The wind kicked back in and shrieked at them until Grissom was forced to cover his face and fall back behind Cormier and let any other questions wait. And he had plenty more, but the pitch of the path had turned more steeply upward and every lungful of air now came with some effort. For now, Grissom would concentrate on just getting up the hill again and reaching that snow-blanketed crime scene.
Finally, Cormier said, 'This is it,' though Grissom would never have known it. Between the drifted snow and the darkness, they might well have been on the moon. Nor could the CSI see the constable, anywhere….
Cormier called out to the man, who yelled back: 'Over here!'
They followed the Canadian's voice and soon saw what he'd been up to while they'd been gone. Maher had carved himself a nook out of the snow at the base of a tree and hunkered down for the wait. The constable had apparently anticipated that even with Cormier guiding Grissom, it would take the Vegas CSI longer than two hours to get back up here; in fact, they were pushing three.
Not that that seemed to have bothered the Canadian. He had the bearing of a man who enjoyed the solitude of the woods and winter, and, of course, he'd had Cormier's .30-06 if anything had tried to disturb his serenity.
'You kept busy!' Cormier said.
'Got to work just after you left,' the Canadian said. 'Thought I better, eh, before the light faded too much!'
Cormier poured Maher a cup of steaming coffee from one of the thermoses while Grissom played a flashlight over the area. He immediately noticed changes that Maher had made at the crime scene. The tips of four sticks poked up out of the whiteness, indicating that impromptu stakes had been driven into the snow, forming a ten-by- twenty-foot square.
'You want to explain the sticks?' Grissom asked.
Maher grinned as he sipped the coffee. 'Happy to! Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Cormier-I was starting to think you fellas forgot about me!'
'Sorry we took so long,' Grissom said, almost hollering over the wind. 'The sticks?'
As Grissom pointed his flashlight at one of the stakes, now nearly buried in the snow, Maher explained, 'I found two tiny tracks in the snow on either side of the body. Did you two see them?'
Grissom nodded. 'Sara and I saw them, but I have no idea what they were.' He did not mention that Sara had taken photographs. 'Misses, maybe.'
'That's exactly what they were,' Maher said. 'Missed shots.'
'And now they're buried under all this snow.'
Maher smiled. 'You pick things up fast, Dr. Grissom.'
Pursing his lips, Grissom said, 'And somehow you're going to use these sticks to find those bullets?'
The constable nodded. 'Yes, sir. Soon as the snow stops.'
'How?'
'I'll explain it when I do it. I was going to give a demonstration on that very thing this weekend…but I guess you and Ms. Sidle will be the only ones to see it.'
Grissom filled him in on the parking lot shoeprints.
'I'll take a look at 'em after I get warm,' Maher said. 'Ms. Sidle going to be all right, pulling her shift, or should I come up early to relieve her?'
'Don't come up here a minute early,' Grissom said, 'or you'll just be insulting her.'
'She's a good man?'
'As tough and smart as any CSI anywhere. You try to baby her, she'll only resent it.'
'Take your word for it.'
'She'll probably deal with the cold better than me.'
Maher nodded. 'I'll relieve her after her full shift. In the meantime, here's the rifle.' Maher handed the .30-06 over to Grissom.
'Any advice?'
'Yeah,' Maher said. 'Don't move around much. The more you move around, the more chance you'll disturb evidence. I don't mean to be insulting, Dr. Grissom, but snow is fragile. Right now, it's our friend.'
'Preserving our evidence,' Grissom said.
'Exactly. But it won't take much to turn it into a liability.'
Cormier handed Grissom the second thermos of coffee. 'You'll probably be wanting this.'
Grissom nodded his thanks.
'Be my guest,' Maher said and pointed. Grissom's flash followed, swinging around, and found the dugout next to the tree. 'That'll keep you out of the wind. Keep your face covered.'
'Got it.'
Cormier said, 'I'll be back in a couple of hours with Ms. Sidle. I'll give you plenty of warning, now…so don't you go pluggin' us!'
'Just yell good and loud,' Grissom said. 'Get your voice up over this wind!'
'No problem. But don't you be trigger-happy.'
'Don't worry, Mr. Cormier, if I can't see it, I won't shoot at it.' He gave them a rueful smile that they probably couldn't make out in the pitch darkness of the woods.
Several minutes later, Grissom was straining to see the departing pair; but they'd already disappeared into the snow. Depositing himself in Maher's hideaway against the tree, Grissom eased down, his back against the bark, and did his best to relax.
Two hours wasn't such a long span, a mere 120 minutes; still, Grissom knew that out here-where darkness meant black, and the neon-bright night of Vegas was almost a continent away-two hours could be a relative eternity. As snow continued to fall, Grissom, clutching both the rifle and the thermos of coffee, settled in.
If the snow would just stop around daybreak, they could get to work at this crime scene, and let Constable Maher demonstrate his bag of tricks. Grissom was always willing to learn something.
On the other hand, if Maher was a fraud, a killer in disguise, Grissom was more than willing to teach a lesson himself.
6
THE ONE THING LAS VEGAS DIDN'T NEED WAS MORE FLASHING lights. This town trying to dress itself up for Christmas, in the opinion of Captain Jim Brass, was an exercise in overkill. How did you decorate a city already adorned with millions of lightbulbs, a desert oasis that glowed like a three-billion ka-gigawatt Christmas tree all year round?
And yet they still tried. As he rolled by the Romanov Hotel and Casino in his police department Taurus, an elaborate flashing display spelled out Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah over flickering Nutcracker Suite images; and Santas and elves and reindeer, it seemed, danced Rockette-style on every casino's electric marquee. Brass shuddered to think what Glitter Gulch would be like-neon Santa hats on the towering cowboy and cowgirl? The nightly overhead laser display with Sinatra singing 'Luck Be a Lady' shifted to 'Jingle Bells,' rolling dice traded in for mistletoe and holly?
The Taurus cut confidently through heavy evening traffic, Brass weaving in and out between rental cars with the gawking tourists and various vehicles bearing blase locals headed to dinner or a movie, or homeward bound. Darkness had settled over Las Vegas, with the temperature once again falling precipitously toward the freezing mark. The cars with their headlights only added to the light show.
In the passenger seat, Nick Stokes lounged in his dark-brown sport shirt and lighter-brown chinos, looking dreamily out at the Strip. 'Don't you just love Christmastime in Vegas?'
'Yeah,' Brass said, 'it's nice to have the place livened up a little. You clock in early? If so, end of shift, you better clock out the same way-Mobley hasn't approved this case for OT.'
'I know that. I didn't clock in yet.' Nick beamed at Brass. 'I'm your 'Ride Along' buddy.'
'You're my
A tiny smile traced the CSI's square-jawed countenance. 'You know how the sheriff has been encouraging citizens and police to have better interaction-through the Ride Along program?'
'Oh, please.'
'Now, Captain Brass-like any other interested citizen, I'm entitled to a police 'Ride Along,' long as I meet the criteria and sign the waiver.'
