Grave Matters

Nick frowned. 'And why is that, Kreskin?'

'You read the Missing Persons file on her, right?'

'Yeah.'

Sara grinned. 'You didn't know who he was. If he was mentioned in the report, if they had found him…you would have recognized the name. Simple deductive reasoning.'

Nick just stared at her for a long moment. 'That's scary-you're starting to sound a liiittle too much like Gris….'

'Yeah, well I could use a liiittle more of his reasoning power right about now. I might know what we should do next.'

'I don't know about you,' Nick said, 'but I'm going to Trace, to work on the fibers and hairs I culled from Kathy Dean's clothes and coffin.'

Sara looked at her watch. 'I'm going to drop off the note, then catch some dinner.'

'Eating. Yeah, I remember that. I used to do that now and then. Anywhere special? Maybe I'll have you bring me something back.'

'Pretty special,' Sara said with a smile. 'I was thinking of trying this Mexican place I keep hearing about… Habinero's?'

Brass passed the Dean home on Serene Avenue, took a right on Redwood and cruised down several houses before he and Grissom saw a massive two-story brick home, the backyard surrounded by a six-foot wooden fence, the top of a swimming pool slide visible above it.

The detective stopped in front of Dustin Black's castle, which seemed to belong in Georgetown or a Connecticut country estate, not the Clark County desert. On a pole in the front yard, near the three-car garage, flapped an American flag. A small red, white, and blue sign near the pole said: 'We support the Pledge.' A massive white front door awaited the visitors under a portico supported by four gleaming white columns.

'Quite the all-American little bungalow,' Brass said.

Grissom shrugged. 'Morticians are just like us, Jim.'

'That right?'

'Long as people keep dying, we're in business.'

'And you say I'm the cynical one.'

Grissom gave him the charming smile. 'You are, Jim. I'm just stating a fact.'

The front walk wound through a lushly green lawn that might have been hand-trimmed with scissors, two perfectly coiffed bushes standing sentinel on either side of the entrance. The other houses on the block all had healthy grass and shrubbery, too; perhaps the neighborhood hadn't gotten the memo that Clark County was suffering through a major drought.

Brass used the huge brass knocker in the midst of that white door. Thirty seconds or so later, the door opened and a tall brunette looked at them accusingly.

The dignified beauty was in black high heels, tan slacks, and a v-neck black sleeveless blouse showing just a hint of cleavage. Her overly large brown eyes might have seemed cartoonish had they not been glinting with intelligence. Her curly hair rolled to her shoulders like a cresting wave. She had a slightly beakish nose, hinting ill- advised plastic surgery, and collagen-full lips rouged a deep red.

More work had been done on this forty-something woman than on one of her husband's average corpses; but the result was nonetheless striking and, Brass thought, she probably looked quite lovely, in low lighting.

'May I help you?' she asked, her voice a rich alto.

Brass displayed his badge. 'Mrs. Black?'

'Yes.'

'I'm Captain Jim Brass and this is Gil Grissom from the crime lab. Might we have a moment of your time?'

'I'm busy right now. But if it's important, I could spare you a few minutes.'

'If it wasn't important, ma'am, we wouldn't be here.'

She frowned in concern. 'What's it about?'

'We're looking into the murder of Kathy Dean.'

Her hand shot to her mouth; the too-large eyes got larger. 'You found the poor girl? She was… murdered?'

'I'm afraid so, Mrs. Black.'

'Nice-looking girl like that, when she disappears…you have to think the worst. So many awful people in this world. Values such as they are.'

'Right. Could we come in?'

'Where was she found?'

'Desert Palm Cemetery.'

'Oh my God….'

She opened the door farther and stepped back so the two investigators could enter.

To Grissom, the living room looked more like an Architectural Digest layout than somewhere a family actually lived, everything perfect, magazines fanned out on the coffee table, furniture arranged more for show than for ease of use. Only Mrs. Black's tan suit jacket on the arm of the couch, and her black purse nestled in the corner next to it, clashed with the color scheme of dark green and beige…which Grissom figured a top-ticket decorator had probably referred to as 'spruce' and 'champagne.'

'You say the poor dear was found at the cemetery?' Mrs. Black asked, waving them to wing chairs that looked far more comfortable than they actually were. She perched on the edge of the sofa as if sitting back might overwear the couch material.

'Yes, under frankly bizarre circumstances,' Brass said. 'She was in a casket we exhumed a couple of days ago.'

Mrs. Black, clearly confused, asked, 'She was buried…in a casket?'

'Yes, someone else's casket. Rita Bennett's, actually.'

The hand went to Mrs. Black's mouth again. 'Oh, my God…Rita of all people!'

Grissom asked, 'Your husband didn't mention this to you?'

'No, no. When I married a mortician, some years ago, I had only one hard and fast rule-Dustin must leave his work at work. I feel I hardly need to justify that wish.'

'No.' Grissom shrugged. 'But then…having two corpses switch places is probably not business as usual.'

'The reason we're here, though,' Brass said, perhaps afraid Grissom was moving the woman down the wrong path, 'is to talk to you about that last night…the night the Dean girl babysat for you and your husband.'

'Well…I've already talked to the police about that night. Ad nauseam.'

Brass nodded. 'That was a fairly cursory conversation, I'm sure…. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Black, I haven't reviewed the interview with the officers involved, so quickly are we moving forward on this homicide. Which is why we'd like to talk about that night in a little more detail.'

'Well, obviously, I want to do anything I can do to help. These animals who kill young girls, they should all receive lethal injection, as far as I'm concerned.'

'No argument,' Brass said, and smiled.

'All right, then, Captain…Bass was it?'

'Brass.'

'Captain Brass.' She settled her hands in her lap, like a Catholic school girl about to pray. 'What would you like to know?'

'Well-why don't you just walk us through it from the beginning?'

She thought back for several moments, then said, 'I had talked Dustin into coming home early that day-it was a Saturday.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Saturdays…if there isn't a funeral…Dustin usually likes to work with the staff on getting everything around the mortuary spiffed up for the next week.'

'Spiffed up?'

'The hearse and limo get washed and waxed, and the mortuary is cleaned from top to bottom.'