'We try harder,' Grissom said.
The FBI agent nodded. 'You'll need to. Good luck, gentlemen-keep the good thought.'
And Culpepper was gone.
'Damnit,' Brass said, leaning out into the hall, making sure the FBI agent wasn't lingering. 'How did he know?'
'Maybe he doesn't.'
'Maybe he does.'
Grissom shrugged. 'You talked to the county clerk, the utilities, and I don't know how many other agencies.'
'He's not helping us, is he? He's watching us. Why?'
'Easier than solving the case himself maybe-steps in and takes the credit.' Grissom shook his head, disgusted. 'What a backward motivation for this line of work. . . . Until just now, I was tempted to give him the list of dates Warrick gave me.'
'Of times Hyde's been out of town this year?'
'Yeah. See what unsolved murders or missing persons cases match up to those dates.'
'Give me that list, and I'll do what I can.'
Grissom did.
'You think the killer's still active?' Brass asked.
Grissom got back behind the desk, sitting. 'We know he is-he shot Dingelmann. Maybe he stopped doing mob-related work and his contracts are with individuals now. That could be the reason he hasn't turned up on the FBI's radar in the last four years.'
'Are you convinced Hyde is the Deuce?'
'No. Too early. Hell of a lead, though. Warrick gets the MVP of the day.'
On cue, Warrick appeared in the office doorway, Sara just behind him; Grissom waved them in.
'The esteemed Agent Culpepper looks steamed,' Warrick said.
'Good,' said Brass.
'Saw him in the parking lot,' Sara said. 'What did you say to him?'
Eyes hooded, Brass said, 'We just did our best to share as much with him as he shared with us.'
Warrick said, 'Bupkis, you mean.'
'Oh, we didn't give him that much,' Brass said.
Shifting gears, Warrick fell into a chair across from Grissom, saying, 'Something stinks about that video store.'
'Besides cannabis?' Grissom asked innocently.
Warrick and Sara smiled, avoiding their boss's eyes.
Brass picked up on the train of thought. 'You're referring to that horde of customers we saw in there today.'
'Even for an off time,' Warrick said, 'that was grim.'
With a twinkle, Sara said, 'And Patrick-who was very open, you know, to young people like us-admitted they don't ever do a lot of business.'
'Yet the four kids that work there,' Warrick said, 'are pulling down decent money, and Barry Hyde doesn't seem to care about the lack of cash flow.'
'Money laundry?' Brass asked.
Grissom ignored that, saying to the two CSIs, 'Okay, let's take Barry Hyde to the proctologist. Sara, I want you to look into his personal life.'
'If he has one, I'll find it.'
'Photocopy these,' Brass said, handing her his field notebook, indicating the pages, 'and get that back to me. . . . This is what we do know about Hyde, from the phone calls I made around.'
She scanned the notes quickly. 'Not much, so far.'
'It's a place to start,' Grissom said. 'Find out more. Warrick.'
'Yeah?'
'Try coming at this through the business door.'
'You got it.'
Then Warrick and Sara went off on their respective missions, and Brass departed as well, leaving Grissom lost in thought, trying to figure out what the hell Culpepper was up to. For someone supposedly sharing information because both groups were looking to bring the same animal to justice, Culpepper hadn't contributed a thing to their investigation-just a vague, unsubstantiated notion that the Deuce was no longer in the area.
How long he'd been pondering this, Grissom didn't know; but he was pulled out of it by a knock on his open door. He looked up to see Sara standing there.
'You look confused,' he said.
'I am confused.' She came in, plopped down across from him. 'This Barry Hyde thing just keeps getting weirder and weirder.'
'Weird how?'
She shifted, tucked a foot under her. 'Let's take his college years, for example.'
'Let's.'
She flashed a mischievous smile. 'You can get a lot of stuff off the Internet these days, Grissom.'
'So I hear. Some of it's even legal.'
'Legal enough-lots of records and stuff you can go through.'
'Less how, more what,' he said, sitting forward. 'Did you find Barry Hyde's college records?'
'Sort of,' she said, wrinkling her nose. 'Barry Hyde has a degree in English from the University of Idaho.'
'Our Barry Hyde?'
She nodded, going faster now, in her element. 'Only thing is, I went to the University of Idaho website and they have no record of him.'
'You mean they wouldn't give you his records?'
'No. I mean they have no record of his ever having been a student there.'
'Maybe he didn't graduate.'
'You don't have to graduate to get into the records, Grissom. He didn't matriculate.'
'Anything else?'
'Oh yeah. Everything for the last five years is fine. Barry Hyde's a sterling citizen. Bank loans paid on time, credit cards paid up, member of the Rotary, the Henderson Chamber of Commerce, the guy even pays his traffic tickets.'
'Good for him.'
'But before that? Hyde's military record says he was stationed overseas, but I found a medical file where he claimed to have never been out of the country. The whole thing's nuts. Information either doesn't check out, or is contradicted somewhere else. This guy's past got dumped into a historical Cuisinart.'
'Or maybe,' Grissom said, eyes tightening, 'it came out of one.'
14
EXITING THE BREAK ROOM WITH A CUP OF COFFEE, CATHERINE almost bumped into O'Riley, who was bounding up to her, a file folder in hand.
'Well, hello,' she said.
Grinning, O'Riley said eagerly, 'I've got a buddy in LAPD. Tavo Alverez.'
'Good for you, Sergeant.'
'Good for all of us-he tracked down Joy Petty.'
'Great! Walk with me . . . I've got to catch up with Nick. . . .'
O'Riley did. 'Tavo stopped by the Petty woman's place in Lakewood-she's unemployed right now, but I guess she's mostly a waitress. Unmarried, lives with a guy, a truck driver.'
'Okay, she's alive and well-but is she Joy Starr?'
'Oh yeah, sure, she admitted that freely. Tavo said she seemed kinda proud of her days in 'show business,'
