"You know, I've been thinking about quitting…going back home to be closer to my folks?"
"You think now's a good time to be talking about this?"
Conroy shrugged with her one good shoulder. "I think maybe I'll visit my folks, and then come back to work a while. Before I decide."
"Good plan," Catherine said, humoring the woman, who was clearly already in shock.
Sara returned. "Bartender called nine-one-one when he heard the first shot. Ambulance and backup should be here any second."
Catherine rose and went over and knelt beside the sprawled-on-her-back lifeless body of the dancer.
Catherine Willows had rarely bothered wondering what her life would be like today, if she hadn't gotten out of these damn clubs and into college and CSI. But now, looking at Tera Jameson looking back at her with dark dead eyes, Catherine couldn't help but see herself there, on the floor, a lovely woman turned by a bullet into a piece of meat.
Or did places like Showgirl World and Dream Dolls turn women into pieces of meat, even without bullets?
She rose.
Sara asked, "You okay?"
"You know me-never doubt, never look back."
Nonetheless, inside of her, Catherine Willows wondered if she had just killed a part of herself.
15
THE MOON HAD TURNED THE EVENING AN IVORY-TINGED shade of blue; a few lights were on in the Pierce stronghold, both upstairs and down, the curtained windows emanating a yellowish glow.
Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes, in the Tahoe, drew up at the curb just as Jim Brass and Gil Grissom were getting out of the Taurus. Catching up with the detective and their supervisor, Nick carried his field kit, but Warrick-like Grissom-brought nothing but himself, as Brass led the way up the walk that curved across the gently sloping, perfect lawn. The detective rang the bell, the rest of them gathered on the front stoop like trick-or-treaters who'd arrived a bit early for Halloween.
The door opened on the first ring, as if they'd been anticipated; and Grissom-at Brass's side-found himself face-to-face with a young man he did not recognize. None of them did, in fact.
Brass tapped the badge on his suitcoat breast pocket, saying to the kid, "Would you tell Mr. Pierce he has company?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but he's not here right now." He was a clean-cut, slender, tallish black-haired boy of sixteen or seventeen, in a green Weezer T-shirt, Levi's and black-and-white Reeboks. "Mr. Pierce has gone to pick up some carry-out."
"I see."
"But he should be back in a few minutes…. I don't know if I should let you in…but you could wait out front…."
Grissom asked, "Who are you, son?"
An easygoing smile crossed the young man's pleasant face; the kid seemed familiar to Grissom, though he remained certain he'd never seen him before. The boy's response explained that: "Why, I'm Gary Blair."
Brass said, for the benefit of Nick and Warrick, "Your folks reported Mrs. Pierce's disappearance."
Gary nodded.
"And you've been dating Lori?"
"Yes." The kid looked from face to face of the crowded little group on the doorstep. "I guess it would be okay if you wanted to come in…. Like I said, Mr. Pierce'll be back in just a few minutes."
They flowed into the foyer, all of them standing around uneasily.
"Is Lori home?" Brass asked.
"She's upstairs changing her clothes. We're going out after dinner. She should be right down…why?"
Grissom could sense Brass's uneasiness. On the way over, the detective had mentioned that he didn't like the idea of arresting Pierce in front of his daughter, but saw no way around it.
With this in mind, Grissom suggested, "Maybe we can catch Mr. Pierce at the restaurant."
Picking up on that, Brass asked the boy, "Where did Mr. Pierce go to pick up the carry-out?"
Gary shrugged, shook his head. "All I know is, he's going for Chinese."
The muffled sound of the garage door opening ended this exchange, and Grissom and Brass traded glances-they knew the arrest would have to go down in front of the kids.
Her hair now a garish orange, as if her head was on fire, Lori came trotting down the circular stairs in gray sweat pants and a Fishbone T-shirt of which the bottom six inches had been cut haphazardly off to reveal her pierced navel and flat stomach. Though she looked less Goth, her blue eyes were again held prisoner within black chambers of mascara.
To Jim Brass it seemed that every time they visited this house, the daughter had taken another step away from the conservative religious beliefs of her late mother. He hoped she could find some sane middle ground, once they got her into foster care.
Lori and her boyfriend trailed after, as Brass led the CSI team into the kitchen, to meet Pierce as he came in from the garage, his arms laden with paper bags, his back to them as he shut the door, the unmistakable aroma of Chinese food accompanying him.
When he turned, the therapist's dismayed expression told them their presence in his kitchen was no surprise: he had seen the SUV and the unmarked car parked in front of his house…again.
Pierce, in a blue sweatshirt and black sweat pants, set the brown bags on the kitchen counter, and waited for what he knew would be coming.
And it came: "Owen Pierce," Captain Jim Brass said. "I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Lynn Pierce."
"You're making a mistake," he said. "You're needlessly ruining lives, when you have nothing to go on but supposition."
Grissom said, "We've just been over at Kevin Sadler's house."
Pierce went ghostly, ghastly pale, and he leaned against the counter, as if to keep from collapsing.
Grissom continued: "The basement, the broken glass in the garage, the receipt, we have it all."
Lori ran to her father, and there was no accusation, just pained confusion in her voice, as she said, "Dad! What's he talking about?"
Pierce opened his arms and she filled them; he patted his daughter's head as she wrapped her arms around him, his eyes going to Brass, then Grissom. He seemed about to say something comforting to the child, but what came out was: "They're arresting me for killing your mother."
Gary Blair swallowed, and staggered over to a chair and sat at the kitchen table, slumping, leaning his elbows on the table and catching his face in his palms; his eyes were wide and hollow.
"It's not true," Lori said.
Slowly he shook his head. "It is true…. I hated her, Lori. I'm sorry."
His daughter drew away and stared at him, eyes huge within their black mascara casings, shaking her head. "You can't be serious…."
"She kept pushing and pushing. Do I have to tell you how she was? Jesus this, Jesus that-I finally had enough of her. We loved her once, Lori, both of us…but you know as well as I that she was a different woman…. I shot her."
The girl drew away from her father's arms, and somehow her eyes grew even larger. "What?"
He reached out and took her by the arms and pulled her back to him, so he could look in her face. "You have to understand, Lori-I shot her. You have to accept that."
Brass, who had never before heard a more bizarre confession, looked sharply at Grissom, who seemed lost in thought.
Lori Pierce was shaking her head; across the room, at the kitchen table, her boyfriend was covering his face with one hand, as she said, "No, Daddy, no."
"Yes!" Pierce said. "You have to accept it. I shot her and-to protect myself-I did a terrible thing. I got rid of her body…. Don't make me say how."
Tears began to stream down the girl's cheeks, making a mess of her mascara; she was trembling as Pierce pulled her to him again, holding her, soothing her.
Brass got on his cell phone and called Social Services. Soon he clicked off, muttering, "Damnit," and turned to Grissom. "There's no field agent available now."