Body of Evidence

'Obviously, this is no time to change that policy.'

'Obviously.' Looking from the detective to the CSI, Mobley asked, 'Is that all you want to know?'

In his patented angelic manner, Grissom posed an apparent non sequitur: 'Do you have carpeting in your home, Brian?'

The sheriff blinked. 'Well, sure. Some. Living room, bedroom.'

'How new is it?'

Mobley shrugged. 'Well, hell…I don't know.'

'We'll need to take a sample,' Grissom said.

Finally realizing what Grissom was doing, Mobley sighed. 'Send somebody out whenever you want. Could you wait until I've spoken with my family about this?'

Grissom's cell phone rang and Anthony jumped; the conversation froze while the CSI plucked it off his belt and hit the button. 'Grissom.'

'Sara, Gil. We checked City Hall records…from when Candace Lewis started work? Fingerprints are a match.'

'Thanks,' Grissom said and ended the call.

Turning to the sheriff, he said, 'Fingerprints confirm the body's definitely Candace Lewis. You better start working on that statement, Brian-the press is going to have this before long.'

Not asking if they were done this time, Mobley turned to leave and practically tripped over Anthony, who hustled to get out of the office ahead of his boss.

And when the politician and his toady were gone, Brass laughed nastily and said, 'That's why I love working for that man-he's always so inspiring.'

'Tell you the truth, Jim,' Grissom said, 'I thought the sheriff behaved rather well.'

'Yeah. Well. I guess you're right. But that guy Anthony is a piece of work.'

Feeling that comment required no confirmation, Grissom said, 'I'm going back to check on how our side's doing. Interested?'

'Right behind you.'

Doc Robbins was still in the middle of the autopsy, and Warrick and Sara were in the midst of processing various elements recovered from the carpet. They seemed not to be in need of help, so Grissom and Brass returned to the former's office where he turned on the TV on a small stand in the corner, and waited. He knew it wouldn't be long and he was right.

Less than an hour later-a time period during which Grissom humored Brass by discussing with him various political ramifications of the situation, none of which interested the CSI except in terms of enumerating suspects- the Candace Lewis story took over the airwaves.

Local anchorman Bernie Gonzalez's slicked-back black hair and expensive suit filled the screen as the local news interrupted a soap opera, so Mobley could give his press conference about their real-life soap opera. Grissom wondered if the interruption was merely for the Vegas audience or if it had gone national.

The picture shifted to City Hall where Mobley stood behind a lectern out front near Stewart Avenue. The sun beat down from almost straight overhead and a gaggle of reporters formed a semicircle in front of Mobley.

'I have a short statement to make,' Mobley said, unfolding a single sheet of white paper and spreading it out onto the lectern. 'And then I'll take a few questions.'

The reporters shuffled a little, but didn't interrupt.

'Most of you already know that the body found on North Las Vegas Boulevard this morning was that of Candace Lewis, the missing personal assistant of Mayor Darryl Harrison. The sheriff's department-as well as my family and myself-wish to extend our deepest condolences to the Lewis family. I would like to assure them, in fact to promise them, that the LVMPD will do its very best to bring her murderer to justice. Questions?'

'Will you be heading the investigation?' one of the reporters yelled.

'No.'

Before a follow-up could be addressed to the sheriff, another reporter blurted, 'Are you planning to run for mayor?'

'That subject is not appropriate to this press conference. But I will say that my candidacy for that office is under serious consideration.'

'And is that why you're not going to be involved in the investigation? Conflict of interest?'

'Until now,' the sheriff said, off-script now and choosing his words carefully, 'this has been a federal missing persons investigation. Now that it's a homicide, the LVMPD will take charge. I don't run homicide investigations: as you know, I oversee both the police and sheriff's departments, here. Those are my responsibilities.'

'Then who will be running the investigation?'

'Two of our finest law enforcement professionals. And they are the ones to whom you should direct your future questions: Captain Jim Brass and CSI supervisor Gil Grissom. Thank you.'

Watching in Grissom's office, Brass turned to the CSI, who shot him a glare and said, 'You handle the media. I don't do media.'

'You don't do it well,' Brass admitted sourly.

Then both of them turned their eyes back on the screen, where the media throng was still shouting questions. But Mobley was in the process of disappearing back inside City Hall, leaving the reporters wondering what hit them.

But Grissom knew very well what had hit him and Brass: Mobley had just dumped this political hot potato into their collective lap. Aiming the remote at the TV and clicking off the power, he wondered if the day could get any worse.

About five minutes later, after Brass had shuffled glumly out, it did.

An oily voice said in a much too friendly manner, 'Gil Grissom. Still offering twenty-four-hour service, I see- how can you stand these hours?'

Grissom swiveled in his chair toward the door, where-leaning against the frame, his blond hair slicked back straight like a snake trying to molt-resided a smiling Rick Culpepper.

Culpepper wore a well-tailored gray suit and a dark gray tie on a very light gray shirt. His arms were folded and his manner was casual in an all-too-studied manner. After all, the last time this 'friendly' caller and Gil Grissom had met up, the two had been so at odds over a disputed prisoner, the FBI man had started to draw a weapon on the CSI.

The two law enforcement agents had crossed paths more than once; to Grissom, Culpepper represented the justice system at its most amoral. If Grissom could have picked one person not to see today, it well might have been Rick Culpepper.

'May I help you?' Grissom asked, in a voice usually reserved for suspected shoplifters.

The FBI agent eased into the room, helped himself to a chair, leaned back, crossed a leg, smiled with a million teeth. 'Heard you found a body at Nellis this morning.'

'No.'

Eyebrows raised. 'You didn't find a body at Nellis Air Force Base?'

'We found a body outside the Air Force base.'

'Ah. Right. You're always precise. Admire that in you, buddy.'

'Thank you.'

'I also heard that the victim is the subject of an investigation of ours.'

Grissom couldn't help himself. 'That missing person that you didn't find? Yes.'

Culpepper folded his arms, smiled big. Then he said, 'Yeah, well, we're going to want to be kept in the loop, where your investigation's concerned.'

'Are you? What is it people in hell want, again?'

'Hey, buddy, there's no need to be snotty-you don't still hold a grudge! You were working one case, I was working another-sometimes there's conflicts of interest, even between friends…if you gather my meaning.'

Grissom said nothing.

'After all, we're on the same team, just different squads. All after the same thing, right? Justice.'

Culpepper could crawl under Grissom's skin like few other people on this earth. But the CSI's voice remained