'You use a service?' Brass asked.
'Yes-we have a contract with Home Sure Security. They drive by on a regular basis…and all the doors and windows are wired. No one gets in without the security code.'
'Who has the code?'
'Myself and five employees.'
'Which gives us at least six suspects,' Grissom said, almost to himself.
'Suspects?' Black's eyes and nostrils flared. 'I cooperate like this, and you call me, and my people, suspects?'
Grissom, innocently, said, 'Why? Is that another disrespectful word here at the facility?'
'You have no right-'
'We have every right, Mr. Black,' Grissom said, his tone as gentle as his words were not. 'Someone switched those bodies, and the best opportunity was right here in your shop. The body that replaced Rita Bennett's was that of a murder victim…and that makes this a homicide investigation. So, yes-you and your people are all suspects.'
Black's eyes darted around the empty room, as if confirming no one was hearing Grissom's accusations.
'Now,' the CSI said, 'let's get back to how and when the bodies could have been switched.'
'I…I
'The visitation is usually the night before the service-was that the case with Rita Bennett's funeral?'
'Yes.'
'You're sure.'
'Positive.'
'That means her body spent the night in here…with no one watching over it.'
Black shrugged dismissively. 'That's a question of semantics-yes, no one was in the building; but Home Sure Security was on the job every second. Besides, in Rita's case, a second, shorter visitation took place an hour before the service.'
Grissom frowned in thought. 'The coffin was open?'
'Yes.'
'Do you close the coffin
'Generally, before.'
'Specifically,' Grissom said, 'in Rita's case…before or after?'
Obviously struggling to control his temper, Black said,
'Good. All right-what happens after you close the coffin?'
'I need to back up a step….'
'Please.'
The mortician folded his hands in a dignified manner over his slight paunch. 'Behind the curtain, the family has one last opportunity to privately say goodbye to their loved one before the coffin is closed. The family is escorted to their seats and we then shut and lock the coffin, and open the curtain to begin the service.'
Brass asked, 'You were personally with Rita's body during that entire time?'
Impatience edging his voice, the mortician asked, 'Why don't you follow me to the chapel? I can show you in detail.'
'Please.'
The trio walked across the preparation room and out the double doors, which took them to a short, dark corridor. A few steps more led them to another set of double doors, one of which Black opened, and bid Grissom and Brass to pass through, which they did.
Brass found himself facing the pews of the chapel, as if he were officiating the service. He was standing near where the coffin would have been.
Grissom and Black flanked the detective.
'That,' the mortician said, gesturing, 'is my station during most services…and I was here for Rita's.'
Brass said, 'But you could see Rita the whole time until the coffin was closed.'
'Yes.'
'How did it proceed from there?'
'The family left after the service to gather in a receiving line. While that took place, we wheeled the casket out the back, through the doors we just entered…to the hearse.'
The detective frowned. 'Who's we?'
'Myself, Jimmy Doyle…you met him…and the new guy, Mark Grunick.'
Brass jotted down the names. 'And the three of you loaded the coffin into the hearse?'
'Yes, then Jimmy drove the hearse and I chauffeured the limousine, conveying the family to the cemetery.'
'No stops along the way?'
Black shook his head. 'Short of a flat tire or some other emergency, that's just not done. One does not make a detour from a funeral procession into a 7-11 for a package of gum.'
'Everything, as you remember it, went off without a hitch?'
'Yes.'
'And yet, somehow, some way…Rita Bennett's body was not in that casket.'
Black held out his hands, palms up. 'There's always the cemetery, you know. All I can say is, I spent the whole day with Rita-she was in the casket from the time we got her into it.'
Brass turned to Grissom. 'Any thoughts?'
After considering for a moment, Grissom said, 'Not now. We just keep gathering information, which will lead us to more evidence and eventually we'll find Rita Bennett.'
Black said, 'She deserves a proper burial. To rest in peace.'
'Mr. Black,' Grissom said, 'we also have a murdered woman who took Rita Bennett's place in your casket- and she deserves to rest in peace, too…with her killer tracked down, and punished.'
Any sign of anger or irritation banished behind his calm facade, Black said, 'I wish you gentlemen nothing but good luck in your endeavors. I only wish I could be of more help.'
Grissom smiled. 'Oh, Mr. Black-you will be.'
As Brass and Grissom found their way out, the detective could almost feel the mortician's uneasy eyes on them.
Sara and Nick were in the breakroom, huddling over a file folder, when Brass and Grissom strode glumly in.
The usual exchange of 'hey's' was foregone as Brass poured himself some coffee and Grissom went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.
'I'm not feeling a good vibe,' Sara said. 'No lucky streak in Vegas this morning?'
Grissom was in the middle of a long pull on the bottle and Brass, stirring in creamer, answered her question. 'Nothing at the cemetery-less at the mortuary.'
'Come on,' Nick said. 'Somebody has to know something.'
Brass offered up half a smirk. 'They knew all kinds of things, both places-just nothing useful.'
Grissom said, 'We don't know enough yet to make that call-something important might be right in front of us, and we don't have the context yet to make sense of it.'
Brass said, 'It would be nice to
'I can brighten your day, then,' Sara said. She showed them a photograph. 'Meet Kathy Dean-before she stowed away in Rita Bennett's coffin.'
Grissom and Brass came over to view the snapshot of a smiling, pretty teenage girl.
'Came in just a few minutes ago,' Sara said.
'Fingerprints do it?' Grissom asked.
Nick said, 'Naw-AFIS was no help. Missing Persons matched our morgue photo of her with this one.'
'So who is Kathy Dean, exactly?' Brass asked, the young woman's photograph in one hand.
'A nineteen-year-old, just out of high school, getting ready for college.'
'And never made it.'