Body of Evidence

Brass smiled a little; it was almost like he was blowing a kiss at Warrick-almost. 'So what now? This is one of those cases where I gotta follow the CSI lead.'

'Nice to hear you admit that. So why I don't check in with Grissom? I think he's headed to the mayor's office, and he might want us to try to catch up.'

Brass's brow rose and yet his eyes remained half-lidded. 'All the way back downtown, then.'

'All the way back downtown.'

On the way south, Warrick made the call. 'Gris? Warrick-we've tracked the taillight to a possible suspect, but the guy isn't home.'

'Is someone watching the house?'

Warrick filled Grissom in, and the CSI supervisor requested that his kudos also be passed along to Brass.

Grissom added, 'Why don't you join us, then. Brass, too, if he's free.'

'It's not like there's a bigger case in Vegas, right now. Mayor's office?'

'Office, and then house. We have warrants for both, but it took a while.'

Warrick could hear the weary frustration in his boss's voice, and asked, 'You mean you haven't even talked to His Honor yet?'

Grissom's voice displayed the lilting sarcasm he often lent to his understatements. 'Judge Clark was reluctant to give us the warrant.'

Warrick groaned. 'Probably thought it was political. That Mobley was behind it.'

'As if we'd do that kind of bidding for the sheriff.'

Grissom's contempt for politics was well known not only within CSI itself but local government, generally.

'That's why it took overnight,' Gris was saying. 'Judge called the sheriff this morning and, devil his due, Mobley must have convinced Clark, because we finally got the ruling.'

'Yeah, well, at least you got it-we'd be S.O.L., otherwise.'

'We have an appointment with the mayor, at his office, in half an hour. Can you make it?'

Warrick checked his watch; and traffic looked light. 'We'll meet you outside the Mayor's door in twenty minutes.' He ended the call and turned to Brass. 'City Hall.'

Half an hour later, Warrick, Brass, Sara and Grissom were seated in the mayor's maple-paneled outer office. Comfortable seating lined the walls and it was easy to imagine the spacious office bustling; but today it was strangely quiet. Only the detective and the CSIs were present, as well, of course, as the mayor's new secretary, a man in his vague thirties, in a crisp gray suit with dark blue tie. The secretary's brass nameplate on a formidable maple desk identified him as Woo, which struck Warrick as ironic, considering the homely man was replacing the late lovely Candace Lewis, who'd been so much more than a secretary to His Honor.

'The mayor will be receive you shortly,' Woo said to them.

No one bothered to select a magazine to flip through. While Brass seemed (as was often the case) faintly bored, Grissom looked relaxed and focused, while Sara appeared tense and Warrick felt somewhere between.

Celebrities, important people, were a routine part of the Vegas landscape, and Warrick was a local boy, after all, and not easily impressed. He'd met the mayor before, at an LVMPD recognition dinner, but shaking the man's hand and exchanging smiles was a different deal than coming to the dignitary's office to serve him a search warrant on a possible murder charge.

Woo was right: they didn't have to wait long.

After the secretary spoke softly on the phone to his boss, he rose and opened the door and-in a show-bizzy manner, perhaps fitting for the mayor of Las Vegas-Mayor Darryl Harrison, in a crisply tailored tan suit with red tie, strode into the outer office, like a headliner bounding on stage.

Grissom and company got to their feet and the smiling politician came to them, and shook hands with each of them, making eye contact, but bestowing a general greeting, 'Well, this is real pleasure. An honor. I'm so proud of what you're doing for our city.'

Before the Candace Lewis case had put him under a dark cloud, Mayor Darryl Harrison had been one of the most popular, best-liked, most widely known mayors in the nation. Some day his party's nomination for governor would be (or anyway, would have been) his; and he had the sort of Clinton-esque charisma to make the White House a real possibility, in a foreseeable future.

You would never guess the strain he was under; his brown eyes had a sparkle, his capped white teeth gleamed in a smile as seemingly genuine as the choppers were not. The fortyish Harrison reminded Warrick of Dean Martin just after leaving Jerry Lewis and prior to his drinking reputation: darkly tan with curly black hair, dimpled chin, and just generally the kind of matinee idol good looks that lured female voters across party lines.

Now it was time for individual greetings.

Knowing to honor rank, he went first to Brass, saying, 'Hello, Jim. Been too long.'

'Yes, sir.'

Harrison's knack of remembering the first name of almost everyone he met-a typical but nonetheless impressive politician's trick-played up a widely felt perception that this man cared about every single person in the city. Then, turning to Grissom, Harrison said, 'Gil-it's been a long time.'

'Yes, sir,' Grissom said.

'I think the last time we spoke was after you put that evil 'Deuce' character, away.'

'I believe so, Your Honor.'

'And I meant to call about that torso case-what was that woman's name?'

'Lynn Pierce.'

His features assumed a grave cast. 'Terrible thing. Tragic family situation.' Then he beamed at all of them, flicking from face to face, saying, 'I don't know why I should be so damn friendly to you people-it's the great job you're doing putting the bad guys away that gives Brian Mobley a shot at unseating me!'

Smiles and nervous laughter ensued.

He turned to Warrick. 'We've met before,' he said.

'Yes, sir.'

'Warrick Brown, isn't it?'

Surprised, Warrick smiled. 'Why, yes, sir.'

'You were commended for bravery, what-two years ago? And Ms. Sidle, we haven't met. But I've kept up with your impressive accomplishments.'

Sara grinned. 'Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I don't know what accomplishments those would be….'

Warrick noted the mayor didn't elaborate, and the CSI was getting the distinct impression the mayor had done some quick homework before their visit….

Grissom moved his head, in that little gesture that indicated he was about to cut through the b.s., and said politely, 'Your Honor? We need to talk. Privately?'

Harrison put his arm around Grissom's shoulder and began to walk him toward the open door of the inner office. Warrick, catching Grissom's wide-eyed, almost horrified response to this physicality, smiled just a little; touchy-feely, Gris was not.

Harrison was saying, 'I realize that. That's why I canceled all my appointments and blocked out fifteen minutes for you people…and my assistant will hold all calls.'

'Fifteen minutes,' Grissom said, moving his head again. 'Very generous.'

Harrison removed his arm from Grissom's shoulder, gestured graciously for the CSI to enter the office, which he did, and in fact held the door open for all of them, though it was Woo who finally shut the door behind the mayor.

The office, not unexpectedly, was spacious. The facing wall-behind a kidney-shaped desk that was itself no larger than a Caribbean island-consisted of tinted windows offering a hazy, filtered view out on the downtown activity. A large, round worktable sat off to the right side of the desk and, beyond that, a sofa hugged the wall. A quartet of chairs were arrayed facing the desk and Harrison waved a hand toward them as he circled his desk and sat down.

The CSIs and the detective exchanged various glances, then finally-Grissom going first-took the chairs.

'Coffee?' Harrison asked. 'Soft drinks? Bottled water?'