"Kathy Dean's been gone three months," Nick said.
"Yeah, but I brought all the tapes in, anyway. Gonna have Archie go over the beginnings and endings of the tapes."
Sara meant Archie Johnson, CSI's resident computer/video whiz.
Nick nodded. "Worth a shot-if we get lucky, Kathy and her mystery date may've survived the constant erasing."
Sara's eyebrows lifted. "I've been trying to find this Janie Glover, who was supposed to have known the identity of 'FB'. No luck so far. But I'm just getting started."
"What's next?" Nick asked.
Grissom held up a sheaf of papers. "Search warrant. While the lab works on all the trace and video evidence, we're going to the Black home, and then the mortuary."
Nick said, with a forced smile, "Doesn't that sound like a good time…."
The nightshift crew had caught up with themselves: It was approaching midnight when their Tahoe drew up in front of Black's brick fortress. Only one light shone in the living room, and the whole neighborhood was as quiet as Desert Palm Memorial Cemetery. Grissom and Nick followed Brass to the door, where the captain used the oversized brass knocker.
A few moments later, a strained-looking Dustin Black opened the door and Brass handed him the warrant. The mortician now wore a green polo shirt and faded denim shorts and sandals with no socks.
"A search warrant?" the mortician asked. "For my home?"
"And your business," Brass said.
"You people haven't done enough to ruin my life today?"
Grissom said blandly, "Homicide investigations move quickly."
Brass asked, "Are your wife and children here, Mr. Black?"
"Why no," Black said with heavy sarcasm. "Thank you for asking! Cassie took the kids and went to a hotel. I followed your advice and told her everything, got it all off my chest, completely honest…and she walked out on me. Happy?"
Ignoring that, Brass said, "I need you to step outside, please, while the investigators perform the search."
"Any way I can be of help," Black said mockingly, and obeyed, while gesturing as if a gracious host for them to enter. "Oh…and by the way?…When this is over, I intend to sue your asses for ruining my life. Assuming you're ever able to catch Kathy Dean's real murderer, that is."
Brass turned to the mortician, face a cold polite mask. "Mr. Black, it isn't our business to ruin anyone's life, though sometimes in the pursuit of justice that does happen. But I might suggest that you had a hand in your own 'ruination.' "
"Is that right?"
"We weren't the ones having an affair with a teenage girl. We weren't the ones who got her pregnant, and we're sure as hell not the ones wasting the department's time by lying about all of that from the beginning."
The mortician lapsed into brooding silence.
Grissom, halfway in the door, turned and smiled at the two men and raised a finger, like a precocious student correcting a teacher. "Might have got her pregnant. We don't have the DNA back yet…. Excuse me."
Inside, while Sara and Nick covered the rest of the house-Nick starting in back, Sara in front-Grissom headed upstairs where he began in the bathroom of the Blacks' master suite.
The bathroom was a modern affair with mirrors and glass and a massive glass-enclosed multiheaded shower that looked like a weapon in a science-fiction film. Grissom spent nearly an hour checking drawers, drains, the inside of the toilet tank, anywhere he might hope for evidence…finding nothing. He hadn't expected to discover much in the bathroom, however, and he'd been right-a thought that gave him no comfort as he moved into the equally opulent bedroom.
The light green room was dominated by a wall-mounted plasma television and a bed about the size of Grissom's first apartment. Modern art tastefully punctuated the walls over a long dresser and a narrow dressing table. The TV took one wall above an entertainment center whose bookshelves were home to a scattering of framed family photos. The final wall consisted of massive his-and-hers walk-in closets; these were larger than Grissom's second apartment….
The CSI supervisor spent nearly another hour going through the bedroom, the two closets interesting him the most. He went through the pockets of all of Black's suits and jackets, the drawers that held his underwear and socks, and shoe boxes of both husband and wife. He found nothing.
Grissom went on to do the rooms of the children, to no worthwhile end.
Nick and Sara were just finishing up downstairs when Grissom joined them.
"Anything?" he asked them.
Sara said with a shrug, "Some of Kathy's hairs in the living room…but that's all I found."
"No gun in this house that I could find," Nick said. "And we've looked everywhere."
"You ready to move on?" Grissom asked.
"You mean, to the mortuary?" Nick grinned. "Ready but not anxious…oh, and we should do the wife's car."
Grissom nodded. "It's undoubtedly at the hotel with her and the kids. So let's tackle Desert Haven next."
Outside, where Brass leaned against the brick and Dustin Black sat dejectedly on his front stoop, Grissom gave the captain a curt shake of his head as the CSIs marched past.
"Didn't find the gun, did you?" Black taunted. "Know why?…Because it's not there! I told you, I didn't kill that girl."
Brass asked, "Would you care to accompany us to the mortuary, Mr. Black?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Yes. You have keys for us, or shall we break the lock?"
Scowling, the mortician got to his feet. "I'm coming, I'm coming…." Then he sighed heavily. "I, uh…don't have a car. You impounded it, remember?"
"We'd be delighted to have you ride with us."
"I just bet you would."
They all piled into the Tahoe, Nick driving, Black in the passenger seat, Brass and Grissom flanking Sara in the back. As they drove toward the mortuary, Grissom tried to smooth the waters some with the mortician. It was clear the man had gotten under Brass's skin and the tension between the two threatened to get in the way.
"I know you're unhappy with us, Mr. Black," Grissom said, "but you can understand why, at this point, you're a suspect we have to seriously consider. If you're innocent, your cooperation now will help clear you."
Black said nothing for a while. Then he sighed and nodded slowly. "I…I apologize for my behavior. Please understand…I've worked long and hard to keep Cassie happy, and to allow her to live in the manner she believes befits her. But the truth is, I haven't loved my wife for years. And I'm not sure she ever loved me."
The others stayed quiet. The darkness of the vehicle had turned it into a kind of confessional.
"That realization's been as hard to deal with as getting caught cheating," the mortician admitted. "Harder, really. I guess on some level I wanted Cassie to find out about the affair. But not like this, never like this…. Kathy was a wonderful girl. I had deep feelings for her, and she was an extremely affectionate young woman who felt trapped by her parents."
"Do you mind my asking," Grissom said, "whether she told you about this pregnancy?"
"She did. She wanted me to leave my wife and marry her."
This frank, unhesitating admission of motive shook even the unflappable Gil Grissom.
"What," Grissom asked, "were you going to do?"
"I…I hadn't made up my mind. I was honest with Kathy. I said I'd take care of her, of…the child…for sure. However she wanted to handle it. And the word 'abortion' was never uttered by either of us."
"I see," Grissom said.
"But I needed to do some soul-searching before I could decide whether the ramifications would…I have a standing in the community, after all…she was just a child…. Well, I was trying to think it through, work it through."