Body of Evidence

was strong as he said, 'We'll solve this. We will solve it. Now-how about some good news?'

Her trembling had subsided a little. 'Yeah. Yeah, some good news…I could use it, I could really use it….'

Nick's grin was almost pixie-ish. 'Gary Randle's prints…are a match.'

'Oh, Nicky. That's great. I told you he was a good suspect.'

'No, you said he was a great suspect.'

She drew in a deep breath-she felt as though she'd been held under water for too long, and only now was just bursting through the surface.

Nick said, 'Those were his prints on the keyboard in Ben Jackson's cubicle.'

'How about AFIS?' she asked, meaning the national fingerprint database.

'I put him through,' Nick said, 'but he's got no priors.'

'It's enough for a search warrant. We can get inside that house now!'

'Yes we can,' he said, nodding. 'Make the call, Cath. And I'll get O'Riley up to speed.'

An hour later, the CSIs were back at Newcombe-Gold, moving single-file down the corridor toward Randle's office with Nick in the lead, holding a wad of papers in one hand and his CS case in the other. Catherine, carrying her own case and more papers, tagged right behind him with O'Riley trailing her. As the procession approached the conference room, Janice Denard stepped out in their path.

'Did you find out anything?' she asked.

'Still digging,' Nick said, with a nod of hello, and then walked on.

The blonde office manager fell in beside Catherine, who said, 'Getting closer,' then handed the woman a copy of the new search warrant.

Denard dropped out to read the document, while the others kept going. The half-glass front wall of his office warned Randle of their approach and he was out of his chair even before they were completely through the door.

'Now, goddamnit, this is harassment!' He was coming around the desk as he spoke. 'Didn't you already get your damned fingerprints?'

Nick stood and faced the ad man. 'And I do appreciate your cooperation, earlier; and you don't even have to answer our questions, about whether or not you were here this weekend-we already know you were.'

O'Riley stepped up, taking a referee's position, as the two men continued the tense exchange.

'So I was here! Damn it, I work here!' Today, the adman wore an expensive charcoal suit, white shirt and a red and blue diagonally striped power tie.

'You know,' Catherine said from the sidelines, in a tone that pretended to be light, 'you might want to ease up on the attitude…. It's not going to reflect very well.'

Randle glared over at her. 'What are you talking about?'

But it was Nick who spoke next: 'It's not just that you were here this weekend, Mr. Randle-but that you also used Ben Jackson's work station.' The CSI held up the sheaf of papers. 'We matched your fingerprints.'

Randle's anger evaporated and he laughed out loud, as he took a step back, as if reappraising not just the situation but these law enforcement officers.

'You're kidding, right? Is that what this is about? Me using some poor schlub's computer, while he was out of town for the weekend? Is this some weird crackdown Gold or Newcombe instigated?'

Catherine stepped forward. 'Actually, it is about you using some poor schlub's computer over the weekend. And it is police business.'

She held one of the pornographic printouts out, just inches from his face.

Tightly she said, 'Specifically, it's about you using Ben Jackson's computer to print this out, and a dozen more like it…. Why, Mr. Randle!…You're not laughing anymore.'

And he wasn't. His laugh had died in his throat as his eyes focused on the photo. He swallowed thickly and stumbled backward, till his desk stopped him.

'You…you think I did what?'

And his anger returned, the man recovering quickly, stepping forward, eyes flaring.

'You think I printed this filth-off company property? And that I did it with, with…sick shit like this? I have a daughter, a young daughter! You people are sick. You can't honestly believe…'

The man's eyes traveled from the photo to Catherine's and locked-she did her best to tell him, with her eyes, that that's exactly what she did believe. And he appeared to get the message.

He half-sat on the edge of the desk, clearly staggered.

Nick stepped forward. 'You want to tell us what you printed out on Saturday? If it wasn't these photos?'

Randle's eyes, not so confident now, went to Nick's stony face. 'You can't believe that I…' Then he shook his head. 'I can tell trying to get through to you people is useless. You've already made up your minds.'

Nick frowned. 'Mr. Randle…'

'I'm not saying another word till I've spoken to my attorney.'

O'Riley, still standing nearby like a ref, said, 'That's your right, sir,' but the respect of the words took on a chill, thanks to the detective's cold eyes.

Catherine said, 'Give Mr. Randle the warrant, Nicky.'

Nick did, saying, 'As the true owners of this office, Newcombe-Gold's representative, Janice Denard, has already been served with this warrant; but out of consideration to your rights, this is a copy for you.'

'Thank you very much,' Randle said, oozing sarcasm as he took the piece of paper; but the voice was edged with anxiety now.

Then Nick handed the man a second warrant. 'And this one is for your home.'

Randle didn't accept this warrant, at first, looking at the paper as if Nick were offering a glass of poison. Still half-sitting on the desk's front edge, the adman fell into an uneasy silence. Nick held out the paper; Randle stared at it. Nick said nothing; Randle said nothing.

After seconds that seemed like minutes, Randle took the paper, reluctantly, and said, 'I'll have to call my lawyer. Any objection?'

'Of course not,' Nick said.

The man removed his cell phone from his suitcoat pocket.

Moving quickly, Catherine snatched the device from his hand. 'But not with this!'

'What the hell?' Randle exploded. He was on his feet now, glaring at Catherine, his eyes wild. 'Are you crazy? You can't stop me from calling my attorney!'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' she said sweetly. 'But we're going to place that call for you.'

He looked baffled. 'Why in hell?'

Catherine's eyebrows lifted. 'Perhaps because we didn't just fall off a turnip truck. We're aware that you may set things up to wipe your hard drive, at home, clean-with just a phone call.'

His eyes rolled. 'You're insane-why in hell would I destroy my own computer? Why would I have it set up to do so with…a phone call?'

'Mr. Randle, if you're a trafficker in child pornography,' Catherine said blandly, 'you'll know the answer to that. If not, I suggest you allow us to do our job, which if you're innocent will include clearing you.'

'Oh, I can see you're on my side!'

Nick stepped up. 'Your lawyer's name, Mr. Randle?'

'Jonathan Austin.'

'You have a phone book?'

'Bottom right hand drawer of the desk.'

'Would you get it out for us, please?'

Shaking his head, sighing, Randle said, 'Christ, I know the number!'

Nick's voice turned hard. 'The phone book, Mr. Randle.'

Randle walked behind the desk, with O'Riley following, watching him carefully. The ad man fished the thick Yellow Pages directory out of the drawer and handed it over. Nick thumbed to ATTORNEYS and found the listing for