Warrick climbed down from the driver's seat of the Tahoe, and Brass got out of the Taurus, where Grissom had ridden in the front passenger seat. The CSI supervisor-after taking a long, deep breath, letting it out the same way- followed, joining the two men on the sidewalk.
The normally cool Warrick seemed just a little nervous to Grissom; the lanky man was bobbing on his feet, as he looked in the storefront window and said, 'The cashier tonight must be Sapphire-that means the assistant manager on duty is Ronnie. These people have never seen us before, Gris-how do you want to play it?'
It only took Grissom a moment to decide. 'Jim and I'll head straight to the back room-you stay out front and keep an eye on the cashier.'
A nod. 'You got it.'
'Gil,' Brass said, his face creased with worry, 'I've got to tell you, I think this is the wrong play. There's something going on here that we don't understand, yet. You really think sticking our hand into a blind hole makes sense? We could pull out a bloody stump.'
'Hyde has to be somewhere,' Grissom said. 'He's not at his residence-this is his business. What else do you suggest?'
Without waiting for an answer, Grissom pushed open the glass door and went inside.
'May I help you, sir?' a cheerful voice asked from the cashier's island.
Moving into the brightly illuminated world of shelved videos and movie posters, Grissom said, 'Just looking,' and kept moving toward the back of the store. He felt Brass behind him, maybe two steps.
Warrick strolled in a few seconds behind them, and walked straight to the cashier.
'Hi,' he said in a loud voice. 'How are you?'
'Fine.'
'Have you got the director's cut of
As Warrick and the cashier chatted, Brass said to Grissom, 'You're the evidence guy, for Christ's sake! What can we do here that will hold up in court?'
Still ignoring his colleague, Grissom pushed open the swinging door, despite the PRIVATE sign tacked to it, and almost immediately a figure from inside blocked the way: a kid not any older than the last one they'd met here.
'Hey! Can't you read?'
As the kid pointed to the PRIVATE sign, Grissom took a step back and appraised the youth, who wore a blue polo shirt with A-to-Z stitched over the breast, a pudgy kid with dirt-brown hair and dirt-brown eyes set deep inside a pale face.
'You can't come back here!'
The kid said this loudly-too loudly, as if it were for someone's benefit other than Grissom and Brass.
Grissom leaned in, almost nose to nose with the kid. 'We're looking for your boss-Barry Hyde.'
'Uh, uh . . .'
From inside the office, a voice called, 'I'm Barry Hyde! . . . Let the gentlemen in, Ronnie.'
Shaken, Ronnie stepped aside, and Grissom stepped into the small office, Brass following glumly.
Getting up from a desk at the right, where a security monitor revealed four angles of the store (including Warrick and the cashier talking), the man rose to a slim six-foot-one or so. That thin build was deceptively muscular, however. The man-who wore no name tag-was in a black polo shirt and black jeans-wardrobe, Grissom noted, not far removed from his own. He was in his fifties, but youthfully so.
And the man's right hand was wrapped in a large gauze bandage.
'I'm Gil Grissom from-'
'Do you always barge into private places unannounced, Mr. Grissom?' Hyde asked, superficially pleasant, but with an edge.
'From the Las Vegas Criminalistics Bureau,' Grissom finished. 'This is Captain Brass. We'd like to ask you a few questions.'
'We should have knocked,' Brass mumbled. 'Sorry.'
'Apology noted,' Hyde said. 'And I always like to cooperate with law enforcement, but I'm sure you'll understand if I ask see to your credentials.'
'Certainly,' Brass said, and they complied with the request.
Hyde studied Brass's badge and Grissom's picture ID a few beats longer than necessary, Grissom thought; a smirk lurked at the corner of Hyde's mouth. This man was not afraid of them, or thrown by their presence: he seemed, if anything, amused!
Handing than credentials back, Hyde gave them a curt nod. 'Fine, gentlemen. Now. What may I do for you? And let me assure you that any adult material we rent is clearly within community standards.'
Grissom smiled, just a little. 'Mr. Hyde, I notice you're wearing a bandage on your right hand-it looks fresh. Would you mind telling us how you injured yourself?'
The mouth smirked, but the forehead tensed. 'Is there a . . . context to these questions?'
Brass said, 'Could you please just answer.'
Hyde's smirk evolved into a smile consisting of small even teeth-something vaguely animal-like about them. He held up the hand in front of him, the bandage like a badge of honor. 'Shelving units. Ronnie . . . that's the young man you were intimidating just now . . . Ronnie and I were rearranging some shelves and one of them cut my hand.'
'Could I take a look at the injury?'
'Why, are you a doctor?'
'Well, yes . . . in a way.'
'I'm going to say no,' Hyde said, firm but not unfriendly. 'I only just now got the bleeding stopped, and got it properly bandaged. I'm not going to undress the wound so you can look at it, for some unspoken reason. Out of the question, gentlemen.'
Grissom fought the irritation rising in him. It must have shown, because Brass jumped in with his own line of questioning. 'Mr. Hyde, can you tell us where you were, earlier this evening?'
'I could, but you're going to have to be frank with me, gentlemen, if you want my cooperation.'
Grissom laid it out: 'This is a murder investigation.'
That might have given the average person pause, but Hyde snapped right back: 'And that gives you the right to be rude?'
Grissom said nothing.
'Please, Mr. Hyde,' Brass said, reasonably, 'tell us where you were earlier this evening.'
'Any particular time?'
Brass shrugged. 'Let's say since five.'
'A.M. or P.M.?' Hyde asked, his eyes on Grissom, that tiny half-smirk tugging at his cheek.
'Make it P.M.,' Brass said, and took a small notebook from his pocket.
'All right.' Now Hyde shrugged. 'I've been here at the store.'
'Since five?'
'Earlier than that even,' said Hyde. 'Since around four.'
Their earlier visit to A-to-Z had been mid-afternoon; had they just missed their man?
'Witnesses to that effect?' Brass asked casually.
'Ronnie and Sapphire. They both came in at four today.'
'Isn't that early?' Grissom asked. 'I mean, you open at ten, and go to midnight. I thought the shifts would be divided in half.'
A smile split the pockmarked face, a stab at pretended cordiality. 'That would make sense, wouldn't it? But today Patrick and Sue had plans-they're something of an item . . . not ideal, a workplace romance, but it happens, and I just hate to be a hard-ass boss.'
Pothead Patrick had indeed said good things about their boss; but Grissom didn't mention the other assistant manager-Warrick had negotiated the kid's silence, earlier. Or was there a surveillance tape that Hyde had looked at? Had the killer been reviewing security tapes, too?
Hyde was saying, 'The lovebirds left an hour early, and Sapphire and Ronnie came in to cover.'
Brass asked, 'Did your other two employees see you, today?'
Hyde shook his head. 'No, they left right at four, and I wandered in a few minutes after.'
