Double Dealer

combed the driveway. In the original Fortunato file, there had been nothing about shell casings; of course, blood on the gravel drive or not, the detectives hadn't known they were searching a murder scene.

And the file said nothing about the discovery of shell casings.

Even though the sun had long since started its descent, the fiery orange ball seemed in no hurry to drop behind the mountains, the heat still hunkered down on the city, settling in for the long haul. If she weren't at a crime scene, she wouldn't have minded one of those refeshing if rare summer rains, though that would bring the danger of flash flooding.

She made it all the way to the far end of the carport and nothing had registered on the metal detector. Her shoulders ached, her eyes burned, and she seemed to be sweating from every pore in her body. She'd been working crazy hours, even for her. Taking the headphones off, she ran a hand through her matted hair and pulled a paper towel out of her pocket to mop her forehead.

'Brutal, huh?'

Mildly startled, Catherine turned to see Annie Fortunato standing there, holding two large glasses of lemonade, a smoke draped from her lip. The woman of the house handed one of the moisture-beaded glasses to Catherine.

'Why, thank you, Mrs. Fortunato.'

'Would you stop that? Call me Annie.'

'Sure. Thanks, Annie.' Catherine took a long gulp from the icy glass. 'You're saving my life.'

The woman shrugged. 'It's just powdered . . . but this hot, even that junk'll hit the spot.'

Smiling, Catherine nodded and pressed the cool glass against her forehead.

Mrs. Fortunato removed her cigarette long enough to gesture with it toward the metal detector. 'What're you lookin' for out here, with that thing?'

'Frankly,' Catherine said, seeing no reason to withhold the information, 'I was hoping to find the shell casings from the bullets that killed your husband.'

She frowned in alarm. 'You think he was shot . . . here?'

'Blood was found.'

'Yes, but . . . I didn't hear any shots, and I was a light sleeper. Hell, I still am.'

'The killer could have used a noise suppresser-a silencer. . . . Are you okay with me being so blunt?'

'Hell yes. I had my cry. Go on.'

'Anyway, the gun barrel we found with your husband's body belonged to an automatic. That means shell casings, which had to go somewhere.'

Mrs. Fortunato nodded, apparently seeing the logic of that. 'Well-you havin' any luck?'

Catherine sighed. 'No, not really-and it would have been a lucky break if we had.' She took another big drink of the lemonade. 'I'm going over it one more time, before I hang it up.'

Mrs. Fortunato was studying Catherine. 'You know, I want to thank you for what you've done.'

Catherine didn't know how to react. 'You're welcome, Mrs. Fortunato . . . but I haven't really done anything yet.'

The woman sipped at her lemonade, then puffed on her ever-present cigarette, and a tear trickled down her cheek. 'Yes, you did. I know Malachy wasn't perfect, but he was . . .' The tears overtook her. She stubbed out the cigarette on the ground.

Catherine put her arm around the woman.

'Shit, I had my cry.'

'It's all right,' Catherine said, 'it's all right.'

'Don't get me wrong-I love Gerry!'

'I know. It shows.'

Something wistful, even youthful touched the woman's well-grooved face. 'But, Mal, he was the love of my life. You only have one-and sometimes they're even sonuvabitches . . . you know what I mean?'

Catherine smiled a little. 'I'm afraid so.'

'When you brought me his ring out here today, well, I finally knew what happened to him. No more wondering, weaving possibilities in the middle of the night . . . that's why I say, 'thank you.' '

Squeezing the woman to her, Catherine said, 'In that case, Annie, you're very welcome.'

Catherine walked her over to the stoop and they sat on the cement, where they finished their lemonade in silence, the sun finally touching the horizon, the sky turning shades of violet and orange and red.

Finally Mrs. Fortunato said, 'I better get back inside. I need a cigarette. You want to join me?'

'No, thanks.' Catherine rose. 'I better get going, if I'm going to get this done before it's too dark to see.'

'I'll turn on the outside lights.' Picking up the empty glasses, the woman said, 'If you want some more lemonade, holler.'

'I will,' Catherine answered, and returned to the metal detector as Mrs. Fortunato disappeared back into the house. Again Catherine slipped on the headphones.

'High tech,' she said to herself wryly.

Starting at the back end of the carport, Catherine swept back and forth holding the three-foot handle, the disk-shaped detector barely two inches off the black asphalt. The machine always made her back hurt from the slightly stooped posture she assumed working it. Halfway back through the carport, on the side nearest the house, she got a tiny hit.

It was so small, at first she thought her ears were playing tricks on her. Over and back, over and back, the same spot, each time-the small sound echoing in her head.

Might be a shell casing, might be a screw, could be anything. One thing for sure, though: it was definitely something, something metallic. She pulled out her cell phone and punched Grissom's number on speed dial.

'Grissom.'

'I think I've got something here,' Catherine said.

'What?'

She explained the situation. 'Any ideas?'

'Maybe. Give me half an hour. How's your relationship with the homeowners?'

'They love me.'

'Good. Get permission to dig a hole.'

'. . . In their asphalt driveway?'

'Not in their flower bed.'

'Oh-kay, Gil, I'll be waiting.' She pressed END, slipped the phone away as she walked to the front door, where she knocked.

Gerry Hoskins, still in T-shirt and jeans, opened the screen.

'I think I may have found something,' Catherine said.

Mrs. Fortunato had apparently filled him in already, as he did not hesitate. 'I'll get Annie.'

By the time Grissom showed up, the three of them stood in the yard, waiting. Catherine met Grissom at the Tahoe. 'Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?'

'No-we are. And it's going to be slow and it's probably going to be messy.'

He and Catherine put on coveralls and carried the equipment to the spot she'd marked on the asphalt. She handed him the headphones so he could hear the faint tone.

'All right,' he said. 'Let's get started.'

Catherine watched as he picked up a small propane torch and lit it. She asked him, 'Is this going to work?'

'It's the only way I could think of that would give us a decent chance of preserving the evidence. If that's what it is.'

The torch glowed orange-blue in the darkness.

'I hope so,' she said, worried. 'This is a lot of trouble to go through if I just located some kid's lunch money.'

Grissom smiled. 'Then we'll turn the treasure over to these good citizens, with our thanks.'

On their hands and knees, with only the porch light to aid them, they hovered over the area as Grissom held the torch to the spot she had marked. As the asphalt softened from the heat, Catherine carefully dug the material