Grissom rose. 'Now, Tony-just wait here. Stay calm. I have to go in and get things ready. Then all you have to do is identify the tattoo…if there is one.'
Another swallow, another nod.
Grissom arched an eyebrow. 'Remember, this could be someone wearing a coat like James's, or even wearing James's own coat. We have to be sure.'
The boy's eyes brightened. 'You mean, it might not be him!'
'That is possible.'
'It could be someone else wearing his coat! Somebody he loaned it to, 'cause of the cold. He was always helping people…'
The CSI supervisor noticed that Dominguez had used the past tense. Did that mean anything, or was the boy's mind already accepting the inevitability that the corpse in the cooler was James?
Grissom unlocked the door. Inside the cooler, he uncovered the body, rolled it over to get at the victim's back, which hadn't been burned at all, and slowly peeled away layers until he got to the dead man's shoulder…
…where could be seen a small red-and-blue rose, a rather delicate tattoo.
After covering as much of the body as he could, leaving only the area with the tattoo exposed, Grissom called, 'Mr. Cormier! Would you bring Tony in here, please.'
Cormier's arm was around the boy, who entered on wobbly legs.
'Is this James?' Grissom asked. He was kneeling next to the body, gesturing to the red-and-blue rose. 'Do you recognize the tattoo?'
Dominguez stepped away from Cormier's protective arm, staggered over and glanced down. Again he swallowed, nodded and tears immediately began to flow again, sobs shaking his chest. Grissom covered the victim up, nodded to Cormier to lead Dominguez back to the corridor, which he did, and then Grissom exited and relocked the cooler door.
Cormier was standing beside the boy, who again sat slumped against the wall, staring hollowly, breathing hard, but the tears and sobs had ceased, for now anyway.
'Give us a few moments, Mr. Cormier,' Grissom said.
The hotel man nodded, said, 'You'll be fine, Tony-Dr. Grissom here is a good man…. I left my basket of food out on the dock. I'll cart it up to the kitchen.'
'Do that,' Grissom said.
And then Cormier left them alone, the inquisitive CSI and the heartbroken waiter.
'What was your friend's full name?' Grissom asked.
The reply was sharp, angry; that was bound to come. 'He wasn't my friend. He was my lover…okay?'
'What was your lover's full name?'
'James R. Moss. The 'r' stood for Rosemont. It was a family name. Maybe that's why his mother was named Rose…. You're a doctor?'
'Not a medical doctor, Tony. Tell me about James.'
Dominguez answered with his own question. 'How did he get burned like that?'
Grissom wondered if the question was serious or calculated to keep him from suspecting Dominguez. He had no reason to doubt that this boy had loved James Moss; but love, like hate, was among the most common murder motives.
Grissom gave it to him straight: 'He was shot and killed.'
'Oh my God…'
'And whoever did that, for some reason, set fire to the body afterward.'
'What? Why?'
'That's part of what I'm trying to determine. That's the kind of a doctor I am, Tony. Forensics.'
'…for the conference this weekend.'
'Right. Tell me about him.'
Dominguez wiped his eyes with the back of a sweatshirt sleeve, the one belonging to the arm without the bandage. 'James was sweet and funny and kind. Honest, too, very honest. Nobody would ever want to hurt him.'
'Did the two of you have any problems?'
'Oh, no! We were happy. Very compatible.'
Grissom gestured toward the boy's sleeve. 'When we almost dropped the sled out there, I noticed you have a kind of nasty cut, there.'
Unconsciously, the waiter touched his wounded arm. 'How could you see that?'
'Well, I mean…I saw the bandage.'
Dominguez pushed up the loose sleeve and exposed gauze running from his elbow nearly to his wrist. 'Looks bad, huh? Hurts worse.'
'How did that happen, Tony?'
The boy took a moment, then said, casually, 'Working on my car.'
'I need you to be more specific.'
He shrugged. 'Cut myself putting on a new exhaust system.'
'Really?' Grissom said, with an insincere smile. 'People still do that themselves?'
Dominguez found a small grin somewhere, relieved by the apparent subject change. 'Well, I do. I've got an old car. I do it to save money, but I'm into it, maybe 'cause it's so…so…' He laughed a little. '…butch.'
'Is your car in the hotel lot right now?'
His smile faded. 'No. Why? Does that matter?'
'James was your lover.'
'I told you that.'
'The evidence indicates that James fought back. That his assailant was cut. That fact, along with your intimate relationship with the victim, makes you a suspect in James's murder.'
Dominguez' eyes widened. 'You think I killed James? That's bullshit, man, I loved the dude! He was the only thing that kept me going in this hellhole!'
'I said you're a suspect…and you are. And so is everyone else in this place. Even me, and my assistant, because we found James, and the first people to discover a body…they're always the first suspects.'
'What are you trying to say?'
'Just don't get bent out of shape. Try not to give in to this grief. Help me find who did this to James.' Grissom paused, drew a breath, went on. 'Tony, being a suspect doesn't make you guilty; but we should both recognize that the probability is…James was killed by someone he knows.'
'Why? Everybody loved him!'
'Love can be a murder motive. And the statistics say that most murder victims know their murderers…often intimately. None of this makes you guilty or makes me believe that you're the killer…but, Tony, you're bright. You must see how this looks.'
Calming down, Dominguez finally nodded. 'I can see how it looks,' he admitted. But then he bitterly added, 'Two gay guys-one must be a homicidal maniac.'
Grissom shook his head. 'That's not the issue.'
'The one you
'Amy Barlow? The waitress?'
'That's right,' Dominguez said. 'Amy Barlow, the waitress. She was with James before, you know… me.'
Grissom's eyes tightened. 'James was bisexual?'
'Whatever. I'm not into labels.'
'What do you know about his relationship with Amy?'
Dominguez shrugged. 'She latched on to him when he started here. Maybe a year and a half ago. They went together for, oh…six months, I guess. Then he and I got to be friends-we liked the same music, same movies. We were just made for each other. Really clicked.'
'That's nice.'
'It was nice, and Amy, she didn't like it at all. When James started seeing me, she really flipped. She just would not let it go.'
