elaborate. We watched a lot of movies.'
'So,' Warrick said, 'you just popped a DVD in and waited.'
'Yes,' Sherman said, looking up at Warrick. 'I didn't want to worry-I didn't want to be ridiculous. But I kept looking out the front window every five minutes to see if she was pulling up. At some point, I finally just dropped off to sleep. When I woke up and found she still wasn't home, I called 911 right away.'
'Then the police took over,' Brass said.
'Yes.'
Brass said, 'Thank you, Mr. Sherman,' and clicked off the recorder.
'Is…is that it? Is that all?'
'Actually, Mr. Sherman,' Brass said, 'we would like to take you up on your offer to help.'
'Certainly…. Anything at all.'
'Good. Because I'd like to have our crime scene investigators take a look around.'
Warrick winced-that was a poor choice of words, considering…
Sherman flushed. 'Crime scene…? Are you saying that after all I've been through, I'm a suspect, now? In my wife's murder?'
Brass began, 'Mr. Sherman, please…'
His spine straight, his eyes wild, Sherman almost shouted: 'You come to tell me she's dead after a year of me praying for a fucking miracle that she might be alive and I open up my heart to you and you have the goddamn audacity to accuse me?'
'Mr. Sherman, no one's accusing you of anything-' Warrick protested.
'It sure as hell sounds like it! Crime scene my ass!'
'Sir,' Nick said, 'we know it's been a year, and that things have changed, but we have to look.'
'I don't have to let you,' he said, almost petulantly. 'You need a search warrant, don't you?'
'You don't have to let us,' Brass acknowledged. 'But I was taking you at your word, when you said you wanted to help.'
For several long seconds, Sherman just sat there, his hands balling into fists that bounced on his knees; he was clearly struggling to decide what to do.
Catherine crouched in front of him again. 'You loved your wife-we can all see that. But if there's so much as a shred of evidence in this house that might lead us to her killer, wouldn't you want us to find it?'
Slowly, the fists unballed. 'Of…of course.'
She kept her voice low, soothing. 'Then let us do our job. We want to catch your wife's murderer as much as you want us to. But to do that, we need to examine everything pertinent to the case…and that includes this house. Unless you've gotten rid of her things, Missy's home will have a lot to tell us about her.'
Sherman swallowed and sighed…and nodded. 'I understand. I'm sorry I lost my temper. It's just…'
Catherine touched his hand. 'No problem.'
'And I haven't gotten rid of her things, I could never do that. Everything's exactly the way it was the day she left. I haven't moved so much as her toothbrush. I always hoped the door would open and she'd walk in and we'd just pick up from where we left off….'
He began to cry again.
Several awkward moments crawled past, as the CSIs looked at each other, wondering if they should get started or not.
Then Sherman said, 'If…if it will help, take all the…all the time you need. You won't be keeping me up. It's not like I'll be sleeping tonight.'
Diving right in, Warrick asked, 'I have to ask this, sir. Do you own a freezer?'
'Not a stand-alone freezer. Just the little one in the top of the refrigerator.'
'Not a chest-style freezer, either?'
The man shook his head.
'Ever had one?'
'No.' He looked curious about their questions, but pale, and Catherine could almost see him deciding he didn't want to know why they were asking.
They went out to the Tahoe and got their equipment; inside the house, they split up. Catherine took the bathroom and the master suite; they didn't want Sherman getting upset about one of the men pawing through Mrs. Sherman's things, so Catherine volunteered for that duty. While Brass talked informally with Sherman in the living room, Nick and Warrick divided up the rest of the house. Nick started in the kitchen, Warrick in the garage. As with most houses in Vegas, there was no basement.
Warrick didn't expect to find anything in the garage, really, at least not as far as the freezer was concerned. Even if Sherman had at one time had a freezer, and used it to freeze his wife, it would be long gone by now. But the criminalist did check the floor for telltale marks of a freezer or any other appliance having been dragged across; nothing. A small workbench with a toolbox atop it hugged the near wall. Warrick looked it over and checked the toolbox but again came up empty.
Missy's Lexus, returned by Ecklie's people months ago, sat on the far side, Sherman's Jaguar parked beside it. The garage had sheet-rock walls, a large plastic trash can and a smaller recycling receptacle in the corner nearest the double overhead door. One of those pull-down staircases led to a storage space above the false ceiling. Walking around the cars, Warrick saw some gardening tools and a lawn mower against the far wall.
The place seemed only slightly less sterile than a hospital. Shaking his head at the cleanliness, Warrick tried the door of the Lexus and found it unlocked. Even though the Chinese food had sat in the car for some time, the smell was gone. In fact, Warrick noticed, the car smelled new. Too new-it had been professionally cleaned. Looking down at the carpeting, then studying the seats closely, confirmed his diagnosis: the SUV was cleaner than the day it had left the showroom.
After closing the door, he walked around between the cars and pulled the rope for the pull-down stairs. He climbed the flimsy ladder, pulled out his mini-Mag and light-sabered it around the darkened storage space. A few cardboard boxes dotted the area, mostly close to the opening, and when Warrick touched them, they seemed empty.
Moving the beam from right to left, he paused occasionally, looked at something a little closer, then slid the light further along. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Putting the butt of the mini-Mag into his mouth, he leaned over and undid the folded flaps of the nearest cardboard box. Inside he saw the Styrofoam packing that came on either end of the DVD player he'd seen inside. The next box had held the receiver for the home theater system. It too contained only original packing. Warrick finished quickly and rejoined the others back inside.
The search had taken nearly two hours and they had nothing to show for it. As they packed up and prepared to leave, Warrick wandered into the living room where Brass and Sherman still sat. 'Mr. Sherman, I take it you had your wife's car washed?'
Sherman started. 'Why, yes…yes I did. At one of those places where they really give it the works. Did I do something wrong? The other officers told me I could, they said they were finished with the Lexus and it was covered with what they said was fingerprint powder. I mean, the car was really filthy.'
Warrick nodded. 'You didn't do anything wrong, sir.'
'You guys about ready?' Brass asked.
'Catherine's done and Nick's just putting the drain back together in the kitchen. We're done.'
Brass rose and shook Sherman's hand. 'I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I'm sure you understand. And we are very grateful for your cooperation.'
'Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.'
Catherine trooped in, looking beat.
Sherman sat up. 'Any luck?'
Dredging up a smile, Catherine said, 'Too soon to tell. Thank you again, sir.'
All of them thanked their host and paid their sympathies, then followed Brass outside onto the sidewalk. The houses around them were dark now, and silent.
'Anything?' Nick asked Catherine, his voice a strained whisper.
She shook her head and, with her eyes, posed the same question of Warrick.
'Nothing,' he whispered. 'Can't blame him for wanting to wash the fingerprint crap and luminol outa his vehicle.'
