This gave the slender but bosomy waitress a start, and she jumped back, dark ponytail swinging, eyes wide in shock, her hands coming up in a defensive pose.
Recovering quickly, Grissom held the elevator door open and looked in at the woman, in the cell-like space, and said, 'Amy Barlow, you're under arrest.'
As he recited her rights, Amy made a face-part confusion, part disgust. 'What the hell for? You're not a cop!'
'Call it a citizen's arrest…for the murder of James Moss.'
Her eyes widened more. 'What?…Is that who was killed out in the woods? Jimmy?'
Sara stepped up beside Grissom, further boxing the woman in. 'This is where you try to summon up some tears. I'd save the indignant act for later.'
The waitress just stood frozen for several long moments; then she said, 'I'm shocked, that's all. He was my boyfriend…. Everybody deals with grief, different.'
'I heard you two broke up,' Grissom said.
'That's a lie! Who told you that? That queer?'
Grissom sighed, then stepped aside and gestured with mock gallantry for her to step out of the elevator. 'Why don't you come with us…for a little grief counseling?'
She glared at him, slouching out into the lobby.
Grissom took her firmly by the arm, and turned to Maher. 'Constable, go get a passkey from Cormier and get upstairs, and check on Tony Dominguez.'
'I thought Cormier couldn't open a-'
'I'm not worried about evidence,' the CSI said. 'I'm concerned for that kid's life.'
Amy sneered at them. 'Why? He isn't!'
'Charming,' Sara said.
But Cormier, to his credit, had anticipated this, and was right there with the passkey, which he handed to Maher, who got onto the elevator.
'Sara,' Grissom said, 'hold the door!…Herm, you need to accompany the constable.'
Cormier joined Maher in the elevator and, before the doors closed, Grissom-still holding on to his sullen suspect's arm-said, 'Mr. Cormier, could we use your office?'
The hotel manager nodded as he gazed at the waitress in disbelief. 'I just can't fathom it, Amy, you doing this.'
'I didn't do anything, you old fart,' she said.
Cormier's eyes showed white all around, as the elevator doors shut over him.
Grissom and Sara each took an arm and guided Amy behind the front desk to the larger of the offices back there, which was still fairly small, just a wooden desk, a couple file cabinets and a big calendar of Hawaiian scenery-people who ran resorts longed for vacations, too, Grissom figured.
He ushered the waitress to the desk chair, as Sara closed the door.
'I didn't do anything to anybody,' Amy said. Superficially, she seemed calm, but a tiny tremor underlined her words. 'You should be after that faggot, Tony-he's been, like…stalking Jimmy. What musta happened is, Jimmy spurned his pervert advances, and that sick creep went ballistic.'
Grissom said, 'That's your theory, is it?'
Sara, leaning against the door, arms folded, said, 'Somehow you don't seem very upset, or surprised, for a woman who just lost the love of her life.'
She shrugged. 'I'm in, like…shock.'
Sara smiled a pretend smile at the waitress and said, 'You might want to, like…work on that before your trial.'
Amy's eyes got huge. 'I'm telling you people-it's Tony. He's a fag! Can you imagine? Trying to steal Jimmy away from me?…Guys are after me all the time. I can have my damn pick.'
'Tony didn't just try to steal Jimmy away from you,' Grissom said. 'He succeeded. Didn't he?'
She shook her head, emphatically. 'Jimmy didn't want anything to do with that deviant shit.'
A knock at the door startled Sara; she opened it and Cormier-his face deathly pale-staggered in a step, then leaned against the doorjamb.
'We…we were too late,' the hotel man said.
'For what?' Sara asked.
'Poor kid…he's dead.'
The waitress did not react.
Grissom, not leaving his position by the suspect, said gently, 'What happened, Herm?'
The old boy swallowed; his eyes were moist. 'Found him in the tub…slashed his wrists.' The hotel manager shook his head, his eyes haunted. 'It…sprayed everyplace. Goddamn mess…never seen the like.'
All eyes went to Amy.
Her expression went from bland to aggravated, as she realized what they were thinking. 'Hey, I had nothing to do with that.'
Grissom noted the inflection.
'Sounds like he killed himself,' she said, with a shrug. 'Fags do that every day.'
His voice calm, Grissom said, 'You told Mr. Cormier that you were going up to Tony's room to check on him.'
Amy started to rise, but a firm-jawed Sara lurched forward and put a hand on the suspect's shoulder.
'If you're not growing,' Sara said, 'sit down.'
And shoved her back in the chair.
Amy straightened herself and said, 'Let's not all get our panties in a bunch…. Yes, I went up to his room. Just 'cause he's a swish don't mean he's not a co-worker who I gotta work with and, like…respect.'
Sara rolled her eyes.
'But the asshole didn't even answer me,' she said. 'I know he was in there.'
Grissom asked, 'How?'
She shrugged. 'I heard him bawlin'.'
Silence draped the small room.
Then Amy plunged back in: 'Anyway, when he wouldn't open the door, I tried the knob; but it was locked. I was worried about him.'
Sara almost laughed. 'Worried?'
'Yeah. We needed his help in the dining room. So I came downstairs to get Herm, to try to get Tony outa his room. That's why I was on the elevator-remember?'
Grissom had a sinking feeling: how close they'd come to preventing this…if she was lying, and if she wasn't lying.
The phone on the desk rang, and Cormier excused himself past Sara and picked up the receiver. His voice was shaky as he said, 'Hello?'
Several moments later, the old man handed the phone to Grissom, saying, 'The constable-wants you.'
Grissom took the phone and heard the Canadian say, in a somberly professional manner, 'I've locked myself in the room to protect the scene. We can work it whenever you're ready.'
'We're interviewing Amy on that subject now,' Grissom said. 'She claims she went to the room and he wouldn't answer. Says she didn't do this.'
'She have any blood on her?'
'No.'
'What's she wearing?'
'Standard waitress uniform.'
'Unless she dumped her clothes somewhere and switched into a spare uniform, she's probably telling the truth. The bathroom walls are red. Drip-ping from the damn ceiling. Hit an artery-incredible spray.'
'I've seen it often,' Grissom said grimly.
'If Amy Barlow was in that room, she'd have blood on her somewhere.'
Grissom said, 'Yeah. Okay. Thanks.' He hung up. 'Amy, we'd like to look in your room. You say you're innocent, and the only way we can help you prove that is-'
