Sin City

The streaky face looked at him differently now. 'You…?'

He glanced around, making sure they were alone. 'Yeah, both of mine are gone. Not as rough as you, Lori.'

'No?'

'Natural causes, and I was an adult.'

'But…it was still hard?'

'It's always hard. Lori, I don't like this, but we all owe it to your mother to find out what happened to her, and clear this up as much as possible.'

'What, like that'll bring her back?'

'Of course it won't bring her back. But it could mean…closure, for you. And your dad.'

'Closure, huh? Everybody talks about closure. You know what I think, Detective? Closure's way fucking overrated.'

'…You may have a point, Lori…. Now, I've got to ask you some questions-you up to it?'

She took a deep breath and nodded, what the hell.

Brass hated this part of the job, and wondered where he should start. If he hit a raw nerve, the girl-who had warmed to him some-might come unglued; and then he'd have a hell of time getting her to answer any questions. If she truly broke down, he'd have to call in the Social Services people, to provide the girl counseling…and his investigation would take a backseat.

Best to tread carefully, he thought. 'Did you get along with your mother?'

Shrug.

'You're what, Lori? Sixteen?'

Nod.

'So, how did you get along with your mother?'

'You already asked me that.'

He'd gotten some words out of her, anyway. 'Yes, Lori, but you didn't really answer me.'

Another shrug. 'Not good, really. She didn't want me to do, you know, anything.'

'What do you mean…'anything'?'

'You know-go out with guys, go to concerts, get a job. She wanted me to be the girl in the plastic bubble. She barely tolerated my boyfriend, Gary.'

'Tell me about your boyfriend.'

This time the nod carried some enthusiasm. 'Gary Blair. He's cool.'

'Cool? Aren't the Blairs a pretty straight-laced family?'

A tiny smile appeared. 'Basically. I don't know about lace, but he's pretty straight. His parents are in a church group with Mom…otherwise, I don't think she'd even let me go out with him.'

'How strict was your mom?'

She snorted. 'She's way past strict into…' Her expression turned inward. '…I mean, she was way past strict….'

Brass could have kicked himself for the past-tense slip. She'd just been opening up, when he made the faux pas, and now he had to find a way to save the interview, before the kid caved.

'What do you and Gary like to do together?' Brass asked. 'Movies? Dancing?'

Lori, lost in thought, didn't seem to hear him. She was still on his previous question, mumbling, 'Yeah, Mom made the 700 Club look like, you know, un-psycho.'

'You and Gary?'

She seemed to kind of shake herself out of it. 'We, uh…you know, go to the movies, we hang out at the mall. Sometimes we just stay here.'

'Ever go to the Blairs?'

'Not much. His mom is really weird, kinda…you know, wired? Like a chihuahua on speed?'

Brass smiled at that, though the drug reference was disturbing. 'So when you and Gary hang out here, what do you do?'

Yet another shrug. 'Listen to CDs in my room, watch DVDs, stuff like that. Sometimes surf the 'net. Go in chat rooms and pretend to be people, you know, like pretend I'm a nympho or a dyke or somethin'-typical shit.'

Brass was starting to wonder if the shrugging was a nervous tic, or simply generational-his sullen daughter had shrugged at him a lot the last time he'd seen her. Somewhere along the line, shrugging had become a substitute for speech. 'Gary ever around, when your parents argued?'

She gave him an odd, sideways look. Her response turned one syllable into at least three: 'No.'

'But you did? See them argue?'

'I…I don't know if I should be talking about stuff like that…. That's personal. Family shit.'

'It's all right, Lori. I'm a…public servant. I'm just trying to help you…help your family get through this.'

She drew back. 'That's bullshit.'

He froze, then laughed. 'Yeah…I guess it is, sort of. Lori, this is a crime. I have to find out what happened to your mom. If you don't talk to me, you'll have to talk to somebody, sometime. Why not get it out of the way?'

Lori considered that for a moment before answering. 'Yeah, well. They fought sometimes. All parents do. All married people do, right?'

'Right.'

'I don't think they fought any more than anybody else. I mean, I never saw Gary's parents fight, but they're such…pod people. My other friends' parents fight, at least the ones that are still together do.'

Out in the large, tidy garage, Pierce stood on the periphery, arms folded, while a latex-gloved Grissom poked around.

One of the two parking places stood empty, the therapist's blue Lincoln Navigator occupying the other. A workbench made out of two-by-fours and plywood ran most of the length of the far wall, tools arrayed on the pegboard above it, larger power tools stored on the shelf below. Three bikes and two sets of golf clubs in expensive bags lined the nearest wall. A plywood ceiling held a pull-down door with stairs that gave access to the crawlspace up there.

'Do you own a chain saw?' Grissom asked affably.

'A chain saw!' Pierce's eyes and nostrils flared. 'I resent this harassment! I'm trying to-'

Holding up a traffic-cop palm, Grissom interrupted. 'I'm not harassing you, Mr. Pierce.'

'That's how it looks to me.'

'I'm sorry you see it that way. I'm doing my job, which is to find and eliminate suspects based upon the evidence.'

'I'm automatically a suspect, I suppose, because I'm the husband.'

'Based on that tape you heard Captain Brass play, it's fair to say you had argued with your wife, threatening her with violence…and when she turns up dead in just the manner you described, you tell me? Are you a reasonable candidate for the crime?'

The therapist looked dumbfounded. 'Well…'

'Your cooperation helps me eliminate you as a suspect. Remember that.'

Pierce turned conciliatory, sighing as he walked over to the criminalist. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom. I guess I lost my head, because I do know how it looks.'

The question,the CSI thought, is how did your wife lose her head? But Grissom had enough sense and tact not to blurt as much.

Instead, Grissom said only, 'Understandable, sir. Understandable.'

'Lynn and I had some really good times, before she was…born again. I'm telling you, it's like she joined a cult. Do you know that she told me, once, that she felt it was so sad that good people like Gandhi and Mother Teresa had to go to hell, 'cause they hadn't been saved, like she had? I can't lie to you, Mr. Grissom-we were definitely in the divorce express lane.'

'The chain saw?'