Warrick dipped into shooter's stance, pistol leveled at the back door, centered above a wide octagonal deck. Initially, Brass froze; but the deer-in-headlights moment passed, and he dove to his right, rolled, and came up running toward the far side of the house, in darkness again.
Ready to shoot, Warrick searched for a target, finding none, and not unhappy about it. Brass, now on the far side of the house, would be making his way toward the front and expecting Warrick to be there to cover him.
Spinning, Warrick sprinted back to the front. He turned and, at the garage door, stayed close as he slithered to the far end. Peeking around the corner, Warrick saw nothing and wondered if something had happened to Brass. Fighting panic, he saw Brass's face slide out from behind a shrub at the corner of the house. Warrick's trip-hammer heartbeat slowed only slightly, as he watched the detective trying to see inside.
The CSI watched intently, as Brass crawled beneath the window, stopping to peer over the edge of the frame. Just when he thought they were going to pull this off without a hitch, Warrick felt a hand settle on his shoulder. He jumped and turned, bringing his pistol up as he went.
Grissom just looked at him. 'Damnit, Gris,' Warrick half-whispered, keeping his voice down at least, as the adrenaline spiked through his system. Turning back, he realized he couldn't see Brass now, and-panic rising again- wondered where the detective had gone. As he prepared to stick his head around the corner, Brass came the other way, suddenly appearing three inches in front of him, and Warrick jumped again. Damn!
'Hyde's not home,' Brass said, his voice low, but no longer a whisper.
'Not home,' Warrick echoed numbly-but as much as he wanted this son of a bitch, he couldn't help feeling relieved.
Brass was saying, 'Those lights gotta be on a timer. No sign of him in the living room, and the lights are still off in the rest of the house.'
Spinning back to Grissom, Warrick asked, 'And just what the hell were you doing?'
'Neighbors called in a prowler,' he said. ' Henderson PD is coming-silent response.'
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than three police cars rolled into the court, cherrytops making the night psychedelic, spotlights trained on the three of them. No sirens, though-that might disturb the neighborhood.
Officers piled out, using their doors for cover as they aimed their pistols at Brass and Warrick.
'Drop your guns,' one of them ordered, and then another one or two yelled pretty much the same thing.
Carefully kneeling, Warrick and Brass set their guns on the ground in front of them.
'Is our cover blown yet?' Grissom asked.
As Brass explained the situation to the Henderson Police Department, Warrick and Grissom stood staring at the big, expensive and apparently very empty house.
'He's making us look like fools,' Warrick said.
Grissom didn't reply immediately; but then he said, 'When we're done here, we'll swing by the video store.'
'He could be there.'
'Yes he could.'
Brass returned, shaking his head. 'They're a little pissed.'
Warrick said, 'I guess we coulda given 'em a heads up.'
'It's not ideal interdepartmental relations,' Brass admitted. He looked at the disgruntled uniforms, who were milling out by their black-and-whites, cherrytops shut off. 'They also informed me that Barry Hyde has been a model citizen since moving to Henderson . . . and if in the future we want to do some police work in their fair city, they would like us first to ask their permission.'
'They said that?' Grissom asked.
'I'm paraphrasing, but the message was the same. So-let's go home.'
Warrick said, 'Gris wants to drop by A-to-Z Video on the way back.'
'Hell no,' Brass said.
'Maybe I want to rent a movie,' Grissom said.
Brass seemed to struggle for words. Finally he managed, 'You know, Warrick, after your boss finishes this case, it's possible you and I are both going to be looking for work.'
'Maybe they could use us in Henderson,' Warrick suggested. 'Looks like a nice town to work in. But till then, what do you say we go scope out the vids?'
Brass shook his head again. 'Might as well. It'll give me something to look at while I'm on suspension.'
16
ABOUT THE TIME NIGHT SHIFT ACTUALLY STARTED-AFTER SHE had already put in over four hours that included getting shot at and working a particularly unpleasant crime scene-Catherine Willows nonetheless exuded vitality as she made a bee-line for the DNA lab. From behind her, Sara's voice called out: 'Hey, wait up!'
She slowed, turning to see Sara hustle up, a report in hand. 'If you're headed for DNA, I may have something for you.'
As they walked, Sara handed her the report, saying, 'I told Greg I'd give this to you. It's the DNA results from your Fortunato evidence.'
Catherine took it, but asked, 'What's the news?'
'Blood was the mummy's. Cigarette taken from the Fortunato backyard sixteen years ago contains DNA that doesn't match either the late husband or his living wife.'
Catherine smiled wickedly. 'Could be the Deuce's.'
Sara flashed her cute gap-toothed grin. 'Could be. But why are we still headed to the lab?'
' 'Cause this isn't what I was going there for.'
Quickly Catherine filled Sara in, slightly out of order: telling her Marge Kostichek had been murdered, apparently by the Deuce, then about the tight scrape she and Nick had been in. And finally she brought Sara up to speed on Joy Petty and the Kostichek woman hiring the murder of the mummy.
Sara, clipping along beside her, said, 'And here I thought sure Fortunato was a mob hit.'
'We all did,' Catherine said, with a sour smirk. 'Grissom told us not to assume anything, yet we all bit. Maybe that's why this woman is dead now.'
'And I take it you've already dropped off the Kostichek crime scene evidence to Greg. . . .'
'Yes, and maybe we'll match up that ancient cigarette DNA-when I chased the son of a bitch tonight, he cut himself on a chain link fence.'
Sara, mimicking the milk ad, asked, 'Got blood?'
'Oh yeah,' Catherine said, and strode into the lab, Sara right behind her.
Sanders almost jumped off his stool. 'God! Don't you guys ever knock?'
Catherine leaned on his counter. 'That murder crime scene stuff I dropped off? You said you'd get to it ASAP.'
'And I will.'
She just looked at him. Then she said, 'Maybe it's time to define 'ASAP.' '
The normally cheerful lab rat scowled at the two women. 'Listen, I'm so far behind it'll be, like, Monday before I can get to it. I got overload from Days to deal with-day shift has, like, two murders, a rape and-'
'Days?' Catherine asked. 'You're giving priority to dayshift?'
His brow lifted and half his mouth smirked. 'You ever had Conrad Ecklie on your ass?'
'I'm not interested in your personal life, Greg.'
He lowered himself over a microscope. 'I'll laugh next week, when I have the time.'
Leaning near the door, Sara said, 'Speaking of time, Cath-while you're waiting for that DNA evidence, we could check the phone records around here . . . for personal calls.'
Greg glanced up.
'You know,' Sara continued, with a shrug, 'as responsible public servants, we need to make sure the taxpayers are being well-served.'
Sanders stroked his chin as if a beard were covering his baby face. 'For two such dedicated public servants, I might be able to squeeze it in.'
'Thanks, Greg-you're the best.'
The Taurus and Tahoe pulled into the parking lot and glided side by side into stalls in front of the video store.
