Sin City

THE NEXT NIGHT'S SHIFT HAD BARELY BEGUN WHEN Warrick Brown stuck his head into Grissom's office, waving a file folder. 'Lil Moe's real name is Kevin Sadler.'

Grissom looked up from files of his own. 'The pusher you busted? What was that about? Bring me up to speed.'

Warrick remained in the doorway. 'Sadler's a two-bit dealer, done some county time, never handled enough weight to go the distance.'

'And this has to do with our case how?'

Warrick offered up a sly smile. 'Sadler stamps his bags with a little red triangle.'

'Like the bag of coke we found at Pierce's?'

'Exactly like.'

Grissom rocked back. 'So-does this mean we have a new suspect?'

Warrick leaned against the jamb. 'You mean, did Owen Pierce hire this scumbag to off his wife? Or maybe did Owen and his connection have a falling out, and Lynn Pierce caught the bad end of it?'

Impatiently, Grissom said, 'Yes.'

'No,' Warrick said. 'Sadler was in lockup for three months-grass bust. Just got out.'

'Just?'

'Two days after Lynn Pierce went missing.'

Grissom made a disgusted face. 'Didn't take him long to jump back into business. Well, at least you got him off the street…. What's next?'

'Gris, Little Moe's not a dead-end.'

'There's mo'?'

Warrick actually laughed. 'That wasn't bad, Gris. Anyway, just two short years ago, Sadler was a baseball player at UNLV. Guess who his physical therapist was?'

Grissom's eyes glittered. 'Does he live in a castle?'

'How's this for a scenario? Kevin Sadler, aka Lil Moe, enters his new, lucrative line of chemical sales. And maybe his physical therapist is not just a member of the Hair Club for men…'

Grissom frowned thoughtfully. 'He's the president?'

Warrick shrugged a shoulder. 'People who come to massage therapy are hurting-and massage isn't cheap. Pierce pulls down seventy-five an hour for a session…so he's obviously attracting a clientele who could afford recreational drugs to help ease their pain.'

Still frowning, Grissom-already on his feet-asked, 'You run this by Brass?'

'Oh yeah-more important, he's about to run it past our friend Kevin…which is to say Moe.' Warrick checked his watch. 'They should be heading into the interrogation room about…now.'

Through the two-way glass they could see the slender, dreadlocked Sadler, in one of the county's orange jumpsuits, sitting sullenly at the table, a bandage on his forehead. Seated beside him was Jerry Shannon, the kind of attorney who was glad for whatever scraps the Public Defender's office could toss his way. Short and malnourished-looking, the attorney looked superficially spiffy in a brown sportcoat, green tie and yellow shirt, which on closer inspection indicated his tailor shop of choice might be Goodwill.

Brass was on his feet, kind of drifting between Sadler and his attorney, whose arms were folded as he monotoned, 'My client has nothing to say.'

Warrick and Grissom exchanged glances: they'd encountered Shannon before; low-rent, yes, thread-bare, sure…but no fool.

Brass directed his gaze at Sadler, and with no sympathy, asked, 'How's the ribs?'

'They hurt like a motherfucker!' Sadler said, and grimaced, his discomfort apparently no pose. 'I'm gonna sue your damn asses, police brutality shit….'

The skinny attorney leaned toward his client and touched an orange sleeve. 'You don't have to answer any of the captain's questions, Kevin-including the supposedly 'friendly' ones.'

'You prefer Kevin, then?' Brass asked. 'Not Moe?'

The dealer looked toward his lawyer, then back at Brass, blankly. Shannon leaned back in his chair, folded his arms again, smiled to himself.

Brass was saying, 'Found a lot of grass on you last night, Kevin-not to mention the coke and the meth, and the pills. County just won't cover it. This time you're gonna get a little mo' yourself…in Carson City.'

Trading glances with his attorney, Sadler tried to look defiant and unconcerned; but the fear in his eyes was evident.

'You positive you don't want to answer a few questions for us? Help us out?'

'Hell no! You-'

But Sadler's attorney had leaned forward and touched that orange sleeve again, silencing his client.

Pleasantly, Shannon inquired, 'And what would be in it for my client? If he 'helped you out.''

'That would depend on the answers he gives,' Brass said.

Shannon shook his head. 'You want Kevin to answer your questions, and then you'll offer us a deal? That's a little backwards, Captain Brass, isn't it?'

Brass shrugged. 'Fine-we can let the judge sort it out. What do you think, Kevin? You're young enough to do ten years standing on your head-you won't even be all that old when you get out.'

'Captain Brass,' Shannon began.

But Sadler shook the attorney's hand off his sleeve and said, surly, 'Ask your damn questions.'

Brass took the seat next to Sadler. He even smiled a little as he asked, 'Kevin-last night you told us you didn't know Owen Pierce…was that true?'

Sadler's forehead tightened in thought.

'I guess ten years isn't such a long time,' Brass said, reflectively. 'You might even be out in five. They even have a baseball team at Carson City-how is the knee, anyway?'

Sadler got the message, and shook his head, disgustedly. 'I only know him that way…Pierce worked on my knee, some. That's it. End of story.'

Brass rose, and looked toward the two-way window.

'That's my cue,' Warrick said to Grissom.

Moments later Warrick entered the interrogation room waving a clear evidence bag; carrying it over to Sadler, Warrick let him see the bag within the bag, the red triangle winking at him. 'How did this end up in Owen Pierce's house, if he was just your physical therapist?'

The attorney said, 'Pierce could've got that from anybody. There are countless sources in this town.'

Warrick showed the bag to the attorney, now. 'But those sources don't use this particular signature….' And now the CSI turned toward the dealer. 'Do they, Kevin?'

Sadler turned away from Warrick's gaze.

'Were you paying Pierce in coke, Kevin?' Warrick pressed. 'Is that how it worked? Him tradin' you physical therapy for his chemical recreation?'

The dealer settled deeper into sullen silence.

'The hell with this!' Brass said, roaring in off the sidelines. 'Kevin can rot in jail for the next decade or so- that's a given.' The detective leaned in and grinned terribly at the sulky face. 'But I will promise you this, Mr. Sadler-when we put Pierce away for murder, I'll find a way to latch onto you as an accessory.'

Brass motioned with his head to Warrick and they headed toward the door.

'Accessory?' Sadler blurted, his eyes wide, batting away his lawyer's hand. 'Hey, man I ain't accessory to shit!'

Brass stopped, his hand on the knob. 'Did you know Lynn Pierce?'

'I never even met the wife. I was never over there when she around-mostly we did business at his office.'

Brass strolled back over. 'What kind of business, Kevin?'

Sadler looked at his attorney a beat too long. They had him.

'I seen the papers and TV,' Sadler said, tentatively. 'Is she…missing or, she dead?'

'Mrs. Pierce?' Brass said, conversationally. 'Dead. Cut up with a chain saw.'

That stopped Sadler, who blew out some air. 'Man, that is cold…. I had nothing to do with that. You sound sure he did it…'