Grissom winced. "That means juvenile hall."
His daughter still weeping against his chest, Pierce-his eyes flaring-snapped, "I won't have you putting her in jail!"
"It's not jail," Brass began.
"Yes it is," Pierce said, biting off the words.
Brass did not argue; the father was right.
Gary spoke up. "She can stay at our house, in the guest room."
Brass thought about that, said, "What's your number, son?"
The boy gave it to him, Brass punched the numbers in, and soon had Mrs. Blair on the line.
"A social worker will be around in the morning," he told her, "first thing."
"We'll be glad to look after Lori till then," Mrs. Blair said.
With that settled, Nick accompanied the girl upstairs for her to pack an overnight bag.
With his daughter gone, Pierce-seeming strangely calm now, to Grissom…shock?-turned a penetrating gaze on the seated Gary Blair. "I need you to watch out for my daughter, Gary."
Gary said, "Yes, sir."
Grissom noted that the boy did not seem to have lost any respect for Pierce, upon learning the man had shot his wife and butchered her body for disposal.
Pierce was saying, "I know it's a lot to ask."
Gary rose, and when he spoke, his voice had surprising authority. "Don't worry, Mr. Pierce-I'll take care of her."
They all stood around awkwardly until Lori and Nick returned, Lori carrying a backpack and a small suitcase. Dropping the bags, the girl again ran to her father, throwing her arms around him, desperately. The pair hugged tightly, Pierce again telling his daughter that he loved her.
"It's going to be all right, Lori," he said. "I have to pay for my crime."
Nick accompanied Gary and Lori to the door, and Brass kept tabs through a window as the clean-cut boy and the Goth-punk girl walked hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, then crossed the street to a blue Honda Civic parked there, which soon pulled away.
Brass turned and faced Owen Pierce and gave him his rights. The therapist held out his hands, presenting his wrists.
"I'm supposed to cuff your hands behind your back," Brass said. "But if you're going to be cooperative…"
"When have I not been?" Pierce asked.
The guy had a point. Brass allowed Pierce to keep his hands in front of him for the cuffs, then led him out to the Taurus and put him in the backseat. Grissom climbed in front with Brass while Nick and Warrick got back into the Tahoe.
As they followed the Taurus back to CSI Division, a troubled Nick asked, "What the hell was that about?"
The normally unflappable Warrick, whose own expression was dumbfounded, shook his head. "Weirdest confession I ever heard."
"In front of his damn daughter! Why would he do that?"
"I don't know," Warrick admitted. "Just being honest…better to hear it from him than somebody else. I guess."
"It's sick."
With a shrug, Warrick dismissed the subject. "Hey, can't ever tell what they're going to do or say, when they finally get busted."
Grissom joined Warrick and Nick behind the two-way mirror to watch as Brass led a low-key Pierce into the interrogation room. Brass turned on the tape recorder; a uniformed officer was in the corner manning the digital video camera.
Brass asked, "Your name is Owen Matthew Pierce?"
"Yes."
"And you've been advised of, and understand, your rights?"
"Yes."
"And do you wish to make a statement?"
"Yes." There was a long silence before Pierce spoke again. "My wife Lynn and I had an argument."
"Go on," Brass said.
"We'd been arguing a lot lately."
"I see."
"Her religion, it drove us apart. She almost died, or thought she almost died, anyway, and made some sort of…deal with God or Jesus." He shook his head, numbly. "When we were younger, she was great. Beautiful. Used to say she'd try anything once. The sex was unbelievably hot…. She'd do anything."
Nick and Warrick, behind the glass, exchanged glances; Pierce discussing his wife in these terms, during the confession of her murder, was both inappropriate and weird. Grissom, on the other hand, showed no reaction-a hand on his chin, he was studying Pierce like a bug.
"I mean anything," Pierce was saying, and he was smiling now, reminiscing, "with anybody. We got into some wild shit over the years, and we both liked it."
"Is that where the drugs came in?"
Pierce pressed his hands flat on the table, sighed, the smile fading. "Yeah…back when we were swinging, we used to get high, grass, pills, but the most extreme thing we did was coke. In fact, it was the drugs that made Lynn get religion."
"You said before she got religion when she almost died."
"That was the drugs. She O.D.'d on some coke, had a seizure, I took her to the emergency room…it came out fine, but she freaked anyway. Next thing I know, she's going to church every twenty minutes and yammering about my almighty soul."
"Describe what happened on the day of your wife's death."
"We argued."
"Tell it in detail."
Another sigh. "Well…we argued. Lynn wanted to send Lori to some private school, some religious institution, in Indiana. Lori didn't want to go, and I was against it, too. Lori could never stand up to her mother, so I was the one who took her on. Anyway…the argument escalated."
"Why did Mrs. Pierce want to send Lori away?"
Pierce shifted in his seat. "Before Gary Blair came along, Lori was pretty wild-Lynn found grass in her room, once, and she was dating some rough boys. That's when the talk started, about this Jesus school."
"This has been an issue for a while?"
"Yes. Maybe six months. Lori started going to church, dating Gary, to please her mother. But it wasn't enough: Lynn still wanted to ship her off to holy-roller class, to get her 'closer to God.' Lynn wanted to turn Lori into a goddamn clone of herself!"
"And you didn't buy that."
"Well, of course I didn't want my daughter to become the same uptight, judgmental asshole my wife had turned into."
"So-the argument escalated. Go on."
"We were yelling at each other, and Lynn went out to the garage, kind of…saying she didn't want to talk about it anymore. She'd made her mind up and that was that, and if I tried to stop Lynn, she'd…turn me in for my own drug use."
"Were you still using?"
He nodded.
"Please state that, Mr. Pierce."
"I was still using drugs."
"The argument moved into the garage?"
"Yes…yes. Lynn said she wanted to go for a drive to get away from me, but I wanted to settle the issue." Pierce closed his eyes, his head sagged forward. "I had a gun hidden in the garage…I felt I needed protection."
"Who from?"
"Kevin Sadler. Lil Moe, they call him. My connection, my dealer. I owed him money. That's why I had a gun."
"All right. Go on."
Pierce shrugged. "I went and got it from my tool-bench, where I kept it. I pointed it at her, just to scare her, really. Told her not to leave or…She said I was a sinner and would go to hell. That's when I shot her."
"Where was Lynn, Mr. Pierce? Standing there in the garage, when you shot her?"
He shook his head. "No. Lynn had already gotten into the car and started it. I shot her through the driver's side window."
"Then what?"
Shrugging, Pierce said, "Well, hell-I panicked. I knew I had to get rid of the body. In my job, I know a little about anatomy; I'm not squeamish about anything to do with the human body. With Lil Moe in jail, I figured I could use his house, without anyone finding out."
"When did you do this?"
"That same night, late. As soon as I shot her, I put Lynn's body in the trunk, wrapped in an old tarp in the garage, and cleaned up the car, and drove it over to Lil Moe's. Put it in the garage, there. Then I walked to a commercial area and caught a cab and came back home, just before the Blairs showed up, pounding on my door, looking for Lynn…. See, I didn't want Lori to know what I'd done, obviously…and I'm always home for dinner. So I came home, and went back to Lil Moe's well after dark. I drove my SUV on that trip."