He continued: 'Or don't you want to solve this murder?'
'Am I invited, too?' Maher asked.
'Your attendance is required, Constable. I'm going to need your help. But, first, I need you and Sara to go up to Tony's room, to pick up a couple more items.'
Maher frowned. 'What items?'
Grissom told him.
'Will he cooperate?'
'I think so. But as he is still a suspect, I'd like both of you to go.'
Sara's eyes tightened. 'You think he's dangerous?'
'Whoever killed James Moss is definitely dangerous. And just because Tony seems devastated, that doesn't mean he isn't our man.'
Sara nodded.
'You two be careful,' he said. To Maher, he said, 'Look after her.'
'I can look…' Sara said, but then stopped. She was obviously going to say she could look after herself, but for some reason she didn't complete the thought. Instead, she smiled and said to Grissom, 'Thanks.'
What was that all about? he wondered.
Maher and Sara headed out of the lobby, while Grissom lagged. Gingerly, he picked up his coffee cup, careful to touch only the handle-the part Amy hadn't touched-and walked across the lobby. In the men's room, he dumped the coffee down the drain. Again carrying the cup by only the handle, he went to the elevator and waited for its return-Sara and Maher had already gone up.
Grissom's room was hardly designed to be a crime lab, but, this evening, it would just have to suffice.
The door and bathroom occupied the north wall; a window on the south wall overlooked the lake, in front of which squatted a round table and two chairs. The east wall was home to a fireplace, and to the left stood an armoire with three drawers and two doors that opened to reveal the small television. The single bed and a nightstand hugged the west wall.
He had just finished clearing the table of his books and hotel literature when a knock came at the door, which he opened to reveal a perplexed Herm Cormier, standing next to a galvanized steel garbage can.
'How'd you do, Herm?'
'Hope you been a good boy, Dr. Grissom, 'cause Santa brought you everything on your damn list…but I can't for the life of me figure why you wanted this bunch of stuff.'
'You're welcome to stay, Herm-and see for yourself.'
'I thought I was a damn suspect!'
'You are,' Grissom said pleasantly. 'This way I can keep an eye on you.'
Shaking his head, Cormier picked up the garbage can and squeezed past Grissom into the room. 'You know, Dr. Grissom, I can't tell when you're kiddin' or not.'
'Good,' Grissom said.
Before the CSI supervisor could close the door, Sara and Maher appeared as well, the constable holding a pair of stylishly clunky black boots, Sara holding a plastic bag with a drinking glass inside.
'Mr. Cormier, could you get me that pan now, please?'
'Sure.'
'Make sure it's good and hot.'
'Oh I will,' he said, and stepped back out, pulling the door shut behind him.
'He'll be right back,' Grissom assured his confused associates. Turning to Sara, he asked, 'Any trouble with Dominguez?'
'No,' Sara said, and her expression was compassionate. 'He really is broken up. Just sitting there. Not even crying, just…'
Maher finished for her: 'Kid says he'll help us any way he can, to catch James's killer.'
Sara shrugged a little. 'He seemed sincere.'
'Well, let's see,' Grissom said. 'First, Sara, I want you to compare Tony's boots to the castings from both the crime scene and the lake. You can use the bed as a workstation.'
She nodded and Maher handed her the boots.
'Set the glass on the table,' Grissom said to her. 'That's my fingerprinting station.'
She placed the plastic bag next to the coffee cup that Grissom had brought up from the lobby. 'Amy's prints?' Sara asked, indicating the cup.
'That's right,' Grissom said.
'What can I do to pitch in?' the constable asked.
'You can start with helping me unload that garbage can. Then we'll set you up in the bathroom.'
Maher grinned. 'That's my station, eh?'
They took the lid off the can and were greeted by a cornucopia of seemingly unrelated items. Grissom reached in for a battery-operated drill and handed it to Maher, who gave him a quizzical look. Next Grissom withdrew a five-pound sack of flour, a basting brush, a tube of Super Glue, two wire coat hangers, a magnifying glass and an inkpad for rubber stamps.
'Not exactly a cutting-edge lab,' Maher said.
'No, but they like it rustic here at Mumford Mountain Hotel, right?…Let's start by getting you going. Cormier'll be back soon, and we need to be ready.'
Sara, already hard at work, called out, 'Size is way off on the boot-not even close. Soles have way different markings too.'
'Appears the Doc Martens are innocent, anyway,' Grissom said. 'Now, Sara, see what you can get from the gloves.'
She went back to work.
In the bathroom, Maher put the garbage can in the tub, then sat on the toilet, drilling holes in the can's lid, while Grissom pulled down hard on the bottom of one wire coat hanger, thinning and elongating the hanger until it was hotdog-shaped with a hook on one end; then he pulled the tail end up into a U, forming a small rack.
'How's the trashcan?' asked Grissom.
Maher said, 'She's ready.'
A knock at the door told Grissom that Cormier was ready, too. Putting the hangers in the sink, the CSI left the bathroom and answered the door.
Herm Cormier stared at the nearly red-hot pan he clutched in a pot-holder-protected hand.
'Hot comin' through,' the hotel man said.
Grissom stood aside and allowed Cormier to pass by, holding the orange-bottomed frying pan away from him, as if he had a skunk by the tail.
'Bathroom, Herm,' Grissom said. 'Put 'er right in the bottom of the garbage can.'
Cormier did as he was told, then backed out of the bathroom.
'Good job,' Grissom said to him.
But Cormier had the dazed expression of a small child forced to attend a long ballet.
In the bathroom, Grissom found that Maher was ahead of him, having already bent the hooks of the hangers through the holes in the lid of the garbage can. Grissom dripped drops of Super Glue onto the red-hot pan, as Maher carefully draped the folded ziplock bag from the lake over the normal hanger. On the bent hanger, the constable balanced the knife across the bars of the U, and said, 'Ready.'
After a dozen or so drops, Grissom stopped and waited; a few seconds crawled by and the glue began to smoke. 'All right,' Grissom said, timing it, 'now.'
Maher eased the lid down on top of the garbage can.
'Mind if I ask you boys what the hell you're up to?' Cormier asked.
Matter-of-factly, Grissom said, 'Fingerprinting.'
The old boy's eyebrows rose. 'Fingerprinting…with Super Glue, coat hangers, and a garbage can?'
Grissom shrugged. 'You use the tools at your disposal.'
Rising from the toilet, Maher said, 'If you don't mind, eh, I'll step out in the hall and have a smoke.'
'It's a life choice,' Grissom said.
Maher thought about that for just a moment, then went out.
