came out and picked up the paper, quick-scanning the front page as he strolled back inside without even noticing the parked CSIs. And the Hamilton home remained lifeless.
But for that one light…
Frowning, an alert Warrick was staring at the house as Brass pulled up behind them. Then the captain was leaning at Warrick's window like a carhop.
'Like we thought, gotta confine ourselves to the garage,' Brass said, waving the warrant. 'Didn't have enough to justify the house.'
'I think somebody might be home, after all,' Warrick said, and pointed at the second-floor light.
Brass squinted over at the house. 'You sure that wasn't on when you pulled up?'
'No,' Warrick admitted.
Otherwise, the house on Cotton Gum Court still looked deserted-curtains upstairs drawn, downstairs blinds pulled tight, double garage door down. No barking dog, no one had even taken in the morning paper. Only that one light on, upstairs…
'I'll ring the bell, as a precaution,' Brass said, and watched the house as he waited for Sara and Warrick to climb down from the Tahoe, and secure their silver crime scene suitcases from the back.
They had just started up the sidewalk when another upstairs light went on in a small window, white-backed curtains glowing yellow.
They took a step and that light went out and Sara got the bizarre feeling that somehow the lights were linked to their movements-a security system of some kind?
When they were almost to the house, another light came on, downstairs, illumination flooding through the glass panels that ran down either side of the front door, as if the lights were on a course to intercept them at the entrance.
A frowning, cautious Brass raised his finger to ring the bell, but before he pressed the button, the door swung open and a tall, skinny white man in glasses, cotton running shorts and a Cowboy Bebop T-shirt jumped back a step, yipping like a watchdog.
Then the guy dropped into a martial-arts stance and yelled something in Japanese. Sara's response was not fear, rather to raise a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.
Still in his combat pose, the man-who had a scruffy day-or-two's worth of beard-shouted in a nasal voice, in English, 'Who the hell are
'Relax, Jackie Chan,' Brass said, adding 'LVMPD,' even as he reached into his pocket for his badge wallet.
The man's only break from his stance was to use one hand to push the black horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose. 'Take that ID out slow,' he demanded, his voice still booming.
Brass held out his badge. Sara and Warrick pointed to the plastic ID necklaces. She noticed that their reluctant host wore old, un-laced-up running shoes that would have gone flying in any karate attack.
Was this buffoon their killer?
The skinny guy, swallowing, finally rose out of his stance and looked over each of their I.D.s, comparing their faces to the pictures on the cards.
'Sorry,' he said, a little sheepishly. 'Have to be careful, these days. Lotta psychos out there…. And you startled me.'
Brass gave him a facial shrug. 'We didn't think anyone was home.'
'Well, I am home,' he said, pointlessly. 'But I have a bad cold. I've been in bed on NyQuil since yesterday morning, dead to the world…. A little better now.'
That explained why no one had answered the bell on Warrick and Brass's first stop by the house.
Brass finally got around to asking, 'Are you Kyle F. Hamilton?'
The guy nodded. 'Listen, I'm a big supporter of law enforcement. I didn't mean to scare you.'
Warrick's mouth twitched as he fought a smile and Sara turned her head and coughed to cover her laugh.
'How may I be of help, officers?'
Brass said, 'Your car has come up in an ongoing investigation. It appears to be routine, but we'd like to talk to you about it.'
'My car? Well, I haven't even been out since yesterday. I was following up on an installation at New York New York, and this cold just did me in.'
With his narrow face and high cheekbones, his wide blue eyes darting from one to the other of them, Hamilton had a confused, vaguely victimized expression that reminded Sara of several other nerdy, paranoid types she'd met who'd gone into security work.
Brass was saying, 'Mr. Hamilton, can we come in? This should only take a minute or two.'
Hamilton said, 'Of course,' then to Warrick, Hamilton added, 'Could you get the paper? That's why I was going outside in the first place.'
'Sure thing,' Warrick said with a smile, and did, then followed Brass into the house, Sara trailing them both.
The front door opened into a modest entryway with a smallish living room to the right. The hard-wood floor was covered only in the very center by a small round rug depicting the yin and yang. A white futon hugged the back wall and a small television perched on a low table against the front wall with DVD and VCR beneath. A cloth wall hanging of Bruce Lee hung prominently in the center of the far wall.
'So what's my car got to do with anything?' Hamilton asked, his face revealing a thousand dire scenarios unfolding themselves in his paranoid imagination.
'We got a report that your vehicle might have been at the scene of a crime earlier this week. We can check that out easily enough. We'd just like to take a look at your car.'
The skinny guy considered that for a moment, knuckles of one hand unconsciously riding up and down scruffy whiskers. 'Please don't misunderstand. I support you guys, but I know my rights. I'm a real bug about procedure. You need a warrant.'
Brass withdrew the warrant from his inside coat pocket and handed the papers forward. 'Here you go.'
Eyes wide, horrified, Hamilton leaned back like he expected Brass to slap him with the papers. 'I didn't mean you had to
'Why don't you take it. Look it over.'
'All right.' He grinned nervously. 'It's just that…well…it's early, I'm sorry. I still have a NyQuil hang-over-that stuff puts me out! Hey, I know you have a tough job and I want to help. You just surprised me.'
'Fine,' Brass said.
Hamilton studied the document for a long moment, then, taking a step toward the back of the house, said, 'It's this way. What makes you think it's my car? At this crime scene of yours?'
Warrick said, 'The car spotted at the scene had a broken right taillight.'
Hamilton stopped and the three of them nearly piled into him. Turning back, he said with a frown, 'Well, then you're wasting your time.'
Sara asked, 'Why is that, Mr. Hamilton?'
He shrugged. 'I don't have a broken taillight.'
'We need to check,' Brass said. 'Procedure.'
With a little nod, Hamilton turned back toward the rear of the house.
'So you guys are CSIs?' Hamilton said to Warrick.
'That's right.'
'That must be an exciting job.'
'It has its moments.'
To Sara, Hamilton said, 'Meet some real oddballs, I bet!'
'Now and then.'
When their host got to the kitchen, he turned left and opened a door that led into darkness. Pushing open a screen door, he flipped a light switch and the two-car garage was bathed in light.
