7
LAKE MEAD WAS BORN OF HOOVER DAM STEMMING THE Colorado River's flow; downstream Davis Dam had given birth to Lake Mohave, and together the pair of man-made bodies of water-and the surrounding desert- comprised Lake Mead National Recreation Area, a million and a half acres set aside in '64 by the federal government for the enjoyment of the American tourist. Lake Mead's cool waters were ideal for swimming, boating, skiing, and fishing.
But some people had a peculiar idea of fun, which meant the CSIs were no strangers to the recreation area. They were at the end of another long shift, the day after the Toyota Avalon had been found at McCarran, when a phone call had come in, just as Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown were about to head home. Grissom had headed them off, announcing another discovery, this time a grisly one.
And now, once again, three nightshift CSIs, including their supervisor, were dragging their weary bones into the sunshine. Or at least Warrick and Nick were weary: Grissom never seemed tired, exactly, nor for that matter did he ever seem particularly energetic-except when evidence was stirring his adrenaline flow.
Soon Warrick was steering one of the team's black Tahoes out Lake Mead Boulevard, Route 147, past Frenchman's Mountain and on toward the recreation area as he followed the twisty road west of Gypsum Wash and then down the Lake Shore Scenic Drive. The landscape was as untamed and restless as the Old West itself, rugged, chaotic, God working as an abstract artist, sculpting rocks in countless shapes in a raw rainbow of colors-snowy whites, cloudy grays, gentle mauves and fiery reds.
When Warrick swung into the parking lot for Lake Mead Tours, Brass's Taurus pulled up and parked next to them.
The autumn morning was cool enough for their windbreakers. None of them bothered with field kits yet-they would get the lay of the land, first-or maybe the lake, the endless expanse of which glistened nearby. Grissom and Nick climbed down and followed Warrick a few steps to where a man in a tan uniform stood next to a U.S. Fish and Wildlife pickup. Brass caught up quickly.
'Warrick Brown,' the criminalist said, pointing to his necklace I.D. 'Las Vegas CSI.'
'Jim Tilson, U.S. Fish and Wildlife.'
The two exchanged polite smiles and handshakes-the latex gloves weren't on, yet.
'This is Nick Stokes, CSI,' Warrick went on as the rest of the group caught up with him, 'and our supervisor, Gil Grissom, and Captain Jim Brass from Homicide.'
Tilson nodded to them-more polite smiles, more handshakes.
Warrick was studying the guy, brow knitted. 'I feel like I know you, Mr. Tilson.'
A real smile creased Tilson's face now, revealing a row of uneven but very white teeth. 'I played a little ball-Nevada Reno, then the CBA, couple years…till I blew my ankle out.'
Snapping his fingers, Warrick said, 'Yeah, yeah, I remember you! Jumpin' Jimmy Tilson. You spent some time with the Nuggets, too.'
Tilson nodded. 'That was a while ago.'
'Mr. Tilson,' Grissom said, 'why did you call us?'
Tilson led them around his truck. 'Over here…Not pretty.'
Grissom smiled thinly. 'They so seldom are.'
They walked across the parking lot and down to the edge of the lake, where the water lapped at the sloping cement, and Tilson's USFW flat bottom boat was tied to the cruise boat's dock. If they looked hard, they could see the tour boat down at the far end of the basin; but that wasn't what they'd come to see. Warrick gazed into the flat bottom's bottom, where a canvas tarp covered something in the middle of the boat.
'I was on the lake this morning taking samples,' Tilson said, a grimness in his tone.
'Samples?' asked Brass.
Tilson shrugged. 'Testing chemical pollution in the lake, at various depths. It's an ongoing USFW concern. Anyway, I bring up my container, then start hauling up the anchor to move to another spot. Well, the damn anchor snags on something.' Another shrug. 'Happens once in a while. Lotta shit's ended up in this lake over the years.'
'I can imagine,' Brass said, just moving it along.
'So,' the wildlife man said, 'I start pullin' the anchor chain back in, and damn, it's heavy as hell.' Tilson moved close to the boat, then glanced up toward the parking lot-to make sure they were undisturbed-and pulled back the tarp. 'And this is what I found.'
Even Grissom winced.
'That's one nasty catch of the day,' Nick said, softly.
The lake had bleached the slab of flesh the gray-white of old newspaper. Someone had severed the body just above the navel and near the top of the femurs, leaving only the buttocks and vagina and the tops of the thighs. The unctuous odor of rot floated up and Warrick forced himself to breathe through his mouth.
'This is all you found?' Nick asked, frowning down at the thing.
'That's it.'
Grissom was gazing out at the lake now. 'Mr. Tilson, can you tell us where exactly you found this body?'
Now Tilson looked out across the water, gesturing. 'Straight out-half a mile or more.'
'You have GPS?'
Global positioning system.
Nodding, Tilson said, 'I took a reading, but the damned thing flamed out on me. Bad batteries, I guess.'
'We can send divers down,' Nick suggested.
Grissom and Tilson both shook their heads at the same time, but it was Brass who said, 'Too deep.'
'Nearly six hundred feet in places,' Tilson added.
'Besides which,' Grissom said, 'there's no telling how many different places parts were dumped into the lake.'
'Whatever happened to dragging the lake?' Nick asked.
Tilson said, 'You don't drag a lake that covers two hundred forty-seven square miles…and, man, that's just the water, never mind the seven-hundred miles of shoreline. And you take in the whole area, you've got twice the size of Rhode Island to deal with.'
'And you have over ten million visitors a year, right, Mr. Tilson?' Grissom asked.
'That's right, sir.'
'Lotta suspects,' Warrick said.
And yet all of them knew, if this torso belonged to a certain missing woman, that one particular suspect would head their list. Warrick also knew that Grissom-whose mind had to be buzzing with the possibility of this being what was left of Lynn Pierce-would never countenance such a leap.
'I get the picture,' Nick was saying. 'So…what can we do?'
Warrick twitched half a humorless smirk, and said, 'We can do a DNA test on what we have, and hopefully identify the body.'
Again, neither the criminalists nor the police detective said what they all were thinking.
'Mr. Tilson,' Brass said, a mini-tape recorder at the ready, 'can you tell us exactly what happened this morning? In detail?'
Though this version of the tale took longer, it added very little to the original, more succinct story Tilson had told earlier.
'Did you see anything unusual on the lake this morning?' Brass asked.
Tilson looked at Brass with wide eyes, and gestured down into the boat.
'Besides that,' the detective said quickly. 'Other boats, suspicious activity, anything at all noteworthy?'
The USFW man considered that carefully. Finally he said, 'There were some boats…but, I mean, there's always boats. Didn't see anything odd, not like somebody dumpin' stuff into the water or anything. And we keep an eye out for that kinda thing.'
For several minutes, Brass continued to question Tilson, without learning anything new. Tilson requested permission to confer with some of the recreation area personnel, who were nervously hovering at the periphery. Brass-after glancing at Grissom, for a nod-okayed that.
