Maher said, 'Somebody must have figured out what we were up to, and moved them to try to throw us off.'
'But whoever moved the stakes left new prints,' Sara said, 'and they led down here.'
Grissom smiled a little. 'That confirms the presence of the murderer in the hotel.'
'Yes it does,' Maher said.
'And I know who the victim is,' Grissom added.
Sara got to her feet, her eyes bright. 'Who?'
'James Moss-a waiter.'
Maher and Sara traded a look.
Grissom frowned. 'What?'
'Amy Barlow's boyfriend, you mean?' Sara said.
'Well, yes and no,' Grissom said, and he explained about the love triangle involving the two waiters and the one waitress.
'Amy told us that 'Jimmy' didn't make it in to work yesterday,' Sara said. 'They usually ride together, but he had an appointment with somebody.'
Grissom shook his head. 'She's lying.'
Maher said, 'Is she? What if that 'appointment' was with Dominguez?'
Sara arched an eyebrow. 'Amy's got that cut on her hand, remember.'
'And Dominguez has a cut on his forearm,' Grissom said. 'Claims it's from working on his car.'
'We should go back and talk to Amy,' Sara said.
Maher said, 'Not just yet-I got a major hit on the metal detector…. Let me dig a minute.'
And he was back on his hands and knees. Sara and Grissom exchanged shrugs and were about to join him, when Maher called, 'Jackpot!'
The Canadian stood and displayed his find: a plastic ziplock bag that seemed to have some heft to it.
'It may not be Christmas yet,' Grissom said, 'but I'd go ahead and open that….'
The Canadian did, carefully undoing the ziplock top, and they all looked in at the contents: a pair of bloody leather winter gloves, a rock about the size and shape of a softball and-peeking out from under the gloves-the silver barrel of a small gun.
'Are we looking at the murder weapon?' Maher asked.
Sara, snow-flecked eyebrows high, said, 'That a .32? Looks about right.'
'Obvious, isn't it?' Grissom asked.
Using a pen down its barrel, Maher lifted the .32 Smith and Wesson revolver out of the ziplock bag. He carefully opened the cylinder and allowed five spent cartridges and one bullet to drop out, down into the bag, then he closed the cylinder and slid the pistol back into the bag as well.
'Okay,' Grissom said. 'Sara, you have pictures of the footprints out here?'
She nodded.
'Good-can we still cast it?'
'I've got one block of sulfur left,' Maher said.
The snow was hammering them now, the wind whistling its carefree tuneless tune-the storm had plenty of time. The criminalists didn't. They worked fast and accurately and made a cast of the print Sara had shot…
…and the team was back inside the hotel in less than an hour. The newfound evidence was dry and safe, locked inside Sara's field kit. Soaked and freezing, they paused in the underpopulated lobby and stripped off their coats.
Cormier had been waiting for them, and he carried over an armload of towels. The trio of detectives sat down in front of the roaring fireplace and began to dry off. Grissom and Sara, both in black, shared a sofa facing the fireplace, Maher in a nearby overstuffed chair perpendicular to the fire.
The hotel manager went over to the desk, used the phone and came back and reported to Grissom, 'Just called up to the restaurant-somebody'll bring some hot coffee right down for you folks.'
Grissom glanced around the lobby-at the Christmas tree, the big picture window looking on a winter landscape that seemed far more picturesque from the indoors and the handful of guests seated reading and relaxing. Then he turned to the hotel man, who stood alongside the sofa, and said, 'I don't see Tony Dominguez.'
'He's locked himself in his room, Dr. Grissom.'
'I was hoping you'd keep an eye on him.'
'He's not going anywhere. He's a wreck.'
Grissom curled a finger and the hotel man drew closer, as the CSI whispered, 'Tony talk to anybody?'
Cormier shook his head. 'No, sir. I took him up to his room, and neither one of us said not a damn word to nobody…. Just like you said. Listen, Dr. Grissom-you don't really consider me a suspect, do you?'
Grissom beamed at him. 'Of course.'
Cormier frowned, and moved off.
A moment later, Amy Barlow-in her white shirt, black bow tie and black slacks outfit-appeared with a pot of coffee and a tray of cups. The bandage on her hand appeared fresh and Grissom made a show of studying it as the waitress placed a steaming green mug of coffee on the low-slung table in front of him.
'Is that any better?' Grissom said, nodding toward her bandage.
'I'll live,' she said.
'Cutting onions in the kitchen, wasn't it?'
'That's right…. Maybe I'll sue ol' Herm and wind up ownin' this place…. Any of you folks need anything else?'
They all said no, she gave them a quick smile, then Grissom's eyes followed her as she walked back toward the stairs to the dining room.
When the waitress disappeared from his view, Grissom said to Sara, 'Got a pen and notebook?'
'Sure.' She scrounged them out of her coat pocket, on the floor, and handed them to him.
He turned to Maher and asked, 'Don't suppose you brought any fingerprint powder along, for your demonstration?'
Shaking his head, the Canadian said, 'Didn't bother-too basic. Sucks to travel with, eh? So easy to get that stuff all over everything.'
Grissom nodded, having had similar experiences. He quickly scrawled a list and tore the page out of the notebook.
'What's that about?' Sara asked.
Grissom glanced over at the desk, behind which Cormier had retreated. 'Herm! A moment?'
The hotel manager came right over and Grissom said, 'I need a few things,' and handed the man the paper.
Cormier took the list, read it over, and looked up in confusion. 'What kind of scavenger hunt are you on, Dr. Grissom?'
'The best kind. Can you fill my grocery list?'
'Well, certainly.'
'Good. And what room is Tony Dominguez in?'
Cormier told him.
'Thank you. Could you deliver those items to my room?'
'Sure-but I wouldn't mind knowin' what you have in mind with 'em.'
'Show you when you get up there, Herm…but the quieter we keep this, the better.'
'I know, I know…. You're kind of a Johnny One Note, ain't ya?'
Cormier wandered off, going over the list again as he went.
Then, turning to Sara, Grissom said, 'Let's go up to my room.'
She just looked at him.
