"She was nineteen," Grissom said.
"And just out of high school, and an only child, still living at home. Gris, parents of a girl that age don't always know what their 'little girl' is up to."
"Tell me about it," Brass said.
"It gets worse," Sara said. "During the autopsy, Doctor Robbins discovered a pregnancy-just over two months."
"Let me get this straight," Brass said. "She disappeared, when…around Memorial Day?"
Nick nodded. "May twenty-ninth."
"And was buried on…?"
"Same day…at least that's when Rita Bennett was buried."
"But she'd been pregnant since…?"
Sara said, "Sometime around the end of March."
Brass shook his head. "And her parents didn't know she was seeing anyone?"
Nick gave up half a wry smile. "You know how it is."
"Yeah," Brass said gloomily. "Little too well."
Sara said, "A nineteen-year-old girl who's been sheltered like that? Out in the world but living at home? Sometimes, she can lead a double life. She could have multiple boyfriends…guys…She could be breaking loose, and throwing caution…and birth control…to the wind."
Grissom said, "Let's lay off on the speculation. Back to the facts-what are the parents' names?"
Sara checked the report. "Jason and Crystal Dean. He owns and manages half a dozen strip malls. Pretty well off, but not rich. They live on Serene Avenue in Enterprise."
Brass said, "Anybody tell them about their daughter yet?"
Nick said, "Not yet. We just identified her right before you two showed up. We decided we better read the report first, familiarize ourselves with the Missing Persons case."
"Good call," Grissom said.
"All right," Brass sighed. "Hell…. I better go tell them." He turned to Grissom. "You want to come along?"
"I'm going to pass," Grissom said. "Everybody says my people skills are weak, so I'll leave it to the master."
"Gee thanks."
"Anyway, I need to see what I can find out about Desert Haven Mortuary."
Sara said to the detective, "Hey, I'll go…if you want someone to tag along."
"Wouldn't mind," Brass admitted.
Hair ponytailed back under a CSI ball cap, Sara followed Brass out into the parking lot where another scorcher of a day awaited. She wasn't looking forward to the long drive out to Enterprise, but the CSIs were the ones who had found Kathy Dean and Sara felt a responsibility to be there when the news was delivered to the victim's parents.
The Taurus's air conditioning fought valiantly, but with the sun beating down, the car interior remained barely bearable. At least it was a straight shot down Rainbow Boulevard from the CSI lab on Charleston to Serene Avenue, if they could survive the stoplights and traffic.
By the time they made the turn onto Serene, despite the air conditioner's best efforts, Sara could feel sweat trickling down. Vegas had a lot to offer those who came here for more than a few days vacation; but today would not make a good argument for it.
The Dean home was an impressive two-story white stucco with a tile roof and many windows, shades down all round; a two-car garage to the right of the house seemed buttoned up tight, and the yard was dirt with scrub brush, similar to the xeriscaping so prevalent these days in Vegas, but rather more barren-looking. Though the house said its owners had money, the place possessed a forlorn, even vacant look.
Sara hoped that someone was home, or she and Brass would have to sit in the car waiting and roasting.
As the detective and CSI strode up the driveway, Sara wondered if the desolate look of the house was a response to Kathy's disappearance; or perhaps the Deans had always liked their privacy. Brass rang the bell more than once, but no one answered.
"Check the back?" Sara asked.
Brass shook his head glumly, and pointed. "Fenced-in yard."
"Talk to the neighbors?" Sara hoped Brass would say yes just so they could step inside an air-conditioned home.
Before Brass could answer her question, though, a white SUV pulled into the driveway. They watched as two people got out-the driver a tall, big-shouldered man in a green Izod shirt and jeans, his wispy blond hair combed straight back, making no attempt to disguise a high forehead; his female passenger wore khaki cotton shorts and a v-necked peach-colored T-shirt. She came around to join him, a good seven inches shorter than his six-three, probably about a hundred pounds shy of his two-twenty, with long curly hair whose auburn color was at once remindful of Kathy Dean's.
There could be little doubt that this was Kathy's mother, Crystal, whose big, dark eyes mirrored her daughter's as well (though Sara had only seen Kathy Dean's eyes open in the Missing Persons report). Not surprisingly, the couple stared openly at Sara and Brass, but with the seasoned look of parents whose shared tragedy had put them in enough contact with police to know that this was an official visit.
Showing his badge in its wallet, Brass approached them, saying, "Captain Jim Brass-CSI Sara Sidle. You're the Deans?"
"I'm Jason Dean," the man said, crisply solemn. He shook hands with Brass. "This my wife-Crystal. Kathy's mother…. That's why you're here? Kathy?"
"Yes. Yes it is."
Crystal Dean was staring at them with unblinking eyes, understated but unmistakable fear in her expression.
"Do you think we could go inside and talk?" Brass asked.
Before anyone could take a step, tears began to trickle down Crystal Dean's cheeks. Her husband slipped an arm around her, and she said, her voice trembling, "We've been waiting for over three months. Can't you just…tell us? Tell us now?"
"Darling," Jason Dean said, "let's go inside and talk to these nice people."
He was gently trying to steer her toward the house, but she was having none of it.
Her unblinking eyes were frozen in something near rage. "Tell us what you know-please!"
"We have found your daughter…" Brass began.
Sara edged closer to Mrs. Dean, without the woman noticing (she hoped).
"If Kathy was all right," the mother said, "you'd say so, wouldn't you? You'd be smiling! You wouldn't look like…like you were going to cry."
"Your daughter is gone," Sara said. "I'm so sorry."
"What…what right do you have to be sorry? You think we didn't know she was dead? After all this time? You think…you think…"
Crystal Dean started to fold in on herself, but both her husband and Sara were ready. They each caught her under an arm, then guided her toward and onto the front walk. Mr. Dean tossed his keys to Brass, who caught them with one hand. The detective moved out in front of the procession and somehow managed to pick out the right key on the first try; he flung the door open and stepped out of the way as Sara and the husband drunk-walked the distraught Crystal Dean inside the house.
The front door opened on the living room and Sara helped Dean get his wife to the couch, where he plopped down next to her.
He said to Sara, "Thank you," and seemed terribly composed as he slipped his arm around his wife's shoulder and drew the crying woman to him. Then he shattered into tears and Sara, though she had just met these people, felt her own eyes well up and she turned away.
She and Brass moved to the far side of the spacious living room, which was furnished in white leather, the tables and entertainment center a dark, polished cherry. Family pictures adorned the walls and end tables, like an audience for a prominent high school prom-dress portrait of Kathy that presided over the fireplace. To Sara, the room told the story of a fortunate family, successful, even affluent, blessed with closeness and everything an American household could hope for-except a happy ending.
Sara whispered, "Are they up to this?"
Brass whispered, "Give it a few seconds. We'll follow their lead."