Grave Matters

Warrick's expression had sobered. He nodded. 'Yes she did…and she deserves our best damn effort.'

'Yes she does.'

Vega came in through the front door.

'What did you find out?' Catherine asked.

Vega had that wide-eyed look he got when he finally had something. 'The neighbor to the west thinks Vivian was the most wonderful person she ever met. She's a widow lady, too. Her name's Mabel Hinton- she's the one that's been watching the house.'

Jazzed by this news, Catherine asked, 'Did she visit Vivian early this morning?'

'Like, right before she coded?' Warrick put in.

Vega said, 'She says no. But do we buy it?'

Catherine held out open hands. 'Who else could be our mystery lady? And now we have a suspect.'

'Yes we do,' Warrick said.

'Hold those horses, gang,' Vega said. 'This gal's a basket case. She hadn't even heard about Vivian's death before I told her. She came frickin' un-glued!'

Warrick said, 'She could be acting.'

'If she is, Meryl Streep could take lessons.'

But Warrick pressed. 'Was this Hinton in line to inherit any of that dough?'

'No! That's the crazy thing-no one was. Several neighbors told me Vivian planned to leave everything to some charity!'

'We'll have to confirm that,' Warrick mumbled.

Catherine said crisply, 'Anybody say which charity?'

Vega shook his head. 'No one knew that for sure.'

'Another reason for me to call the lawyer,' Catherine said, almost to herself.

Vega threw up his hands. 'Everybody said Vivian Elliot was the grandma for the whole neighborhood! Everybody's kids were welcome and accepted here. She baked more cookies than Mrs. Fields.'

'Greeaat,' Warrick said.

'Well, somebody didn't accept her,' Catherine said, hands on hips. 'Where there's a murder, there's a motive.'

'We look for evidence, Cath,' Warrick said.

'The evidence can show us the motive.'

'True.'

Vega's and Warrick's skepticism was understandable to Catherine. It certainly seemed like they had a crime- someone had to have administered Vivian her deadly shot of air…but who in hell would want to murder the neighborhood's grandma?

And why?

5

DUSTIN BLACK HAD about as much color as his clients before the makeup; unlike the dead he served, however, he was sweating.

Right now the obliging mortician, leading them down a hallway at Desert Haven Mortuary, was assuring Brass and Grissom that he could not understand how they might think the bodies had been switched here at Desert Haven; and, still, the answers Black gave to their questions all sounded just…off.

'Gentlemen!' Black said, up ahead, holding open a door for them. 'This is the preparation room….'

They stepped into a large chamber that might have been a morgue-three steel tables in the middle, walls lined with countertops and cupboards. Over to the far wall was a double door; three embalming machines lined up against the near wall. At this moment, the room was empty of either the living or the dead-not counting Brass, Grissom, and Black, of course.

Brass asked, 'What's the procedure, exactly?'

Black frowned in confusion. 'I'm not sure I know what you're asking.'

'The whole deal-the funeral home routine.'

'We don't really think of it as a 'routine,' Captain….'

Vaguely uncomfortable, Brass tried again: 'What happens when, say, my ex-wife dies?'

Grissom gave Brass a quick arched eyebrow, as if to ask, Wishful thinking?

The mortician tented his fingers; his voice assumed a slow, calming cadence. 'You would call us, of course. We would arrange to pick up the body of the deceased, wherever the final moments took place-her home, perhaps, a hospital….'

'Keep walking me through, Mr. Black.'

'All right. We would bring your ex-wife here…you'd be handling the arrangements yourself, despite being divorced?'

'Let's say we're not divorced.'

Black frowned again. 'But you indicated this was your ex-wife….'

Fighting exasperation, Brass said, 'Hypothetically speaking, Mr. Black-make it my wife.'

'Sorry…. In that case, you and either myself, or one of my staff, would make decisions concerning the disposition.'

'Disposition? Of the body, you mean?'

A solemn nod. 'Either burial or cremation. We offer both services here.'

'Always nice to have options,' Grissom said pleasantly.

Brass winced; his headache was coming back. He managed to get out, 'Let's say I decide to bury her.'

'Then,' the mortician said, 'the next step would be embalming, which would happen in this room…. Did you want me to go into that process, in detail?'

Brass held up a palm. 'No.'

Black nodded again, exhaled, gestured to one of the trays. 'After embalming, your wife would be dressed in clothing selected by you or other family members, and our cosmetics expert would make her up for viewing, probably using photographs you provided for reference as to her preferred style. May I assume there'd be a viewing?'

'You may.'

'The viewing would probably be the afternoon and/or evening before burial, with visitation, followed by the service, perhaps in the morning or afternoon, after which your wife would be laid to rest for eternity.'

The only thing creeping Brass out more than the mortician's Addams Family demeanor was Grissom's little smile; the CSI was standing there, arms folded, lapping up the information.

Black was saying, 'As you can see, gentlemen-the deceased would always be with someone…and frankly, in this controlled environment and situation, I don't begin to know how someone could ever have exchanged the bodies.'

Grissom's smile disappeared. 'You don't see anywhere in this process when the corpse would be left alone for a significant time?'

'We don't use the term 'corpse' in this facility, Doctor Grissom. It's disrespectful.'

Grissom's brow knit. 'It is?'

Brass said, 'Could you answer Doctor Grissom's question, Mr. Black?'

'Certainly. I don't see any window of opportunity for this ghoulish thing to have occurred.'

Grissom asked, 'Obviously, the visitation is attended by friends and family, looking at the…body in an open casket? So a switch can't have occurred until afterward.'

'Yes, of course.'

'So, any switch would have to have been made after that. Visitation for Rita Bennett was the night before the service?'

'Yes.'

'Is there anyone here after hours?'

Black looked uncomfortable. 'No, but obviously the mortuary is locked for the night and our security is first- rate.'