Sin City

'And then I'll cut you up in little pieces.'

Brass twitched half a humorless smile. 'Gets a little ugly after that…. Wouldn't want to disturb you in your time of sorrow.'

Pierce had a pole axed expression. 'Where did you get that?'

Brass ignored the question. 'Maybe now would be a good time to advise you of your rights, Mr. Pierce.'

The therapist's dull eyes suddenly flared bright, as he rose to loom over the detective and the criminalist, and the sorrow-possibly fabricated-turned to unmistakably real rage. 'You're arresting me? What for? Having an argument with my wife?'

'You threatened to cut her into pieces,' Brass said, 'and shortly thereafter…she was in pieces. We don't view that as a coincidence.'

'That tape probably isn't even admissible. Who gave it to you? What, the Blairs? Those religious fanatics? Probably doctored that tape…edited it….'

'We've had the tape closely examined,' Grissom said. 'It's your voice, and the tape is undoctored.'

A half-sigh, half-grunt emanated from the therapist's chest, and he sat back down, hard, shaking the couch, jostling Brass a little.

Pierce fixed his red-rimmed blue eyes onto Grissom. 'Are you a married man?'

'No.'

Then Pierce turned to Brass. 'How about you, detective? Married?'

Brass said, 'My marital status isn't-'

'Ha!' Pierce pointed at homicide captain. 'Divorced!…And I suppose you never threatened your wife? You never said, I could just kill you for that? One of these days, Alice, pow!, zoom!, straight to the moon?'

'Ralph Kramden,' Grissom pointed out, 'never threatened to dismember his wife.'

Brass glanced at the criminalist, surprised by the cultural reference.

Backing down now, Pierce ran a hand over his forehead, removing sweat that wasn't there. 'I see your point, guys, I really do…I have a nasty temper, but it's strictly…verbal. I'm telling you, those words were just me losing it.'

'Your temper,' Brass said.

'Yes. No question.'

'Lost your temper, killed your wife, dismembered her. You're a physical therapist-you have some knowledge about anatomy.'

'I didn't kill her. It was just an argument-we had them all the time, since her… conversion, that Born-Again crapola. But do you honestly think I would kill my wife over religious differences?'

Brass was about to respond when the front door opened and a teenage girl stepped into the foyer.

Grissom didn't recognize the girl-she had short, lank black hair, a pierced eyebrow, enough black mascara to offend Elvira, black form-fitting jeans, and a black Slipknot T-shirt. He wondered if this was a friend of Pierce's daughter, Lori, come to visit.

'Daddy, what is it?' the girl asked in a mousy voice that didn't go with her punky Goth look.

Pierce's eyes went from Brass to Grissom to the girl. 'Lori,' he said slowly. 'These officers have some information about Mom.'

Grissom looked harder-this was indeed Lori, formerly blonde and rather wholesome-looking, perhaps getting an early start on Halloween.

The girl froze, her eyes wide, the whites of them making a stark contrast with the heavy black mascara. 'Is she…al…all…right? What they found…on TV…was it…?'

Pierce was on his feet, nodding gravely, motioning to her. 'Come here, baby…come 'ere.'

A short, sharp breath escaped her, then Lori ran to her father's arms and he held her tight, saying, 'She's gone, honey…Mom's gone.' They stayed that way for a long time. Finally, Pierce held his daughter at arm's length.

'What happened?' Lori asked, her pseudo-adult makeup at odds with eyes filled with a child's pain.

Pierce shook his head. 'No, honey. It's not the time for that…. I have to deal with these…the authorities.'

'Dad…'

'Lori, we'll talk about this later.'

She pulled away from his grasp. 'I want to know, now.'

Grissom had a shiver of recognition: he'd said almost exactly the same thing about Lynn Pierce to Warrick and Nick.

Brass was on his feet. He moved near the father, and said, almost whispering, 'Why don't you let me talk to her, Mr. Pierce. I have a daughter, not much older than her….'

Turning to face him, Pierce said, rather bitterly, 'Your compassion is noted, detective. But I don't think that's such a good idea.'

'I do need to ask your daughter some questions,' Brass said. 'I'm sure you want to cooperate…both of you?'

The girl's eyes were tight, her expression paralyzed, as if she couldn't decide whether to scream, cry, or run.

'Lori's had a great shock,' Pierce said, reasonably. 'Can't this wait until later?'

'Frankly, Mr. Pierce…no. This is a murder investigation. Delays are costly.'

Exasperated, Pierce turned to Grissom. 'Can't you stop this? You seem like a decent man.'

With a tiny enigmatic smile, Grissom rose and said, 'You seem like a decent man, too, sir…. Maybe you and I should leave Lori and Captain Brass alone, so they can talk…and you can show me the garage.'

Pierce was looking at Grissom as if the criminalist were wearing clown shoes. 'What?'

'Your garage,' Grissom said, pleasantly, pointing. 'It's this way, isn't it?' He started toward the kitchen.

Reluctantly, with a world-weary sigh and one last glance at his daughter, Pierce followed the CSI.

'Sit down, Lori, please,' Brass said, gesturing toward the sofa. 'You don't mind if I call you Lori?'

'Do what you want,' Lori sniffled. Tears were trailing down her face, mascara painting black abstract patterns on her cheeks. She looked at him skeptically, then demanded, 'Are you going to tell me what happened to my mother?'

'Lori…please. Sit.'

She sat.

So did he.

'I'm Detective Brass. You can call me Jim, if you like.'

Her response was tough, undermined by a teary warble in her Sniffles the Mouse voice: 'I feel so close to you…Jim.'

Brass took in a deep breath, let it out slowly through his mouth. No sugar coating this; the girl had seen the television news, after all. He said, 'Your mother was murdered.'

He watched her as she took that in. Her face auditioned various emotions, one at a time, but fleeting- surprise, fear, anger-as she struggled to process and accept what he'd just told her. Her internal struggle, barely letting any emotion out beyond the unstoppable tears, reminded Brass a great deal of his own daughter. He wondered if Ellie had cried when his wife told her that he had left them; he wondered where Ellie was now, and if she still hated him.

'Are you all right?' he asked the girl.

'No, I'm not all right!…Yeah, right, I'm fine, I'm cool! You got a touch, don't ya?'

Brass felt a fool-just as his own daughter had so often made him feel. Of course Lori wasn't 'all right,' and for that matter, probably never would be. Mothers were not supposed to get murdered.

Then the girl's toughness dropped away. 'I…I can't believe it,' she finally managed.

'It's hard to lose family,' he said. 'Especially a parent. Even if you had trouble with them. Sometimes that only makes it harder.'