Body of Evidence

They loaded their gear inside and hauled it out to the Tahoe. An aura of dejection and confusion hung over them, and few words were exchanged. Sara, Brass and Grissom gathered near the vehicles while Warrick went back and put crime scene tape up across the broken door.

Nearing them, Warrick heard Brass saying, 'I'll take the heat for this-Mobley's gonna be very pissed if we broke down the wrong door and the department gets sued.'

'I think this is one case,' Grissom said, 'where Brian will cut us some slack.'

Feeling movement more than hearing it, Warrick turned to see a forty-something couple sauntering over from the house next door.

In shorts and Miller Beer T-shirt, the man was tall, balding and trimly bearded, with the look of a one-time football player whose paunch said most of his sports were conducted in front of the tube, these days; his wife was a petite brunette with a ready smile and bright brown eyes, wearing a yellow sundress. They approached with a confidence that was a relief, considering how many neighbors and witnesses were wary of the police.

'Are you looking for our neighbor?' the man asked. 'David Benson?'

Grissom met them halfway. 'We are. Do you know where he is?'

'He works a lot,' the woman said. 'Very dedicated. Gone at all hours. He's in the security business.'

'I'm Gil Grissom with the crime lab. And you are?'

'Judy and Gary Meyers,' the wife said, as her husband slipped an arm around her shoulders. 'We've lived next door for the last five years. Of course, David has only been here a couple of years…. He prefers 'David,' doesn't care for 'Dave.' '

'And you think David's at work?'

Gary shook his head and said, 'I don't think so. We haven't seen him for a couple days. He's probably out at that cabin of his.' He checked with his wife: 'Don't you think, honey?'

'He calls it a cabin,' Judy said, nodding, 'but it's really a second home. Very nice.'

Her husband picked up on that: 'He's got all sorts of high-tech gear out there.'

Warrick glanced at Gris, but the man's attention was fully on the couple.

Brass stepped up to Grissom's side, introduced himself and told the couple he'd be making a few notes; they said they wouldn't mind.

'Sounds like you've been there,' Grissom said, meaning the cabin.

'Yeah, just once, though,' Gary said. 'He invited us out, 'cause Jude's a photographer, and David found that interesting-said he was a camera buff, himself. Told us there were some desert birds and rodents around out there, if she wanted to take some interesting shots.'

'That was right after he moved here,' Judy said. 'But we must have overstepped, somehow.'

Grissom frowned in interest. 'Why do you say that?'

The woman shrugged. 'Well, he hasn't invited us back since.'

'You notice his video equipment,' Gary said, 'when I tried to talk to him about it, he got kinda close-mouthed and said it wasn't any big deal. Most people with a hobby, you know, if you're into something, you usually you wanna talk about it. Try to get me to stop talking about the Dodgers.'

Grissom smiled. 'I've been a Dodgers fan my whole life…and I see your point.'

Warrick and Sara traded glances; Grissom connecting with a human being was always worth noting.

Grissom was asking, 'Could you give us directions to David's cabin?'

Judy shook her head. 'I'm directionally dysfunctional. You remember the way, Gary?'

'We only went that one time,' her husband said, 'but I think so…if you don't arrest me, if I steer you wrong….'

Brass jotted the route down.

'I hope David's not in some kind of trouble,' Judy said. 'He's nice, in kind of a quiet way.'

Yes, Warrick thought, the rule of the 'nice, normal' serial killer next door always seemed to pertain….

But then Gary Meyers contradicted it: 'Yeah, honey, but to be honest with you? He's got a streak. Guy's an oddball. Not that that's against the law. Has he done something?'

Brass said, 'We don't know yet. Just following up on a lead.'

'Must be some lead,' Gary said. 'You busted down his door.'

'Thank you for your help,' Grissom said, bestowing his fellow Dodgers fan a curt smile, then turning his back on them.

Dismissed, the couple headed to their own homestead, and the CSIs and the detective huddled in the street, between parked vehicles. Brass got on his cell and called to post a patrol car to watch Benson's residence while he and the CSIs took their excursion to the country and the cabin.

Then Brass suggested, 'Let's take one vehicle.'

Warrick opened the driver's side door, saying, 'Always room for one more, Captain.'

'Why don't I drive,' Brass said, holding his hand out for the keys. 'I'm the one with the directions.'

'You can navigate.'

'Warrick, I've seen you drive.'

Shaking his head, Warrick got in back with Sara.

They were at the far north end of the city; Benson's cabin was south and west out Blue Diamond Road, down some back roads, almost to the county line. After a stop downtown at the courthouse for a search warrant, the drive took the better part of an hour; but it was time well spent, much of it on their various cell phones.

Grissom talked to the County Recorder and discovered that Benson had purchased both the house and his cabin about the same time. This also provided them with an exact address, which seemed to fit the neighbor's directions.

Warrick leaned up from the back. 'Why is this guy so flush all of a sudden, Gris?'

Grissom said, 'See what you can find out, Sara.'

And Sara got a dayshift intern to help her dig into Benson's records to find out what else they had missed. The intern told her that an aunt of Benson's had died and left him a good chunk of money, explaining his sudden move from renter of a nondescript apartment into multiple-property owner.

Warrick phoned Benson's place of employment, Double-O Gadgets, and spoke with a receptionist who seemed more than happy to talk about Benson, as long as she mistook Warrick for a security-system client.

After he clicked off, Warrick said, 'Our guy's on vacation this week, and they have no idea where he is.'

'On vacation at his cabin?' Sara asked.

'Didn't know. He could be in the Bahamas, or in Cleveland.'

Sourly, Brass said, 'Or on the run.'

Grissom shook his head. 'No reason to think he's made us, Jim.'

Brass ground the wheel to the left and everybody leaned to one side, comically, as they headed up a dirt inlet that seemed to Warrick more like a path than a road. The Tahoe jumped and bucked and a cloud of dust that could be seen in Arizona trailed them like a jet plume.

'Really sneaking up on the guy, Jim,' Warrick said, still nursing hurt feelings over the general disregard for his driving abilities.

Half-smiling into the rearview mirror, Brass said, 'Still a couple more miles before we're even close enough to worry about it.'

Grissom looked back at Warrick. 'Consider this an intervention, Warrick-where we demonstrate what it's like to be driven by a maniac.'

Brass flicked a frown at Grissom, obviously not liking the sound of that any better than Warrick.

But any criticism of Brass's driving did not prevent the detective from jostling them around several more times before turning off onto another dirt road, this one even more dubious and less forgiving. Then, once he'd made the turn, Brass took what seemed like a firebreak at a more manageable speed.

They were winding up into the foothills now and-despite what Benson's neighbors had said about the cabin being more a second home-Warrick began conjuring visions of this trip ending outside a rundown, ramshackle tacked-together hovel purchased from the Unabomber.

When they popped up over a rise, however, and got their first look at Benson's 'cabin' in the distance,