Grave Matters

'No idea where he is?'

'No! And good riddance, too.'

Brass pulled into the Deans' driveway and they all got out.

As they walked up the sidewalk, Brass fell in alongside Dean, whose arm was around his wife. 'Do you think the Ortiz boy was capable of harming your daughter?'

Dean paused and looked hard at Brass, eyes glittering. 'For his sake?…I hope to God not.'

They went inside the house and sat in the living room, the Deans on the sofa again, Brass and Sara in two wing chairs angled next to the couch. The grouping was great for facing the entertainment center, but not wonderful for eye contact during conversation, much less a police interview.

'We'll look into Gerardo Ortiz,' Brass assured them. 'But now I'd like to hear more about her other jobs. She have any problems at the blood bank?'

Both parents shook their heads.

Mrs. Dean said, 'She handed out cookies and drinks to the people who gave blood. Everyone loved her.'

Someone didn't love her,Brass thought; or maybe somebody had loved her too much….

Sara asked, 'What about the babysitting jobs? Isn't that more a job for junior high, middle-school girls…?'

'Maybe so,' the father said. 'That's when Kathy started, and she held on to some of her 'clients'…mostly people who were friends of ours, who Kathy knew and got along with well. She loved kids, so she was a natural at babysitting.'

Sara asked, 'Would you mind if I took a look around her room?'

Nonconfrontationally, Dean said, 'The other officers did that, already…when she first disappeared?'

'I understand, but fresh eyes might turn up something.'

'Be our guest,' Mrs. Dean said. 'Her room is upstairs-last on the left.'

'Thank you. Jim, could I have the keys? I need to get my kit.'

Brass passed her the car keys.

'Kit?' Dean asked.

'Crime scene kit,' Brass said. 'Sara doesn't want to contaminate any evidence, should she find something.'

'I see. But her bedroom isn't a crime scene, surely.'

Brass thought, If she was abducted, it could be, but said instead, 'Just routine.'

Sara went out the front door.

'Let's get back to her babysitting,' Brass said.

Mrs. Dean said, 'Well, as I say, she didn't have that many regulars anymore-she was down to, oh, one or two nights a week? Usually, just helping out so a couple could go to dinner and a movie away from the kids. She was hardly ever out past midnight.'

Sara came in carrying her silver crime scene kit and headed up the stairs.

'Didn't she have a sitting job,' Brass asked, 'the night she disappeared?'

'Yes,' Dean said, 'but she was home around twelve and in her room by twelve-thirty. She said everything went great. She really liked David and Diana.'

'David and Diana,' Mrs. Dean said, 'kids she sat for that night.'

'But she was home after that and everything seemed fine?'

'Yes, she closed her door, like my husband said, before twelve-thirty. She'd had a long day and was really tired. Jason had gone to bed about eleven, but I stayed up until Kathy got home-one of us always did. Anyway, she went to bed and, about ten minutes later, I went up.'

'And that was the last time you saw her?'

Mrs. Dean swallowed; her eyes were very red. 'Until today…yes. Kathy told me she was tired and that it had been a long day…those were the last words she ever said to me.'

She stared into her lap; no tears-she was, for the moment at least, past that. Her husband's arm remained a comforting presence around her shoulder.

'Well, we'll start in her room and with that last day,' Brass said, checking his notebook. 'Uh, one more thing-what was the name of the family she sat for that night?'

'The Blacks,' Dean said.

Brass's gut tightened. 'Excuse me…? The Blacks?'

'Why, yes.'

'Dustin Black?'

'Dustin Black,' Jason said, nodding. 'Do you know Dustin? He and his wife, Cassie, own Desert Haven Mortuary…. In fact, I'll be calling Dustin soon, about Kathy.'

Me too,Brass thought. Me too….

6

THE HEAT WAVE HADN'T BROKEN YET, but at least Catherine Willows had gotten some time in with her daughter Lindsey yesterday; and the CSI felt more rested than she had in weeks.

Grissom had given both Catherine and Warrick the graveyard shift off to enable them to catch up on sleep and work the Vivian Elliot case in the daylight it called for.

Catherine was comfortable enough in her ponytail, sleeveless dark brown T-shirt, and pinstriped brown slacks; and Warrick, at the wheel of the Tahoe, in his light green T-shirt and blue jeans, looked cool in several senses of the word.

But it was early-they'd walked from the air conditioning of the police station to the air conditioning of the SUV. The hot day hadn't really had at them, yet…

They pulled up to the gate of the Sunny Day Continuing Care Facility. Detective Sam Vega had tagged along and was in the backseat, leaning up like a kid wondering how-many-more-miles-Daddy. The same silver-haired guard from yesterday was on duty, and Warrick had barely come to a stop when the guy waved them through.

'Hold up, Warrick,' Vega said, hand on the CSI's shoulder. 'We still need to talk to him. First chance I've had…'

The guard came out of his air-conditioned shack, frowning and clearly worried; this was apparently the biggest commotion he'd had to handle in some time.

'Hey!' he said to Warrick, who'd powered down the window. 'Didn't you see me wave you through?'

Warrick nodded. 'Yeah-we're Crime Lab, remember?'

The guard peered into the vehicle, his eyes finding Vega. 'Yeah, I remember you people…. How are you doing, Detective? You need some backup?'

Catherine couldn't hold back the grin, but Vega remained stony as he unhitched his seat belt to lean even farther up, talking to the guard past the back of Warrick's headrest.

'We do need to ask you a few questions, sir. Starting with, what's your name?'

'Fred Mason. I'm an ex-deputy from Summerlin. Retired ten years ago.'

'Meant to check with you yesterday, Fred, but you'd gone off shift. The other gentleman said that you each lock up your own clipboard. That right?'

'We each have our own responsibilities, yes.'

'Could you check yesterday's sheet, and tell me if anybody signed in to see Mrs. Elliot?'

'Mrs. Elliot died yesterday morning. You know that.'

'Before she died, Fred. Could you check?'

'Sure.'

The retired deputy-did he have a single bullet in his pocket, Catherine wondered, like Barney Fife?-went back to his shack, got his clipboard and returned, flipping sheets. 'Yeah, yeah, here she is…Martha Hinton.'

Warrick and Catherine exchanged looks, Catherine mouthing: the neighbor.

'Fred,' Vega was saying, 'I'll need that sheet.'

'Well-I'll have to get it photocopied before I hand 'er over.'