten Conroy's voice mail, leaving a message where he and Sara would be; as they parked in front of the mayor's palatial house, they still hadn't heard back from the detective. The one truism about Vegas was: traffic could be a problem, any day, any time of day.
The rambling castle-like brick structure would have looked out of place in any other part of the city; here it was just one more grandiose homemaker statement. Hell, for this area, Warrick thought, the place was downright downscale-there wasn't even a helipad! Five white pillars held up a widow's walk between the two main sections of the many-windowed house, which was seventy-five hundred square feet, easy. Four or five bedrooms, Warrick would bet, and more bathrooms than a small hotel.
They were just getting got out of the Tahoe when Warrick's cell phone rang; it was Conroy: "You guys inside yet?"
"No," Warrick said. "Just pulled up."
"Be there in five."
"Don't mistake the driveway for the freeway."
"Try not."
Crime scene field kits in hand, Sara rang the bell with Warrick just behind her, bearing the warrant. The doorbell's echo sounded as if a cavern awaited beyond the white metal door.
When the attractive twenty-ish Hispanic maid, in light-blue uniform, answered the bell, the foyer glimpsed behind her was indeed cavernous, though few caves were outfitted with crystal chandeliers. The interior-or at least this expansive entryway-was the opposite of the exterior, where the brown brick was broken up by the white woodwork of windows; within the walls were white, trimmed in brown oak. Already Warrick sensed a chill, even clinical vibe suitable to a marriage in ongoing cold storage.
The day was just warm enough to make the air conditioning rolling out to them a refreshing greeting. The maid's response to them was cool in another way.
"You're the police?" she asked, her words lightly accented.
"We're part of the police," Sara said. "The ones Mayor Harrison called ahead about?"
"I would like to see your badges."
Warrick could not stop his brain from saying, Badges? We don't need no stinking…
But Sara was already indicating her I.D. on its necklace, saying, "Is this sufficient?"
The maid looked from one I.D. to the other and said, "I suppose so."
But she made no move to allow them entrance.
Warrick said, "You're Maria, right?" Just trying to warm her up.
The woman nodded. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail and her brown eyes were grave and unblinking-the effect was severe and uninviting.
Getting irritated, Warrick said to the woman blocking their way, "Do you need to see the warrant? Is Mrs. Harrison here?"