Body of Evidence

'Got it,' Warrick said, then they were out the door and gone.

Gil Grissom settled back in the chair and allowed Brass to do his job.

'Now that the kids are gone,' Brass said with wry humor, 'I have a few more questions…questions that need asking that I thought you might feel more comfortable answering with…a smaller audience.'

'Go ahead, Jim,' Harrison said, only a hint of caution in his voice.

'I have to ask-how did your DNA get in Candace Lewis's bed?'

'It got there,' the mayor said, 'just how you think it got there.'

'Had the two of you had a falling out, before her disappearance?'

'No-we had a warm, friendly relationship. Neither one of us thought it would be…lasting. We were two professionals who spent a lot of time together. My marriage was rocky, she was unattached…. Such things happen among adults.'

'So there was no talk of divorcing your wife and-'

'Jim, I told you-our relationship wasn't like that. It was mostly about…well, companionship, yes, sex, where I was concerned. I was sort of…mentoring Candy. Discussing ways she could get ahead.' Grissom thought, I am so glad Jim is handling this….

'No talk of divorce at all? Could your wife have seen Candace as a…threat?'

Harrison shook his head. 'Why do you keep harping on this…. My marital problems predated my relationship with Candy. And-' Finally it dawned on him; his eyes widened with alarm and he lurched forward. 'You don't think Jeanne could have done this?…You've really taken a wrong turn, there.'

'How so?'

'My wife may be quite capable of making my life a living Hell, but she would never physically hurt another person.'

Grissom felt Mrs. Harrison an unlikely suspect, himself; he found it difficult to imagine a scenario that would include the mayor's wife killing the woman and someone else acquiring the corpse for recreational purposes.

Another ten minutes of questioning accomplished little else. As they left the mayor's office-little of the politician apparent in the shellshocked man now-Grissom hoped Warrick and Sara would have better luck at the mayor's home.

* * *

If Mayor Darryl Harrison's office was grand, his home was opulent. Situated on Lake Las Vegas, a gated community for the truly wealthy, the plush digs of Mayor and Mrs. Harrison were just down the road from the multimillion-dollar estate of pop singer Celine Dion.

Warrick had gotten Conroy's voice mail, leaving a message where he and Sara would be; as they parked in front of the mayor's palatial house, they still hadn't heard back from the detective. The one truism about Vegas was: traffic could be a problem, any day, any time of day.

The rambling castle-like brick structure would have looked out of place in any other part of the city; here it was just one more grandiose homemaker statement. Hell, for this area, Warrick thought, the place was downright downscale-there wasn't even a helipad! Five white pillars held up a widow's walk between the two main sections of the many-windowed house, which was seventy-five hundred square feet, easy. Four or five bedrooms, Warrick would bet, and more bathrooms than a small hotel.

They were just getting got out of the Tahoe when Warrick's cell phone rang; it was Conroy: 'You guys inside yet?'

'No,' Warrick said. 'Just pulled up.'

'Be there in five.'

'Don't mistake the driveway for the freeway.'

'Try not.'

Crime scene field kits in hand, Sara rang the bell with Warrick just behind her, bearing the warrant. The doorbell's echo sounded as if a cavern awaited beyond the white metal door.

When the attractive twenty-ish Hispanic maid, in light-blue uniform, answered the bell, the foyer glimpsed behind her was indeed cavernous, though few caves were outfitted with crystal chandeliers. The interior-or at least this expansive entryway-was the opposite of the exterior, where the brown brick was broken up by the white woodwork of windows; within the walls were white, trimmed in brown oak. Already Warrick sensed a chill, even clinical vibe suitable to a marriage in ongoing cold storage.

The day was just warm enough to make the air conditioning rolling out to them a refreshing greeting. The maid's response to them was cool in another way.

'You're the police?' she asked, her words lightly accented.

'We're part of the police,' Sara said. 'The ones Mayor Harrison called ahead about?'

'I would like to see your badges.'

Warrick could not stop his brain from saying, Badges? We don't need no stinking…

But Sara was already indicating her I.D. on its necklace, saying, 'Is this sufficient?'

The maid looked from one I.D. to the other and said, 'I suppose so.'

But she made no move to allow them entrance.

Warrick said, 'You're Maria, right?' Just trying to warm her up.

The woman nodded. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail and her brown eyes were grave and unblinking-the effect was severe and uninviting.

Getting irritated, Warrick said to the woman blocking their way, 'Do you need to see the warrant? Is Mrs. Harrison here?'

Maria was still searching for answers to those two simple questions when another car-one of the LVMPD's ubiquitous Tauruses, this one dark green-pulled up and parked behind the Tahoe. Conroy came clipping up the slight slope of grass, and-perhaps sensing that the CSIs were stalled at the door-she withdrew from her purse what Maria seemed to crave: a wallet with an actual police badge.

A pretty green-eyed brunette with high cheekbones and luminous model's skin, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, Erin Conroy wore a light gray suit over a darker gray silk blouse, the jacket bulging on her right hip where her pistol rode. As she approached, she held her shield out in front of her, Van Helsing warding off Dracula with a crucifix.

And, at the sight of the badge, the maid stepped meekly aside and-Detective Conroy now in the lead-they all swept in.

Immediately Warrick noticed how immaculate the place was, adding further to a sterile aura-there was something almost institutional about it.

This time Sara was the one to ask: 'Is Mrs. Harrison here?'

'Si,' the maid said. 'She is upstairs.'

And the maid just stood there.

With a roll of his eyes, and a sigh, Warrick asked, 'Well, could you let her know we're here?'

Maria was still thinking about that when they heard a voice from the wide oaken stairway at their left.

'Is that the police, Maria?'

'Yes, Mrs. Harrison,' the maid said over her shoulder.

Warrick and Sara traded looks over the odd formality of that; neither seemed quite sure whether or not to be amused.

Footfalls on the steps further announced a middle-aged blonde woman, electric blue eyes in a face that was both haggard and strikingly, even delicately beautiful.

Conroy displayed her badge and introduced the three of them.

'I'm Jeanne Harrison,' the woman said, shaking hands with all of them. 'I'll do my best to help in any way I can, but I do have a tennis date I was on my way to…. Will that be a problem? Should I postpone it?'

Warrick answered that by handing Mrs. Harrison the search warrant.

'What's this?' She began to read it, and immediately knew. 'No one said anything to me about this. Searching my home!' A hint of red appeared on her cheeks and near her ears, but otherwise she showed no reaction.

'That's the procedure?' Sara said, falling into the up-talking Valley Girl lilt that came upon her occasionally,