'Even though James told her it was over?'
Dominguez shrugged again. 'Truth is…he never did really break it off with her, not entirely. His dad is this retired master sergeant from the marines-Born Again, superstraight. And James just didn't think the old man could've understood his lifestyle-he would've died if his dad ever called him a faggot.'
Grissom winced at the word.
'Anyway, I don't know, I guess James just couldn't let it go. He kinda did keep stringing Amy along.'
'How did you feel about James living this double life?'
The waiter's face turned to stone. 'What do you think? I hated it.'
'It had to make you angry, that he hid your relationship.'
Dominguez said, 'I hated it, but I could never be angry with James. I knew he loved me, and that's all that mattered. I was his real love-Amy was the sham.'
'All right, Tony.' Grissom stood. 'I appreciate your frankness.'
The boy got to his feet, too. 'You need to talk to Amy. You really do.'
'Oh, I will. But I'll be talking to a lot of people. By the way,' Grissom added, glancing down at the waiter's tennis shoes, 'those surely aren't the shoes you wore to work, yesterday.'
'These are strictly for the dining room. You don't live up here and not have good boots. I got a kick-ass pair of Doc Martens…. James gave them to me.'
'Generous of him,' Grissom said.
'He was a wonderful guy,' Dominguez said.
'Honest, too,' Grissom said.
'As the day is long.'
Grissom did not point out that the days were getting shorter. He merely walked the waiter out into the cold air of another gathering storm, anxious to report what he'd learned to Maher and Sara.
He knew who the murder victim was, now; and, he felt confident, soon would know who the murderer was, as well.
Honest.
10
AFTER FIVE GRUELING HOURS AT THE CHARLESTON BOULEVARD garbage dump-wearing white Tyvek jumpsuits over their clothes, painter's masks, multiple pairs of latex gloves and fireman boots-the graveyard CSIs dragged in to HQ for showers and to climb in their spare clothes and finish out their shift.
Warrick caught up with Nick in the Trace lab, hunkered over the MP4 camera, enlarging prints. Nick would feed these prints into the AFIS terminal on the desk, over against a side wall keeping company with a little family of filing cabinets.
The back wall was home to a refrigerator for chemicals, a work counter and a paper-heating oven. Racks of chemicals owned the other side wall, and on a large central table sat the comparative microscope, which allowed the matching of parts of two different slides-an invaluable tool for bullet comparison.
'That was fun,' Warrick said dryly, meaning their garbage-dump duty.
Nick smirked. 'Vegas is one glamorous town.'
'Who's the AFIS candidate?' Warrick asked, at Nick's side now.
'Suffocated naked woman, number two.'
Catherine wandered in with a newspaper folded under her arm and that devilish half-smile and single-arched eyebrow expression of hers that told Warrick she was onto something.
'Either of you guys into the local avant-garde scene?'
Nick gave her half a smile back. 'I have a buddy in the National Guard.'
She dropped the folded newspaper onto the desk next to Nick-the Arts section of the
Warrick, trying, said, 'Edith Piaf song, isn't it?'
Nick looked up at his friend. 'Woah…Mr. Music. You can name that tune in how many notes?'
'Actually,' Catherine said, 'he missed that question-it's not 'La Vie En Rose'…it's Lavien Rose.'
She tapped a red-nailed finger next to a photograph on the folded-over Arts section. 'Look familiar, fellas?'
An article on local performance artists included a sullen photograph of the spiky-haired blonde woman they had not long ago seen in the dead altogether out on Charleston Boulevard.
'Is that what that was,' Warrick asked, 'back at that trash pile? Performance art?'
Nick's eyes were large as he picked up the paper and stared at the punky blonde. 'If so, it must've been closing night.'
Catherine was grinning almost ferally. 'I knew I'd seen that face somewhere before!'
Doc Robbins' voice came over the intercom. 'Catherine, you in there?'
She stepped over to the intercom and touched the talk button. 'Yeah, Doc-Trace lab, a CSI's home away from home. What have you got for us?'
'Cause of death on your blonde Jane Doe.'
'Great,' Catherine said, 'only she's not a Jane Doe anymore-we got her IDed.'
'Well, come on down and fill out the form. But just so you know, she suffocated with the help of a plastic bag. Same heightened CO2 count in her blood as Missy Sherman.'
They all traded meaningful looks.
Catherine said, 'Thanks, Doc! Be down in a few, to fill out the ID.'
'Paperwork rules us all, Catherine.'
Warrick stood with hands on hips. 'Another naked woman killed with a plastic bag? Tell me this isn't a serial.'
'The similarity of MO suggests serial,' Nick said. 'But the victim profile is out of whack.'
'I don't know,' Warrick said, shaking his head. 'Two attractive women, about the same age…?'
'True. But otherwise, what do a brunette middle-class housewife and a blonde starving artist have in common?'
'I don't know if she was a starving artist, exactly,' Catherine said. 'Bulimic, maybe.'
'She was a skinny thing,' Nick said.
'Easily overpowered,' Warrick said.
The computer chirped and Nick turned to see a match on the woman's prints. He tapped the keys and was soon looking at an arrest report.
'Her name was Sharon Pope,' Nick said.
Archly, Catherine said, 'You don't suppose 'Lavien Rose' was a stage name, by any chance?'
'Ms. Pope was arrested two years ago September,' Nick continued, reading from the screen. 'Part of a group protesting at Nellis.'
Nellis Air Force Base-northeast of the city, out Las Vegas Boulevard-frequently drew protesters of one kind or another, so a Federal record like that popping up was not a shock.
Still, someone had to ask; and it was Catherine: 'Arrested for?'
'Trespassing,' Nick said, 'failure to disperse, interfering with an officer.'
Catherine lifted her eyebrows. 'Well, she hit the trifecta.'
'Touched all the bases at the base, yes,' Nick said. 'A fine but no jail time.'
'Address?'
Nick read it aloud, then added, 'But we better check it-this arrest is a couple of years old. She could've moved by now.' His forehead furrowed. 'You know, I've heard that name somewhere before.'
'Lavien Rose?' Catherine asked.
'No. Sharon Pope….'
Nick mulled that over as his fingers danced on the keyboard, checking out the Pope woman's address-and another red flag came up.
'Well,' Nick said, 'and the hits just keep on comin'….'
'What song is Lavien Rose singing now?' Warrick asked.
Frowning suspiciously, Nick turned toward Warrick and Catherine and gestured to the monitor screen. 'See
