Sin City

said, 'Mr. Pierce, if you and Captain Brass will wait in the living room, we'll get to work. Then we'll talk to you when we're finished.'

'All right.'

For the next two hours, the CSI crew-in latex gloves but wielding little else of their elaborate equipment- crawled over every inch of the house, examining everything from the basement to the garage, speaking to the teenage girl only to ask her to step out of her bedroom for a few minutes. When they had finished, they conferred in the kitchen, careful to keep their voices down as they discussed what they'd found, and hadn't found.

An eyebrow arched, Catherine said to Grissom, 'There are gaps in the closet. Some clothes and shoes gone, apparently.'

'Consistent with Lynn Pierce packing up and leaving,' Grissom said.

Catherine smiled humorlessly, nodded.

Sara was nodding, too. 'Yeah, and there's a row of suitcases in the basement, with a space in it-so maybe one of them is gone. Space on the shelf above, where a train case could've been.'

Warrick piped in: 'Only one toothbrush in the master bathroom. Some empty spaces on her makeup table, like she took perfume, makeup, stuff like that.'

'No sign of her purse,' Nick said. 'And there was no blood in the drains, no knives missing that I could tell, no sign anyone did…what he said he would…on the tape.'

'I'd sure like to bring a RUVIS in here,' Catherine said, referring to the ultraviolet device that would show up blood stains.

'I don't think we can justify that,' Grissom said. 'If there is a crime here, we don't want to do anything that would be thrown out of court…. So what does this house tell us?'

'She may have gone,' Catherine said.

Sara's eyebrows were up. 'Or somebody may have made it look like she left.'

'Gris,' Warrick said, 'I did find one thing that could be significant.' He showed them a clear evidence bag with a hairbrush in the bottom.

Grissom took the bag, held it up and looked at it as if it held the secrets of the universe; several blonde hairs dangled from the brush. He asked, 'Does a woman pack up and go, and leave her hairbrush behind?'

'Maybe Sara,' Nick said with a grin, and Sara grinned back and elbowed him, a little.

Grissom focused on the hairbrush in the bag. 'Why don't we ask Mr. Pierce about this?'

They followed their supervisor into the living room where Pierce and Brass (his notepad out) sat on a couch in front of a thirty-six inch Toshiba in an early-American entertainment hutch (just like George and Martha Washington used to have); CNN was going, with the mute on.

'Anything you'd like to share?' Brass asked Grissom.

'You'll be relieved to know,' Grissom said, 'that there are no signs of a struggle anywhere in the house.'

'I could have told you that,' Pierce said.

Catherine said, 'We don't see any overt indications of abduction.'

'That's a relief, anyway,' Pierce said, letting out a big sigh-too big, maybe.

Grissom offered up his patented smile. 'What can you tell me about this, Mr. Pierce?'

And he held up the bag with the brush.

'Well…that's Lynn's,' Pierce said.

Catherine asked, 'Would you say your wife is well-groomed, Mr. Pierce? Takes pride in her appearance?'

Pierce bristled. 'She's a beautiful woman. Of course she's…well-groomed.'

Catherine's smile was utterly charming, her words casually heartless. 'Does she usually go off without her hairbrush?'

'Maybe she has more than one.' Pierce held his hands out, palms open. 'How should I know?…Anyway, she only uses a brush when her hair is long. Lynn had her hair cut recently-it's barely over her ears. I've seen her combing it, but not brushing.'

Sara said, 'I noticed three computers in the house, Mr. Pierce.'

He nodded. 'Yes. Lori's is in her bedroom, mine is in the basement-I have my business programs on that-and in the spare bedroom, Lynn has her own for e-mailing her friends and, I don't know, whatever else she does.'

Grissom said, 'We'd like to take Lynn's computer with us, if you don't mind.'

Pierce winced at that one. 'You want her computer?'

With a brief nod, Grissom said, 'May help us track her movements. See if your wife e-mailed someone to notify them that she'd be coming for a visit. Can you access her account?'

'Afraid I can't. She has her own password…. Even the closest couples have privacy issues-who doesn't want to have a few secrets?'

Grissom said, 'Secrets don't stay secret long, in my world, Mr. Pierce.'

Catherine asked, 'How about a cell phone? Does Mrs. Pierce have one?'

'Why, yes-she carries it in her purse, all the time.'

'Have you tried to call her since she turned up missing?'

'Of course!'

'And?'

A shrug. 'And it comes back 'out of service.''

Catherine thought about that, then asked, 'May we see last month's bill?'

Starting to look mildly put out, Pierce said, 'Well…all right.'

'And her credit cards and bank statements?'

Pierce gave Grissom a sharp look, as if to say, Can't you keep this underling in check?

Grissom turned on the angelic smile again. 'It's an old, old theory, Mr. Pierce-follow the money. Wherever Mrs. Pierce is, she's spending money, somehow or other…and unless she left carrying a massive amount of cash, there should be a credit card trail to follow.'

The color had drained from Pierce's face. 'Well…Now, she could have taken cash with her, quite a bit of it. But I wouldn't know.'

'You had separate accounts?'

'Yes.'

Catherine said, 'Privacy issues?'

Pierce ignored that, looking instead at the CSI chief. 'Lynn's from a wealthy family, Mr. Grissom. She has a considerable amount of money beyond what I earn…. There's her money, my money, and our money-lots of couples are that way.' With yet another sigh, he rose. 'I understand you're just trying to help…. I'll get you the papers you need.'

Brass, still seated, asked, 'Do you have a recent photo of your wife we could take?'

'Yes. Of course. I'll get one for you.' Pierce left the room, and they could see him going up the stairs; in a few minutes he was back, handing Brass a five-by-seven snapshot. 'This was taken at her birthday party, just two months ago.'

Grissom took the photo away from Brass and looked at the casual image of a haggard, haunted-eyed blonde standing rather somberly next to several laughing female friends, a HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner in the background. In her late thirties, early forties, with short hair that flirted with the collar of a blue silk blouse, Lynn Pierce had blue eyes that matched her daughter's, high cheekbones with a touch too much blush, a long but graceful nose, nicely full lips, and a stubby flat chin. She was neither beautiful nor unattractive-a 'handsome' woman, as they used to say. As she stared up at him with clear, piercing eyes, Grissom got the impression that she was a no-nonsense, down-to-earth person.

The somberness of her expression, however, seemed almost to speak to him, as though there were something she needed to say.

Fifteen minutes later, after forced-friendly handshakes and good-byes with their host, the group trooped back out of the Pierce home, Catherine's arms piled with papers, Nick lugging Mrs. Pierce's computer.

As the rest of the CSI team loaded what they'd taken into the Tahoe, Catherine, with arms folded like a Sioux chief, faced Grissom. 'Your tape not withstanding…the evidence shows no signs that any crime has been committed