Body of Evidence

The manager-a middle-aged man with short, dark hair cut up over his ears and collar-looked to be ex- military; probably put in his twenty, Sara figured, retired and took the job of managing this place in trade for rent. The man seemed happy to see them-prospective renters, possibly-right up until Brass flashed his badge.

The office was small and cramped, the air stale despite the best efforts of a window air conditioner about ten years past its prime. Howard Thomas-as he'd been announced by a scruffy brass nameplate on his forty-dollar do- it-yourself-kit desk-sat grumpily drumming his fingers on the desktop.

'Let's make this short,' he said. 'I'm a busy man, and some of my tenants are allergic to police.'

'Perhaps,' Brass said, 'they can build up a tolerance, if we have a patrol car stop by here, on the hour. Maybe they'll feel a little safer.'

'You don't have to be unpleasant.'

'We need to talk to you about a couple of your ex-tenants.'

Thomas shrugged. 'If you mean Candace Lewis, she was a model tenant-everybody liked her, everybody got along with her.'

None of them was surprised that the manager had skipped a step and gone straight to Candace Lewis-as big as the story was in the media, as important as the case had been, this manager had no doubt already answered more than his share of questions about the mayor's late personal assistant.

But the manager explained anyway: 'She's all you cops want to talk about. You and the TV and the papers and the FBI, you guys are sniffin' around here, every other day, seems like-and I can't get a decent renter to walk through the door.'

'I hear life's a bitch,' Brass said. 'Now, let's talk about another former tenant-David Benson.'

Thomas shrugged. 'That's a new one. Who the hell is he?'

Sara said, 'Lived here for two years. Left about two years ago?'

Grissom said, 'That's four years, Mr. Thomas.'

'Hell if I know.'

Brass asked, 'You keep records, don't you?'

Thomas pointed at a file cabinet. 'You don't expect me to take my time sorting through there, do you?'

Sara was starting to understand why Grissom preferred insects to people.

A lanky guy in his thirties strolled into the room; he wore threadbare jeans and a tan workshirt with the name Kevin stitched in an oval over a breast pocket.

'Finished 4B,' Kevin said, oblivious to the crowd in the tiny office.

'What about the bum washer in building six?'

'I don't wanna start that till after lunch.'

Thomas waved dismissively and 'Kevin' slipped back out the door. After Grissom shot them a look, Sara and Warrick were on the guy's tail.

The sun was high and hot, but a breeze from the west made it cooler out here than inside that stuffy office. Kevin strolled through the parking lot; he climbed into a red beater of a pickup, the box stacked full with plywood, two by fours, empty pop and beer cans, and some loose hand tools. He didn't start the pickup up, however; he was brownbagging it.

And as he unwrapped a sandwich from what might have been an evidence bag, Sara came up on the driver's side, Warrick looping around to the passenger side.

'Are you the maintenance engineer?' she asked, reaching for the most complimentary term she could muster. She gave him a nice smile.

He had just taken a bite of his sandwich, and looked up-ready to give hell to whoever'd interrupted his alfrecso dining-but then apparently liked what he saw, including her gap-toothed smile. He nodded slowly, still chewing, closing his mouth while doing so, indicating chivalry wasn't dead.

'Mind if I call you 'Kevin'?' she asked, gesturing to the name on his workshirt.

He swallowed a bite, then grinned. 'Call me anytime.'

Then the maintenance man seemed to sense Warrick, on the other side, and glanced at him with a frown. Warrick gave him a friendly nod.

The maintenance man returned the nod, guardedly, then turned back to Sara. 'So who are you guys? Saw you talkin' to Howard.'

She lifted the I.D. on its necklace. 'Sara Sidle and that's Warrick Brown. We're with the crime lab? Can we talk to you while you eat?'

If Warrick had been the one asking, the maintenance man might have said no; but Kevin seemed intent on keeping Sara happy. 'Sure, if you don't spoil my lunch with some gross-out shit from the morgue or somethin'!'

Kevin chortled at his own witticism and Sara managed a light laugh.

'What do you guys wanna talk about?'

'A couple of former tenants-Candace Lewis and David Benson.'

'She was a babe,' he said. 'He was a dork. Anything else?'

Sara said, 'Didn't they live next door to each other?'

'That's right.'

'Did they get along?'

He shrugged. 'She was nice to him. Hell, she was nice to everybody. Real doll. But Benson, he followed her around like a lovesick puppy. Carried her laundry up and down to the laundry room. Brought her groceries in for her and stuff. I always thought it was so he could try to get a whiff of her panties, pardon my French, but she thought he was harmless.'

Sara frowned. 'How do you know that, Kevin?'

He shrugged. 'You can just tell. You know, some dorks fall for anything a babe hands out.'

Warrick smiled a little, for Sara's benefit.

Kevin was saying, 'That nerd had the hots for her, big time. Man, I told her she should've got a restraining order against him, but she kept sayin' he was 'sweet.' '

Reading between the lines, Sara said, 'And she thought you were kind of…jealous?'

He straightened in the pickup seat. 'Hey, we weren't an item. But we talked, 'cause I'm the maintenance guy, I helped her out, fixed stuff.'

'And she was a nice person?'

'Yeah! I mean, she knew she was a babe. Babes know when they're babes, know what effect they have on gullible guys. Right?'

Sara didn't know how to answer that.

'But she also seemed kinda…naive. Like she didn't know she was playin' with fire. A weirdo like Benson, leadin' him on, that's dangerous, man.'

Sara asked, 'Did you ever talk about this with any other police, or possibly the FBI?'

'That guy Culpepper?' He shook his head. 'None of them ever asked about Benson-you're the first ones.' His eyes tightened. 'You think the tabloids'd go for this?'

'They might,' Sara said. 'You could call them, if you don't mind Benson suing you.'

'I don't need that shit!'

Warrick asked, 'Would it be possible to see her old apartment?'

'Can't. Somebody's living there now. You'd have to get their permission, and they ain't home.'

Sara asked, 'What about Benson's old apartment?'

'That I could show you. Tenant after him just moved out last week.'

The maintenance man finished his sandwich quickly and Sara kept an eye on the office door; but Grissom and Brass were still in there with the manager.

She and Warrick followed Kevin two buildings over and up two flights of concrete stairs to the third floor. The maintenance man led them around the building to an apartment almost at the far end of the walkway.

'Benson lived here,' Kevin said, pointing to the door in front of them, 'and she had the apartment on the end.'

Using his passkey, the maintenance man let them in. As promised, the apartment was vacant. Tan carpeting covered the floor except for tile floors in the kitchen and bathroom. All the walls were painted white, the kitchen/dining area, the living room, the two bedrooms and the bathroom, all painted that chunky white textured