Pierce sighed, pointed. 'Under the workbench…. Want me to…?'
Grissom nodded, followed him over and watched as Pierce pulled out two chain saws and hauled them, one at a time, up on the bench. One, a brand new STIHL, was still in the box.
'This box is sealed,' Grissom said, giving it a close, thorough look.
'Yeah, just bought it yesterday. Got the receipt.'
The other, an old Poulan, was so rusty that Grissom could tell just by looking that the saw wouldn't even start, let alone cut through a human body.
'What do you generally use a chain saw for, Mr. Pierce?'
'Cutting firewood, mostly. Pile out back.'
Grissom nodded at the door leading outside. 'May I?'
'Be my guest.'
Behind the house, in the moonlight, Pierce showed Grissom to the woodpile. Using a pocket flash, the CSI knelt and inspected several of the cords.
'These are freshly cut, Mr. Pierce.' He stood. 'You've got one saw that's inoperable, and another still in the box. How is it you have fresh cut firewood?'
Pierce didn't miss a beat. 'Next door neighbor. Mel Charles, he loaned me his chain saw.'
'When?'
'Couple of days ago. I like to watch a fireplace fire…helps me think, relax. So, I cut some wood. That's relaxing, too-use some muscles I don't, in my work.'
Grissom nodded; he'd have Brass check with the neighbor.
They went back into the garage, Pierce saying, 'Is that all, Mr. Grissom?'
'Crawlspace?'
Pierce pulled the steps down, and Grissom and his Maglite went up for a look-nothing. He would send Warrick and Nick in for the fine-tooth comb tour, later.
The physical therapist ushered Grissom back into the house, where Brass and Lori were just wrapping up their interview. Brass glanced up as they came in, but continued the interview.
'Lori, you've gone through some pretty big changes,' Brass said. 'The dyed hair, the pierced eyebrow, weren't you worried about what your mom would say when she came home?'
Lori's eyes shot to her father's, but she said nothing.
Pierce, sitting next to his daughter, putting a hand on her shoulder, said, 'Lori was so upset when we thought Lynn had abandoned us, well…I thought a few changes wouldn't hurt anything, and would help Lori's state of mind.'
'But wouldn't her mother have been furious?' Brass asked.
Pierce waved that off. 'Lori had every right to be angry. At least, she thought so at the time.'
Brass's eyes moved to Grissom. The CSI supervisor shook his head: nothing in the garage. Rising, Brass said, 'Thank you, Lori-I really appreciate your cooperation.'
The girl shrugged-but a tiny one-sided smile indicated the slight but significant rapport Brass had established.
To Pierce, Brass said, 'I'm sure we'll have more questions for Lori, as the investigation continues. But I promise you we'll keep her best interests in mind.'
'I'm sure,' Pierce said dryly.
'We'll also have more questions for you.'
'Then you're not arresting me?'
'No,' Brass said, a 'not at this time' lilt in his voice, 'but you may wish to consult with your attorney.'
Pierce's reply was quietly sardonic: 'Because you have my best interests in mind.'
The investigators moved to the door and Pierce shut it wordlessly behind them.
Out in the yard, Grissom gestured to the sprawling stucco ranch-style house next door. 'We need to stop by the neighbor's house.'
'Kinda late.'
Grissom explained what Pierce had told him about the chain saw. 'I want that chain saw, now.'
'Are you saying Owen Pierce borrowed his neighbor's chain saw to cut up his wife?'
'He could have. Any way you look at it, I want that chain saw.'
They crossed the well-manicured yard, a dwarf fruit tree perched in the middle of a brick circle surrounded by a moat of mulch. Brass rang the bell.
'They're gonna love us,' Brass said.
But it was only a moment before an auburn-haired woman of about thirty answered the door. She wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a T-shirt with the 'Race for the Cure' logo splashed across the front. Green-eyed with milky skin, she had a small rabbit-twich nose and an inquisitive expression-but she didn't look annoyed.
The muffled sound of Conan O'Brien came from the living room.
'I don't normally open the door at this time of night,' she said, and her voice, though quiet, carried a backbone of authority. 'But I've seen you before, stopping next door, and on TV, too-you're the police officers on the Lynn Pierce case, aren't you?
Brass already had his I.D. out to show her. 'That's right, ma'am. I'm Captain Jim Brass and this is crime- scene investigator, Gil Grissom. Is Mel Charles here?'
'Mel is my husband-I'm Kristy Charles.' Her smile disappeared. 'The house is kind of a mess-you mind if I bring Mel to you?'
'Not at all,' Brass said. 'This shouldn't take long.'
'Any help we can give, we're glad to-Lynn's a great gal, but her husband…well, I'll get Mel for you.'
Soon Mel Charles filled the doorway, his wife staying just behind him, taking it all in. She seemed to have a satisfied expression, as though relishing this call by the police.
'Mr. Charles,' Grissom said, 'did you loan a chain saw to your next door neighbor, Mr. Pierce?'
'Couple days ago,' Charles said.
'Have you loaned him the saw on other occasions?'
Charles considered that for a moment, then shook his head. 'Never needed it before. He had his own. He's always out there cutting wood.'
'Why'd he need yours?'
'Said his had rusted up on him, and he hadn't had a chance to get a new one.'
'Are you and Owen Pierce close, Mr. Charles? Hang out, shoot the breeze, loan each other garden tools and so on, pretty casually?'
'No. We just nod at each other…. Kristy and Lynn are friendly, share a cup of coffee now and then…I wouldn't say 'close.''
'Obviously, you've seen the news about the disappearance of Mrs. Pierce, and what was found out at Lake Mead, today…'
Mrs. Charles's face was etched with dread. 'You don't mean…he used
And she was gone.
Brass said, 'Your wife liked Mrs. Pierce.'
Eyebrows rose above the Buddy Holly rims. 'You make it sound like Lynn's dead, Captain Brass.'
'The evidence leans that way, yes.'
Charles shook his head, mouth tight. 'Well, that's a damn shame, God, a pity. She was real nice-kind of straight-laced? But nice.'
'Straight-laced?' Brass echoed, remembering using the term himself when questioning Lori.
'You know-Born-Again Christian, conservative as hell.'
'How about Mr. Pierce?'
With a shrug, Charles said, 'We don't know them that well, really. But I get the idea he wasn't the church- going type, himself.'
'What makes you say that?'
Charles was clearly trying to decide how much it was fair to say. '…I've seen rough characters stop by the
