particularly when she was nervous. 'Just letting you know we were coming was a courtesy most people don't receive.'
'Well, I thank you for that, Ms. Sidle.'
Warrick tried to find sarcasm in the reply, but couldn't.
Turning to the maid, Mrs. Harrison said, 'Maria, give these officers whatever they require.'
'Yes, Mrs. Harrison.'
'If you don't need me here,' Mrs. Harrison said, her voice just a trifle icy, 'I'd like to keep that tennis date.'
'Please go ahead, ma'am,' Conroy said. 'We may still be here when you get back. If we have any questions, we can ask you at that time.'
'Fine.' She went over briskly and picked up a purse from a small, round table at the bottom of the stairs, and disappeared into another part of the house-most likely, Warrick thought, headed for the garage to escape from this embarrassment.
They split up-Sara taking the upstairs and basement, Warrick the first floor and garage. Conroy split her time between the two CSIs, observing and helping out.
The living room seemed white at first, too, but on closer examination was a pale, pale yellow; the oak trim continued and the floors were polished hard-wood. The furnishings were contemporary, tasteful and sparing; frankly, 'living' room or not, it didn't look like anybody lived here.
Warrick didn't know what he was looking for, much less what he expected to find in a room that had been cleaned like a surgeon's operating room. From there he moved on to the den, which also served as Harrison's home office. He found some long black hairs that might be Candace's (the maid was another possibility), but nothing else of interest.
It was the same for the whole house. They went through every drain looking for hair or blood, took out every trap and cleaned them out; used alternate light sources on the walls, baseboards and floors searching for blood stains; but, after three grueling hours, the two CSIs and the detective met up in the foyer with nothing but a few stray hairs to show for their time.
'Find anything?' Sara asked.
He shook his head. 'Not to write home about. You?'
'Plenty of nothing. If Mayor Harrison's involved in this crime, he didn't commit it here.'
Mrs. Harrison appeared from the kitchen, her tennis dress still immaculate, not so much as a drop of perspiration on it. 'Hello. Are you finished?'
Conroy met her, saying, 'Yes, ma'am-thank you for your cooperation.'
Mrs. Harrison gave them a friendly if cool smile, as if she'd come to terms with their intrusion while she was gone. 'Anything Darryl and I can do, just let us know. No one wants this cleared up more than we.'
Unable to restrain himself, Warrick asked, 'How was tennis?'
Her smile turned faintly mocking. 'I won…. I almost always do, Mr. Brown.'
'Cool,' Warrick said, but found himself wondering what sort of game she had been playing at the tennis club.
As they approached their vehicles out front, Conroy asked, 'Should I interview her, do you think?'
'What about?' Warrick said, with a humorless half-smirk. 'We didn't find a damn thing. You could ask her if she knows her husband was running around on her with Candace Lewis, which we already know she knows, and which'll only serve to irritate her. Then she complains to her husband and we get less cooperation from the Mayor's office, so yeah, sure, interview her, if you want.'
Conroy gave him a look. 'You could've just said 'no.' '
'Better check in,' Sara said. She looked a little tired, and glum.
'Better.' Warrick used his cell to call Grissom.
'And you found?' Gris asked.
'Nothing,' he said. 'Couple of Candace Lewis hairs, maybe.'
'And His Honor already admits she was in his house, from time to time. Any DNA in the bedrooms?'
'None…. It's not a loving household.'
Warrick could hear Grissom thinking over the line.
Then Gris said, 'Well, we had to check it out. No stone unturned…. Hold on.'
Grissom was gone for a few seconds and, as Warrick held, Sara asked, 'Anything new on his end?'
'Not that he said,' Warrick said, and then Gris was back on the line.
'That was Brass. He said the NLVPD patrol car says there's still no sign of life at Cotton Gum Court.'
'Maybe the guy signed a full confession and then hung himself.'
' 'Hanged' himself, Warrick. And I doubt we'll have any such luck…. Come on back and call it a day.'
'But, Gris-'
'No buts, Warrick. Let's eat up the overtime when we're actually accomplishing something…. Start over tonight.'
'…Okay, Gris. I could use a meal. I could use some sleep.'
'Go wild,' Grissom advised dryly, and clicked off.
Alone in his office, Gil Grissom contemplated how this important case was shaping up, and was not overjoyed.
The CSI supervisor had hoped for better news from either Warrick or Brass; and they did have a possible suspect located. That was a start. What was there left to do, today?
And he knew.
Grissom knew the time had come to place the phone call he'd been avoiding, even dreading, since his meeting with Mobley and the showdown with Ed Anthony.
After digging out the number from his old-fashioned Rolodex-this particular number was too distasteful to carry around in a palm pilot-Grissom punched it in and waited, hoping that he might reach voice mail and not have to actually speak to a human being.
He wasn't that lucky: the familiar oily voice came on the third ring: 'Special Agent Rick Culpepper.'
'Agent Culpepper, Grissom.'
A stunned silence crackled over the line for an endless five seconds.
'Hey, buddy. Something I can do for you?' The caution in the special agent's voice seemed tempered with suspicion.
Grissom worked at casualness as he said, 'Just making sure you're in the loop on the Candace Lewis case, Agent Culpepper.'
' 'Rick.' Call me Rick.'
Grissom flinched. 'Rick-did you get the crime scene report from Candace Lewis's apartment?'
'Hard copy, Gil, or electronic?'
Hearing Culpepper call him 'Gil' made Grissom shudder. 'Hard copy.'
'Just a second…'
Grissom could hear the FBI agent riffling through some papers.
'I've got the prelim from the day after the search, but I don't see the final report.'
'Thought you might not have that,' Grissom said, lightly. 'I'm messengering over a copy today. Some sensitive data, there. You suffering any press leaks?'
'No. We're a tight ship. We
'Good to hear. I'll have an officer drop it off right away.'
Culpepper hesitantly said, 'Thanks. Anything of mine you need?'
'Copies of your case files would be appreciated.'
'Want to get together for a powwow?'
Shuddering again, Grissom said, 'We may need to do that. At some point. I don't have any new major developments, yet.'
'Why so amenable…Gil?'
The scientist kept it nonchalant. 'Just sharing information…Rick. You said you wanted to be kept in the
