Cold Burn

'This is about Missy,' Sherman said, 'isn't it?'

'I'm afraid so,' Brass said. 'We saw a light on upstairs-is someone here with you?'

'No-I turn that light on so I don't have to walk up to the bedroom in the dark. Now, what news do you have about my wife?'

Brass paused; he swallowed. 'I'm sorry, sir. Your wife was found-'

'You've found her?' Sherman said, jumping in, dark eyes wide.

'Her body was found, Mr. Sherman. Early this morning by a park ranger at Lake Mead.'

'She's dead,' he said incredulously, clearly not wanting to believe it.

'She's dead, yes.'

Sherman covered his mouth with a hand, and then the tears began. And then he flung his glasses to the end table beside him, hunkered over and began to sob.

Warrick looked at the floor.

Catherine handed the man a small packet of tissues. Warrick could only admire her-she was always prepared, wasn't she?

After perhaps thirty seconds, Sherman said, 'Missy can't be…why, after all this time…? I thought…I hoped… you hear about amnesia, and…'

More comments, only semicoherent, tumbled from him, but within another thirty seconds, the sobbing had ceased, and he seemed to have hold of himself.

Brass asked gently, 'Is there someone you'd like us to call for you? You probably shouldn't be alone now.'

Sherman's reply had building anger in it. 'I shouldn't be alone now? I shouldn't have had to be alone for all these months, but I was! Why didn't you find her last year? Maybe she'd be alive! She would be here, with me…. Missy's everything to me. You people, you people…!'

Catherine stepped forward, hands raised before her. 'Mr. Sherman-we're very sorry for your loss. It's not good for someone who's had a blow like this to be alone.'

Sherman appeared startled that someone had interrupted his tirade, and in such a compassionate manner; and that brought him back.

In a low, trembling voice, he said, 'I'm sorry…I'm really sorry. I shouldn't be angry with you. I'm sure you did everything you could…. Where's Detective Vega?'

'We're with the night shift,' Warrick said. 'Detective Vega works days, right now. He'll be informed, and I know he'll be concerned. I'm sure he'll talk to you.'

Nodding, lip trembling, Sherman said, 'He…He tried…tried very hard.'

Then Sherman just sat there, collapsed in on himself, like a child trying not to cry.

How Warrick hated this part of the job. But he knew that Gris would only remind him that the CSIs worked not just for the victims, but for their loved ones. Warrick and his associates couldn't make the pain of losing a wife or a sister or a friend go away; but at least they could try to provide some answers and-when the system worked the way it was supposed to-a modicum of justice.

Nick appeared from somewhere with a glass of water and handed it to Sherman, who took a short sip, then a longer drink. Hand shaking, he set the glass on the end table. 'Thank you, Officer.'

Nick just nodded.

'I love my wife very much,' Sherman finally said. His voice had a quaver, but he had regained some composure. 'And for a whole year I've had only questions with no answers. I just wanted Missy back alive. I should have known that after this long…Ever see that movie, with John Cleese?'

Brass frowned at the seeming non sequitur. 'Sir?'

'He's trying to get somewhere and can't make it on time, just one damn thing after another…'

'Clockwise,' Catherine said.

'Is that what it's called? Well, in that movie, John Cleese, he says, 'It's not the despair…I can handle the despair. It's the hope!''

And Sherman began to laugh, only the laughter turned to tears again. But briefly, this time. 'Like the big dope I am, I just kept hoping.'

'In your position, we all would, Mr. Sherman,' Catherine said. 'We all would.'

'And sir?' Warrick said. 'You'll have plenty of time now, to come to grips with this. Don't beat yourself up.'

Catherine glanced at Warrick, a bit of surprise in her expression, then said to Sherman, 'You will make it through this. And, for what it's worth, we will be working very hard to find out who did this.'

Sherman looked up at her, his forehead tightening. 'You make it sound…She was killed?'

Brass said, 'Yes, sir.'

'Oh my God…oh my God…'

They let him cry. Warrick watched Catherine and Brass exchanging a series of looks that were a silent conversation about whether they should press on with any questioning, or if Sherman's grief made that impossible.

Brass seemed to want to stay at it. To give the man a chance to get himself together.

The tears slowed, then stopped. Sherman dried his face with some of Catherine's tissues. 'There was a time when I…I can't believe I'm admitting this, but there was a time I actually wanted her to be dead.'

Catherine said, 'Mr. Sherman, you should-'

'If her body was found, that at least would mean the end of wondering. I sit here, sometimes all night, watching mindless movies, trying not to think where she might be. The later it was at night, the more horrible the possibilities. Now…now, that it's finally happened, I have a thousand questions, a million questions. Who would do this to Missy? Why?'

'This investigation is just starting,' Brass said.

'It's not-You don't consider it just an old case that…'

'No. It's very much on the front burner. We hope to be able to answer some of your questions soon.'

Swallowing hard, turning sideways toward the homicide cop, Sherman asked, 'Was she…? Did someone…? Was…?'

Brass didn't seem sure what Sherman meant, but Catherine said, 'She was not sexually assaulted, Mr. Sherman. She died of suffocation.'

'Suffocation…Missy?' Leaning forward and grasping Brass's hands, startling the detective, Sherman implored, 'Jesus Christ man, what can you tell me? Where has she been for the last year? Who had her?'

'She wasn't strangled, sir,' Catherine said. 'We're not sure of the circumstances, where her suffocation is concerned. But she was not strangled.'

'And we can't tell you where she's been all this time,' the detective said. 'But she appears to have been killed shortly after she disappeared.'

'You said…Lake Mead. A ranger found her?'

Brass nodded.

'But that's…such a public place!' Sherman was growing outraged again. 'How could she not be found, in over a year?'

Catherine stepped forward, crouched in front of the man and touched one of his hands, as if he were a small child she were comforting. 'We understand how difficult this is for you, Mr. Sherman. But even though your wife was killed over a year ago, the person who committed that crime-or some associate of the murderer-only this morning placed her body in the park. That makes this a very new, active case…and we need to get right to work.'

Sherman swallowed, nodded. 'Anything you need. Anything.'

'Well…to begin with, we must ask you to go over this one more time. It's been a long time since anyone looked at your wife's case with fresh eyes. And since we didn't work the case before, maybe we can find something that got overlooked the first time.'

Gazing at her, his eyes still damp, Sherman nodded that he understood. 'Where do we start?'

Catherine rose and backed up a little, giving Brass some room as the detective took over again. 'From the beginning,' he said. He withdrew the small tape recorder from his sportscoat pocket, adding, 'And with your