"You tried to talk to her but she wouldn't listen. But there's something the evidence hasn't told us yet…. It will. But it hasn't yet. Where did you go, Lori? You never made it to the Blairs. Where did you go?"
She swallowed. Her lips were trembling, her eyes spilling tears. "The church."
Brass leaned forward. "The church?"
The girl nodded. "It's out past the Strip, on the outskirts of town…almost in the desert. It's got this big parking lot. I asked Mom if we could go there and…pray together."
Grissom said, "No one was around?"
"No other cars in the lot. Later that evening, there would be church stuff goin' on, but sorta over the supper hour…no. It was pretty deserted. But Mom had her own key; she was one of the church leaders, you know-we coulda gone in and prayed together."
"But you didn't go in and pray," Brass asked, "did you?"
"No. We sat in the car and I tried to talk to her, I really tried. Only she was so wrapped up in 'God's will' and how we're all sinners and need to be punished that…She was mental, she really was."
Grissom asked, "You grabbed the gun from your backpack on the kitchen counter, Lori, and took it with you, when you jumped in the car with your mother."
She nodded numbly. "Mom didn't see the gun. I had it wrapped in my jacket."
Brass looked like his head was about to explode. "You manipulated your mother into going to that church parking lot…so you could shoot her?"
"No! No…" Tears erupted full force now, long violent, racking sobs.
Catherine Willows, watching through the glass, could not bear any more of this; however hardboiled a CSI she might be, Catherine was also a mother. She exited the observation booth and entered the interrogation room, glaring at the two men as she sat beside the girl, and comforted her.
After a while, Lori-Catherine holding her hand-said to them, "I didn't mean to shoot her, it was an accident…. I just couldn't bear to have Gary taken away. He was the only good thing in my life. He was all I had."
"Why did you have the gun with you?" Catherine asked.
"So I could threaten to kill myself. And that's exactly what I did: I told her I would kill myself right there, in front of her, if she didn't promise to let me finish high school here, and keep seeing Gary, and not tell his parents. I meant it, too! I even said I'd stop the drugs and Gary and I wouldn't have relations, anymore. Didn't do any good."
"How did your mother die, Lori?" Catherine asked, gently.
"It was an accident! She grabbed for the gun…I think she thought I was going to use it on myself, and…it just went off. The window blew out, and…it was awful. It was an awful nightmare!"
Grissom asked, "How did you get home?"
"I spread my jacket on the floor, on the rider's side? And I put mom down on the floor there, on the jacket, y'know? And I drove home. I don't know how. I wasn't crying or afraid or anything. It was like I was outside myself, watching."
"And then?" Grissom asked.
"Then I drove the car into the garage and got Daddy. Told him what happened, and…he took care of it. I know he went out to the church parking lot and kind of…cleaned up out there. Otherwise…he didn't tell me how or anything; all I knew was the car…and mom…were gone."
"Your father understood about the drugs, and you and Gary?"
"Actually, I…I never told Daddy about the coke. Just about the sex…. He said that was my business and Mom should have left me alone. He was great, really-perfect father, the best-never cared what I did."
"And with your mother gone," Grissom said, "the rules around the house loosened."
Brass asked, "How long had you been doing coke before your mom caught you?"
She shrugged. "A few months. Gary and I, we just fooled around with it, a little. But after Mom died, every time I went to sleep, I saw her face, her…bloody face. The coke made that easier to deal with. I could stay up for a long long time, then I'd pass out. And the good part was, I didn't have dreams."
Catherine sat with her arm around the girl, who again began to cry. Brass gestured to Grissom to step out into the hall.
Brass asked, "Is she telling the truth?"
"Her story and the evidence are compatible."
"I didn't ask you that, Gil."
"I can only tell you what the evidence tells me."
Brass was shaking his head. "That girl was ready to let her father take the fall for her…. She may have cold-bloodedly killed her mother, lured her to that church parking lot, and…Jesus!"
"We'll go out to that church and see what we can find," Grissom said. "We should find glass, and blood…but without the rest of Lynn Pierce's remains…" He shrugged.
Brass said, "I guess she's going to Juvenile Hall, after all."
Warrick, Nick and Sara exited the observation booth, joining Brass and Grissom.
"So Pierce walks?" Warrick asked, fire in his eyes. "He cuts up his wife with a chain saw, and walks?"
Brass shook his head. "Not hardly-accessory after the fact and possession. Don't forget his business arrangement with Kevin Sadler; Sadler will testify against his former silent partner. Pierce'll be gone a good long while."
"What about Lori?" Sara asked.
Brass said, "If they try her as an adult, she could get life."
Nick said, "I believe her story."
"So will a jury," Warrick opined.
"So she gets away with it?" Sara asked, vaguely disgusted.
"Lori Pierce has given herself a life sentence," Grissom said. "A life sentence of knowing she killed her own mother."
"All the coke in the world won't make that go away," Warrick said.
No one disagreed.
17
AT THE END OF SHIFT, GIL GRISSOM INVITED CATHERINE Willows to his townhouse, offering to fix her some breakfast. She accepted.
Sitting with her legs tucked under her on the small brown leather couch by a window whose closed blinds were keeping out the early morning sun, Catherine watched Grissom scramble eggs, standing in his sandaled feet on the hardwood floor in the open kitchen with its stainless-steel refrigerator and counterspace that spilled into the living room of the spacious, functional condo. Where they weren't lined with bookcases or stacked electronics, the white walls were home to framed displays of butterflies-beautiful dead things that Grissom could appreciate.
Catherine was sipping orange juice; actually, a screwdriver, the juice laced with vodka at her request.
"Like a bagel with this?" he asked, poised over the eggs with the same quiet intensity he brought to any of his experiments.
"That'd be fine-no butter, though."
He shuddered at that thought, but continued with his work.
"You know, I took this job because I like puzzles," she said.
"Me too."
"And I like the idea of finding out who is responsible for the senseless violence that seems to be all around us, chipping away at what we laughingly call civilization."
She was a little drunk.
Grissom said, "Again, we're on the same page." He, however, was not drunk; only orange juice in his glass.
"I never expected," she said, "in a job where I only carry a gun 'cause it's part of the job description…where I'm investigating the aftermath of crimes, not out on the streets like so many cops are…I never…never…never mind."
He lifted his head from the eggs and looked over at her. "You saved Sara's life…and Conroy's. You should feel good about yourself."
"Would you feel good about killing someone?"
"…No." He used a spatula to fill a plate with eggs. Half a bagel-unbuttered, lightly toasted-was already deposited there.
Sighing, she pulled her legs out from under her and sat up on the couch. "You didn't do me any favor, you know, sending me back into that world."
Grissom walked over, her plate in one hand, utensils and napkin for her, in the other. "You mean, those strip clubs?"