Body of Evidence

'I just thought it was my duty,' Denard said.

'Your duty was to Mr. Gold,' Catherine said. 'And to that ten-thousand-dollar bonus he paid you for aiding and abetting.'

Catherine gestured, and O'Riley and the uniforms handcuffed Gold and Denard.

And led the boss and his personal assistant down the corridor, past cubicles and offices and framed award- winning advertisements.

Nick and Nunez still had crime scene work to do.

Catherine returned to Randle's office. As she entered, he sprang to his feet, wild-eyed.

'Ruben? Janice? You arrested them? I saw your guys dragging them out in cuffs! What the hell could-'

'You deserve the whole story,' she said, and sat down across from him and told it to him-chapter and verse.

Randle didn't get angry; he seemed past that, sharing the numbness that had overtaken Ruben Gold.

'And Elaine will be arrested, too,' Randle said.

'If she hasn't been already.'

'Why…why don't I feel vindicated? Why do I only feel empty?'

'The good news,' Catherine said, 'is you get to keep your daughter.'

He arched an eyebrow. 'You're implying there's bad news, too?'

She nodded, somberly. 'This is going to make the papers. Your agency will be in trouble. Newcombe is in the clear, but this won't be easy to weather.'

He waved that off. 'I'm good at what I do. I couldn't care less about the business end. Need be, I'll find work. The important thing is my daughter.'

He sighed, shook his head. 'Leave it to Elaine to figure the best way to spend more time with her daughter was to ruin the life of the girl's father.'

'Mr. Randle,' Catherine said, rising, with a regretful smile, 'nobody's perfect.'

12

LESS THAN AN HOUR AFTER SARA HAD INFORMED GRISSOM OF their disturbing discoveries in David Benson's former apartment, a CSI Tahoe and Captain Brass's Taurus descended on Benson's current residence on Roby Grey Way. They parked in the street, noses of the vehicles facing the house, blocking passage.

Warrick Brown jumped down and headed to the rear of the vehicle. The sun loomed high now-dry and hot and not at all like spring-and those not at work in the neighborhood peeked from windows and occasionally came out, to see what all the fuss was about.

A compelling case for a search warrant for Benson's house and car had been made based on the discovery of a hole in the apartment wall, through which Benson-the witness who had 'found' the body-had apparently snaked a camera to spy upon, and surreptitiously videotape, showering neighbor Candace Lewis.

Benson's two-story home was typical of middle-class, upper-middle-class Vegas, reminiscent of Kyle Hamilton's residence a couple miles to the west-stucco with a tile roof, red this time-except where Kyle's lawn was well-tended, Benson's lawn was a scruffy brown whose little green bumps were like grassy pimples on the desert's face.

And, like Hamilton's, the house appeared to be empty, though everyone on this trip was well aware that last time they'd been wrong. Warrick, Sara and Grissom approached the house, their crime scene kits in hand, Brass leading the way.

On the cement front stoop, Brass withdrew his nine millimeter. No one questioned that: if David Benson was the homicidal necrophiliac the evidence was indicating him to be, such a precaution seemed prudent. On the other hand, no backup had been called: this was one suspect, and the CSIs were, after all, armed.

The doorbell went unanswered, and the peculiar sensation of tension and tedium, common working cases like this one, permeated the atmosphere.

Brass said, 'Warrick, let's check out the back. Gil, take out your handgun, would you?'

Grissom's expression turned sour, but he complied, shifting the field kit to his left hand.

Warrick and Brass went around the house from opposite sides, Brass to the right, Warrick around the garage, the double door of which had no windows. A side window was covered by a cream-color curtain you could almost see through-almost. The CSI made his way around back, where he found Brass had climbed a few stairs to a small deck. After checking curtained windows as best he could, the detective shook his head and they headed back to join the others.

'I don't think our man is home,' Brass announced.

'Doesn't look like he's been here for a few days,' Warrick added, pointing to the overflowing mailbox next to the front door. 'This guy's not in bed with a cold.'

Sara scowled darkly. 'I'd rather not think about who or what he's in bed with.'

'Time,' Grissom said, 'to serve the warrant.'

Brass needed no convincing: he was the one who'd gone to the judge with their evidence. 'Warrick, get the ram, would you?…Trunk.'

The detective tossed Warrick his car keys.

'Gil,' Brass said, 'you cover us.'

'Cover you?'

'Cover us.'

'With the gun.'

'That's right.'

In moments, Warrick returned to the stoop with the battering ram from the Taurus. The ram was a black metal pipe with an enlarged flat head and a handle about halfway up on either side, providing an easy grip. The heft of it felt good to Warrick, natural-this baby had never failed him once.

Warrick took one side of the ram and Brass the other, as Grissom and Sara backed to the edge of the porch. Then, lining it up with the deadbolt, Warrick glanced at Brass and they swung the ram away from the door, straight back, then propelled it forcefully forward….

The head hit with a satisfying, explosive crunch, the jolt shooting up Warrick's arms through his whole body as the door burst inward, the jamb splintering into kindling.

Brass allowed Warrick to return the ram to the Taurus while he stood in the doorway, nine millimeter in hand again, and peered carefully inside.

When Warrick returned, Grissom was saying, 'I'm putting my gun away.'

'You do that,' Brass said. Then he turned to the CSIs with a tiny rumpled grin. 'Open house, gang. Refreshments later.'

Brass again drafted Warrick, who drew his own sidearm, as they went through every room of the house, making sure the suspect really wasn't home.

After the detective pronounced the house clear, the CSIs went from room to room, checking drawers, closets, drains, carpeting, everything. For the next two hours and then some, they turned the house upside down and inside out, and when they were finished, they met in the foyer amid the detritus of the broken front door.

'What have we got?' Grissom asked.

Sara said wryly, 'The only evidence of a crime? Looks like some people broke in here.'

Grissom was not amused.

Warrick said, 'If anything this place is cleaner than the mayor's place or Hamilton's'

'No blood, no hair, nothing,' Sara said, then she addressed Grissom and Brass: 'What about videotapes? Did you find any?'

Grissom picked up an evidence bag from his open crime scene suitcase. 'Only three home-recorded: labeled NYPD Blue, Without a Trace, and Lexx. Everything else is prerecorded DVD, horror movies mostly.'

'Porn?' Warrick asked.

Grissom shook his head. 'Nothing rated NC-17, let alone triple X…We'll check them when we get back to the lab, but it doesn't look promising.'