Then she wandered from room to room looking for the rest of the crew, but found no one.
At least not until she stepped into the DNA lab, where she discovered skinny, spiky-haired Greg Sanders, on the phone, a huge grin going, his eyes wide.
'You're going to do what?' he asked. 'You . . . you're such a bad girl. . . .'
Clearing her throat, Sara smiled and, when he spun to face her, gave him a little wave.
The grin turned upside down, as he said, 'Um, we'll continue this, later. I've got to go.' He hung up without further comment.
'Serious, meaningful relationship?' she asked.
'Hey, it's not as kinky as you think.'
'No, Greg, I'm pretty sure it is. Where is everybody?'
He shrugged. 'Catherine and Nick are at a murder scene. I think Grissom went to join the party, and Warrick left with Brass, like, I dunno, ten minutes ago.'
She felt very awake, suddenly. 'Murder scene?'
He held up his hands. 'I don't know the details.'
She sat down on an empty stool. 'What do you know?'
On his wheeled chair, he rolled over to another work station, saying, 'I know the cigarette butt Catherine brought in, from the mummy site, is too decomposed, and too old, to give us any workable DNA after all that time.'
'Okay. That's the bad news part-how about some good news?'
'If you insist. How about that other cigarette butt? The one they brought in from Evidence-it was old, too, but somebody bagged it years ago.'
'What about it?'
'It doesn't match the mummy's blood . . . or the wife's DNA, either.' Warming to the topic, Sanders grinned at her in his cheerful fashion and pulled a sheet of paper out of a folder. 'Take a peek.'
She rolled on her stool over next to him. 'DNA test results,' she said, reading, pleased. 'So, the cigarette butt came from the killer?'
'Hey, I just work here. I don't know whose DNA it is-it just isn't the wife's or the mummy's.'
'Does Grissom know about this? Anybody?'
'No.' Sanders shook his head. 'I haven't had a chance to tell them.'
'I know,' she said. 'You were busy-had phone calls to make.'
'Listen, I get break time like anybody-'
She leaned in and smiled her sweetest smile. 'Greg-I'm just teasing you. From what I heard, sounded like you enjoy it. . . . Anyway, I'll pass the news along. You're going to be popular.'
He shrugged and smiled. 'Good. I like being popular.'
'So I gathered.'
And she left the lab.
Warrick sat in the darkened car next to Brass. The unmarked Taurus was parked at the intersection of Fresh Pond Court and Dockery Place, with a good view of Hyde's house and its putting-green front yard. The car windows were down, the evening nicely cool, the night a dark one, not much moon. Patrol cars were parked on Eastern Avenue, South Pecos Road and Canarsy Court , observing the sides and back of the house, to make sure Hyde didn't sneak in on foot.
The Hyde residence stood dark and silent, a ranch-style tomb. The neighbors' houses showed signs of normal life, the faint blue glow of televisions shining through wispy curtains in darkened rooms; others were well-lit with people occasionally crossing in front of windows, somewhere a stereo played too loud, and a couple of houses away from Hyde's, somebody had his garage door open, fine-tuning the engine of a Kawasaki motorcycle. At this hour the guy was pushing it-it was almost ten P.M.
'You think Hyde's really the Deuce?' Warrick asked.
Brass shrugged.
'If he is, you think he'd come back here, right after murdering somebody?'
Within the dark interior of the car, the detective gave Warrick a long appraising look. 'You know, Brown, sometimes it's better not to think so much. Just wait for it and react. If he comes, he comes. Don't try to out-think these mutts. Leave it to them and they'll do it. That's when we pick them up.'
Warrick knew Brass was right; but it frustrated him.
They sat in silence for a long time; how long, Warrick didn't know-he thought he might even have dozed off a couple of times. Stakeout work was boring, even when there was an undercurrent of danger, and it made Warrick glad he wasn't a cop. The neighbor with the motorcycle either got tired or somebody called to complain, because he stopped working on the machine and shut his garage door. One by one the lights in the windows around the court went out.
'Maybe he's made us,' Warrick said, 'or one of the squads.'
Brass shrugged. 'Wouldn't surprise me. He didn't stay alive in that business this long being careless. I doubt if he spotted us, though-there hasn't been a car on this street since we got here.'
Just then a vehicle turned toward them off South Pecos Road. Its headlights practically blinded them and they slid down in their seats. Then the vehicle-a big black SUV-pulled to a stop almost even with them.
'Grissom,' Brass said, sounding a little peeved.
The black Tahoe idled quietly next to them and Grissom rolled down his window. 'So?'
'Nothing,' Brass said. 'House has been dark and quiet since we got here.'
'All right. When you get back, Jim, you need to see an interview the LAPD sent over-Joy Petty confirming Marge Kostichek hired the Deuce.'
Brass blew out air. 'Jesus-so she was an old loose end getting newly tied off.'
Grissom didn't respond to that, saying, 'I'm going back to the lab. Warrick . . .'
Brass shushed him and pointed to Hyde's house where a light had just come on in the living room. Grissom eased the Tahoe over to the far curb, parked it and returned to the Taurus on foot, quietly slipping into the backseat.
The walkie seemed to jump into Brass's hand. 'Light just came on in the house.'
The reports came back quickly. No one had seen anything.
'Damnit,' Brass said. He sighed. 'All right-I'm going to go take a peek in the window. You two stay here.'
'No way, Jim,' Grissom said. 'We're not going to let you go up there alone.'
'Let's not completely blow our cover,' Brass said. 'It could just be a timer.'
'And,' Warrick added, 'Hyde might be a professional killer who has already done one murder tonight, and forty-some others over the years-that we know about. You really want to go up there alone?'
Brass scowled at Warrick. 'Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?'
Letting out a long tired sigh, Warrick said, 'No, I just asked a question. Do you really want to go up there alone?'
Brass thought about it; finally he said, 'All right-one of you.'
Warrick opened the door and jumped out, beating Grissom to the punch. The pair made their way cautiously up the street, moving through yards and trying to avoid the circle of light thrown off by the only street light, back on the corner. Warrick stayed behind the much shorter Brass, keeping low. At the edge of Hyde's yard they ducked in next to the garage.
'You only go as far as that end of the garage,' Brass whispered, pointing.
'What are you going to do?'
'I'm going around the back, and come up the other side, and try to see in the window.'
Warrick nodded. 'I'll follow you to the back of the garage. When you go up the far side, I'll move up to the front.'
'Okay,' Brass said, and pulled his revolver from his hip holster. He eased to the back of the garage and Warrick, his own pistol in hand, crept along in Brass's shadow. At the corner, in darkness out of the range of the street light, the detective gave Warrick a little wave and edged around the corner. Taking position, Warrick watched as Brass moved across the huge backyard. The detective was halfway across when a high-mounted motion light came on, putting Brass in the spotlight. . . .
