Sin City

'Recently?'

'No. That was last year.'

'You didn't shave off your beard, this evening.'

'No! Hell no.'

Catherine studied the man. Then she said, 'I'll need your jacket, Mr. Lipton.'

'Sure. But I'm tellin' you-I wasn't there.'

'Jenna was strangled with an electrical tie.'

Lipton flinched, then shook his head. He could obviously see where this was going.

She said, 'And when I search your truck, I'm going to find electrical ties in the back, aren't I?'

'You…you could search a lot of trucks and find that.'

Catherine could tell Conroy was starting to have her doubts about the suspect, too, particularly when the detective tried another tack.

'While you were home alone tonight, Mr. Lipton, did you call anybody?' Conroy asked. 'Anybody call you?'

He thought for a moment, then shook his head.

'D'you order pizza or something?'

This required no thought: 'No.'

'What did you do this evening?'

Lipton lifted his hands, palms up, and shrugged. 'I watched TV-that's it.'

'What did you watch?'

'Was it…a football game?'

Conroy leaned forward now. 'What, you're asking me?'

'No, no, I know! Yeah, I watched a football game.'

'What game, what network, what time?'

He collected his thoughts. 'I didn't see the whole thing-I came in during the third quarter. Indianapolis Colts against the Kansas City Chiefs.'

Conroy was writing that down.

Lipton went on: 'Just as I sat down, Peterson kicks a field goal for the Chiefs…then on the kickoff, some guy I never heard of ran it back for a touchdown.'

'That was the very first thing you saw?' Conroy asked.

'Yeah. Very first. Field goal. Peterson.'

'We'll check that out, Mr. Lipton,' Catherine said. 'If you're innocent, we'll prove it. But if you're guilty…'

His eyes met hers.

'…we'll prove that too.'

'I'm not worried,' he said.

But he sure as hell looked it.

5

AMID PINE TREES IN A DECEPTIVELY PEACEFUL SETTING, A low-slung nondescript modern building played host to a maze of hallways connecting the conference rooms, labs, offices, locker room and lounge of the Las Vegas Police Department's criminalistics division. A sterile, institutional ambience was to be expected, but the blue-tinged fluorescent lighting and preponderance of mostly glass walls gave CSI HQ an aquarium-like feel that Nick Stokes, at times, felt he was swimming through.

In one of these hallways, Nick rounded a corner and all but bumped into Grissom, who had just returned from the interview with the Blairs.

Grissom paused, as if it took him a moment to register and recognize his colleague, who had also paused, flashing his ready smile.

The CSI supervisor did not smile, nor did he bother with a hello. 'Nick, Sara's teamed with Catherine on the stripper case-I need you to take over the search of the Pierce records.'

Nick shrugged. 'No problem.'

'It's all in Sara's office-work there…she won't mind. Look at the Pierce woman's computer, her bank accounts, ATM, calling card, the works. Find us something.'

'How far has Sara gotten?'

'Start over. Fresh eye.'

'Okay.' Nick risked half a smirk. 'I don't suppose you considered assigning me to that exotic dancer case.'

Grissom's bland baby-faced countenance remained expressionless. 'No. Not for a second. Warrick, either. He's on the Pierce case, too.'

'You gotta admit, this doesn't sound like as much fun as interviewing nude girls.'

Now, finally, Grissom smiled a little. 'But you're like me, Nick-only interested in truth and justice, right?'

Then Grissom was gone, leaving Nick to wonder if that had been sarcasm…. Sometimes it was damn tough to tell, with that guy.

Nick set himself up in Sara's office-she was out in the field with Catherine, but Grissom was probably right, she wouldn't mind. Sara was that rare individualist who relished being a team player. Though his specialty was hair and fiber analysis, Nick-like all the CSIs Grissom had assembled-was versatile enough to step in and take over any other criminalist's job. And a video game buff like Nick was hardly a stranger to computers.

With a sigh and a mental farewell to his bevy of beautiful dancers, Nick Stokes buried himself in the computer records of Lynn Pierce. E-mails were still coming in, mostly junk, but one from her brother indicated she hadn't gone to visit him…unless something really clever was going on-a possibility that, however far-fetched, had to be considered.

Another e-mail, from a Sally G., whose handle was AvonLady, was even less promising. Several mass e- mailings from Lynn Pierce's church indicated a limited and specific social circle. But Nick kept digging and had been at it about an hour when Grissom stuck his head in Sara's office and announced their first real chunk of evidence.

'You coming with?' Nick asked.

'No. Take Warrick.'

Less than two minutes later, Nick strode into the locker room, where Warrick sat on the bench in front of his locker, his head hanging down, a jock who just lost the big game.

'Who cleaned your clock?' Nick asked.

Warrick gave him a slow exhausted burn. 'Me, myself, and all that overtime.'

'Well, guess what-we just bought some more.'

Looking up, alert suddenly, Warrick asked, 'What gives?'

'Grissom got a call from Brass-Lynn Pierce's Toyota's turned up in long-term parking at McCarran.'

Warrick was on his feet. 'Yeah, I was hoping to put in a few more hours-let's go before I change my mind.'

McCarran International Airport was one of the five busiest airports in the nation, and one of the most efficient. In the wee hours, dawn not yet a threat, airliners still screamed hello and good-bye, and cars made their way in and out of the parking lot.

Twenty-five minutes after leaving HQ-five minutes of which had been taken up dealing with security at the parking-lot entrance-Nick and Warrick's black Tahoe pulled to a halt behind a squad car that blocked in a white 1995 Toyota Avalon. As they climbed down from the Tahoe a uniformed officer got out of his squad and came back to meet them.

'Anybody been near here?' Warrick asked.

The uniformed man, a fair-haired, weathered pro in his forties, shook his head; his nameplate read JENKINS. 'Airport security, making the rounds, recognized the car from our wants list and matched the plate, then gave us a call.'

'Good catch,' Warrick said.

Officer Jenkins nodded. 'They've been making more frequent visits out here ever since September eleventh.