interrogation.'
They walked into a roomy, undistinguished office with cream-colored walls, a handful of desks and a few file cabinets. Just inside the door they were addressed by a young woman sitting behind a metal desk, immediately to their left.
'You the cops, already?' she asked, her voice cold.
'LV Metro PD,' Catherine said, displaying her I.D. 'Crime scene investigators.'
At a cluttered desk farther to the left, behind the woman's tidier one, sat a heavy-set thirty-some-thing guy in an open flannel shirt and a Bulls T-shirt, eyeing the two female callers suspiciously over a mountain of papers. To his left, in the back corner, was a closed door; nearer them in the back, off to the right, a third desk sat empty.
'Ray said you were coming,' the ash blonde said sullenly. 'What, were you out in the parking lot all the time?'
Sara stepped forward, to the edge of the woman's desk. 'Do you have a problem?'
Catherine quickly moved beside Sara, touching her arm, and said to the woman, pleasantly, 'Who runs the office, please?'
'Mr. Lipton does.' The ash blonde's voice was trembling and it seemed like she might cry. 'And he's innocent. Ray Lipton has his faults, but he's not a killer.'
'We don't decide that,' Catherine said, rather disingenuously. 'We just gather evidence.'
The heavy-set man used the desk to help him rise. 'Crime scene investigators, huh?' He had a deep, boomy voice that rattled up out of his chest like he was speaking from inside a trash can.
Catherine moved away from the secretary/receptionist's desk, to make eye contact with the hulking figure. 'That's right. We'd like to see Mr. Lipton's office and his company truck.'
Stepping out from behind the desk, which looked like a a playhouse toy next to him, the mountainous man lumbered forward, talking as he went: 'Was that girl killed here or something? You saying this is a crime scene? Are you kiddin'?'
Sara, who did not suffer fools gladly, looked about to burst, and Catherine could just see the citizen's complaint forms come flying into the office, after the Sidle social skills went into full force.
Holding Sara back gently, Catherine said, 'We need to investigate all aspects, all avenues, of a crime…not just the scene of the crime itself.'
The big man deposited himself before them. 'Ray's a stand-up guy,' he said, his eyes burning into Catherine's. 'He's not the killer type.'
Chin up, Sara asked mock-innocently, 'Is he the restraining-order type?'
The big man turned his gaze on the younger woman, sucking in air-the buttons on his flannel shirt threatening to pop and reveal the Bulls T-shirt in toto. Then the air rushed out: 'That was
'Like what?' Sara pressed.
Catherine stepped between them. 'Sir, we're not going to debate the issue. This is police business. As I said, we're only here to have a look at Mr. Lipton's office and truck.'
Still staring at Sara, the big man seemed to buckle a bit; then he said, 'Well, all right-but we're only cooperatin' 'cause Ray told us to.'
'So that's what this is,' Sara said. 'Cooperation.'
Wincing, Catherine raised a hand. 'Thank you, sir. We understand. And you should understand that we are here as much to look for evidence to exonerate Mr. Lipton as anything else.'
He considered that, doubtfully, then said, 'This way, ladies.'
Catherine fell in alongside him, and Sara brought up the rear.
'I'm Catherine Willows, and this is Sara Sidle. And you are?'
'Mike. Howtlen.'
He opened the door at the rear of the office, leading them into a corridor with another door on the left and one at the far end. 'Ray's office is here.' He gestured toward the closest of the doors. 'And the truck, it's in the bay, in back.'
The big man opened the office door and they all stepped inside. This was a colorless oversized cubicle with a messy desk, two filing cabinets, a couch against one wall, and-for the man who thought it unacceptable for his girl friend to be a stripper-a Hooters calendar.
'What's your job here, Mr. Howtlen?' Catherine asked.
'One of the job foremen.'
'I see. And how long have you worked for Mr. Lipton?'
'Ever since Ray went into business for himself…. Six years.'
'Do you have a Lipton Construction jacket?'
He looked at her funny. 'Why do you ask that?'
'I'd appreciate it if you'd just answer, sir.'
He shrugged, nodded. 'Yeah, sure. I got a jacket. We all do.'
'Define 'all.''
Another shrug. 'Twenty employees, here at Lipton Construction. We all got one. Ray's generous, and we're cheap advertising.'
Well, Catherine thought, Howtlen would make a hell of a billboard, at that.
Sara had slipped on latex gloves and now moved around to the rear of the desk. She opened the top righthand drawer and fingered Scotch tape, a ruler, pencils, rubber bands. Slowly, she worked her way toward the back.
Howtlen's eyes were riveted on Sara-whether in suspicion or interest or just because Sara Sidle was cute, Catherine couldn't say.
What she could say, to Howtlen, was, 'Can you put together a list for us, of everyone who has one of those Lipton Construction jackets?'
The foreman said nothing as he watched Sara shut the top drawer and move down to the next one. His face turned pink and he seemed to be gritting his teeth. So it wasn't Sara's good looks that had his attention: Howtlen was bridling at the indignity of their CSI invasion of Lipton territory.
Catherine took a step and gently laid a hand on his arm. 'Mr. Howtlen?'
He shook his head and looked down at Catherine. 'I'm sorry, what?'
'Sir, remember-what we find may clear Mr. Lipton.'
'Should I believe you?'
'Off the record, sir-I have a hunch Mr. Lipton's innocent myself.'
Sara flinched, but pretended not to hear it.
Howtlen said, 'You're not just sayin' that.'
'No. But it's my job to find out, either way-if Ray did kill his girlfriend, you wouldn't want him to have a pass, would you?'
'I…no. Of course not.'
'Good. Now about that list, Mr. Howtlen? Of jackets?'
'Yeah, sure-puttin' that together shouldn't be a problem.'
'Mr. Lipton told us he gave them to preferred customers, too.'
'Oh, shit, come to think of it, yeah…but I have no idea who that'd be. But Jodi, that's the gal out front, she'd probably know…. Yeah, no problem. We'll get you that list.'
The now truly cooperative Howtlen left then to fill Catherine's request, and the CSIs got down to work. Ninety minutes later they had pretty much dissected everything in the office and found nothing of value. The business records in the file cabinet, Catherine decided, could be left behind, for now; and there was no computer in here. Gathering up their gear, they moved down the hallway into the bay.
Two roll-up garage doors dominated the left wall of the high-ceilinged concrete chamber. Men's and women's bathrooms took up the rest of the side they'd entered through. A workbench ate up a large chunk of the righthand wall; some green metal garden furniture and, at the rear of the room, a couple of wood-and-metal picnic tables comprised the break area. The center of the room held two blue pickups with Lipton Construction stenciled in white-outlined red on their sides. The one parked nearest to them had 'Ray' in white script letters over the driver's
