Mrs. Dean sniffed, said, "She was…was going to start at UNLV. This fall."
Dean added, "She had a dual scholarship. Track and academics."
"Wow. How often does that happen?…Lot of her friends going to UNLV, too?"
"Not really," Mrs. Dean said. "Kathy didn't have all that many friends. Don't get me wrong-she was no wallflower, she was popular, in her way."
Sara smiled and glanced over her shoulder. "Lovely girl."
Her mother went on: "Kathy knew lots of people, had many acquaintances, she just wasn't…close to a lot of them. She was more of a loner. Focused on her studies."
Sara asked casually, "She have a boyfriend?"
"No!" Dean said.
The response was loud (and surprising) enough to make Sara jump a little.
Brass wondered why the reaction had been so strong, but decided not to push it. He glanced over at Sara and gave her a signal with his eyes to keep carrying the ball for a while.
Sara said, "I know how it is. I was into my studies so much I just didn't have time for boys."
"That's how it was with Kathy," Dean said. "She had her studies and her running to concentrate on. Anyway…do I have to tell you what boys are after? Just one thing. One thing."
At this moment Brass decided that today would not be the day to inform these parents that their daughter had died pregnant.
A silence fell over the car and Brass wondered if he'd pushed too hard. The couple seemed to be clamming up now, and that wasn't going to do any of them any good, including the late Kathy. With another glance in the rearview, he saw Mrs. Dean pat her husband's knee. Dean's tears were flowing again and Brass figured he'd blown it.
He had needed to get as much as he could out of them, on the ride over. Once they saw their daughter on a morgue slab, they would be in no shape or mood to give Brass the information he so needed.
Then, out of nowhere, Mrs. Dean said, "You know, on top of school and her running? Kathy had several jobs, too."
"Jobs?" Brass asked. "Really? Busy as she was?"
"Yes! She worked as a waitress at Habinero's Cantina, and she still had some people she babysat for. She even volunteered at the blood bank."
"Habinero's Cantina?" Brass asked. "Is that-"
Dean said, "On Sunset. In Henderson."
And then the Taurus was pulling into the CSI HQ parking lot. As Brass ushered the Deans out of the car, Sara went quickly inside to set things up with Dr. Robbins.
Soon Brass was escorting the grieving parents into a small tile-walled room just off the morgue. A curtain covered the upper half of one wall-a big window. The only furniture were two chairs and a metal table against a wall, a box of tissues at the ready.
The Deans huddled together in front of the curtain, his arm around her shoulder, her arms around his waist. Brass had already explained what would happen-that when he opened the curtain, Sara would uncover the face of the victim for confirmation that this was indeed their daughter.
There really wasn't any doubt, but this was a formality that could not be avoided.
"Ready?" Brass asked as gently as he could.
Dean let out a breath and tightened his grip on his wife's shoulder. He nodded.
Brass pulled the drawstring and the curtain slid away to reveal Sara standing on the other side of the glass; she was no longer in the baseball cap and her expression was solemn, dignified. A body under a sheet on a gurney was between Sara and the picture window.
When Brass nodded to her, Sara pulled the sheet back to reveal Kathy Dean from the neck up.
Jason Dean groaned and his wife lurched into his arms. Then the mother took a quick step forward, hand splayed against the window opposite her daughter's face, the mother's breath fogging the glass. They were both crying now, Mrs. Dean whimpering and her husband's lip quivering, though neither spoke.
Brass was a hardened homicide detective; but he was also a father. And right now he hated his job almost as much as he would love that job when Kathy Dean's killer was in his custody.
When Brass nodded again-his signal to Sara to cover the body-Jason Dean waved for her to stop and she froze, the sheet not yet up over the dead girl's features.
His eyes still locked upon his daughter's still countenance, Dean said, "She looks so…beautiful…normal…natural, almost as if she could just…sit up."
"My baby," the mother said.
An edge in his voice, Dean said, "What killed her?"
"Gunshot to the back of the head," Brass said.
"Ooooh," Mrs. Dean said.
"She felt no pain," the detective said.
Both parents looked at him, though Mrs. Dean's hand remained touching the glass.
"Is that…is that true?" the mother asked.
"It's true," Brass said. "She never knew what happened. I will say to you as the father of a girl not much older than your daughter…that's a blessing."
"Where did you find her?" Dean asked.
"Why don't we sit down and I'll give you all the information," Brass said.
Dean turned back to face the window, as did his wife. They looked at their little girl for another long moment before Sara finally covered Kathy Dean's face with the sheet and-as Mrs. Dean reluctantly broke contact with the glass-Brass pulled the curtain, banishing the image that neither parent would ever forget.
"Sit-please?" Brass gestured toward the table and the tissue box.
Both parents shook their heads, holding their ground, standing there waiting for more, when they clearly had already had more than enough.
Brass had no choice but to give it to them. "As to where your daughter was, we found her in a grave in the Desert Palm Memorial Cemetery."
Dean was understandably incredulous. "Cemetery…how the hell…?"
Brass filled them in quickly, giving them the broad strokes of the fantastic situation.
"We're doing our best to find out how she ended up there," Brass told the startled parents. "Obviously we suspect the one who took her life did this thing as well."
Brass eased the stunned mother and father out into the corridor.
"You can understand," he said, "why we'd like to talk to you about Kathy's activities around the time she disappeared."
Before the door closed, Mrs. Dean stopped, looking back toward the curtained window. "When can we take her out of that dreadful place?"
"Just a little longer," Brass said. "Now that Kathy's case is a homicide, we have to make sure we have all the evidence we can before we release her body."
Mrs. Dean recoiled. "I want her out of there now!"
"Mrs. Dean, please, I can certainly understand your feelings…but your daughter's body is our only link to her killer."
"I don't care! I want her out of there!"
Jason Dean kept an arm tight around his wife. Wild-eyed, Mrs. Dean strained to get back into the viewing room; finally, Dean got control of her and looked pleadingly at Brass.
Keeping his voice low, his tone even, Brass said, "Our crime scene people are the best. You met CSI Sidle-she cares deeply about this case, I promise you."
Dean said, "What kind of 'evidence' can you hope to find at this late date? We need to deal with this-we have arrangements to make. We want our daughter, Captain Brass."
"Sir-there might be some microscopic clue that can lead us to her killer. Finding that piece of evidence might be the only way to stop whoever did this from doing it again…to someone else's daughter."
Mrs. Dean turned toward him and her expression had an alertness, as if Brass had slapped her awake. "You really think you can catch whoever did this?"
"I can't promise you. But our CSIs are the best, anywhere. And I promise you I will do my best. I see your daughter and, frankly…"
Something happened to Brass that hadn't happened to him on the job for a long, long time: He felt his eyes filling with tears.
He swallowed and said, "I see your daughter and I see my daughter. Do I have to say more?"