Bennett, and the detective stood with court order in hand, in the middle of the cemetery. Like most grave robbers, they were working in the wee hours-at the behest of the cemetery management, who requested that this effort not interrupt their regularly scheduled interments.
The desert was cool at night, it was said; and right now the temperature was all the way down to ninety- eight, with a slight devil's-breath breeze. Of course this was actually morning, about two hours from dawn, toward the end of the CSI graveyard shift…literally graveyard, this time.
Brass was well aware that CSI Supervisor Gil Grissom sympathized with his distaste for politics. But they all had a job to do, including two more nightshift crime scene analysts, Sara Sidle and Nick Stokes. The four of them cast long shadows in the light of a full moon as they waited while a backhoe tore open the earth over Rita Bennett's grave.
Two gravediggers were paid accomplices tonight on this ghoulish mission. Joe, a lanky guy with stringy black hair and sky blue eyes, sat atop the backhoe. His partner, Bob, shorter but just as skinny, stood beyond the grave directing Joe to make sure the backhoe didn't smash the concrete vault that held Rita Bennett's casket. Both men wore filthy white T-shirts and grime-impacted blue jeans, appropriate for this dirty job that somebody had to do, if less than wholly respectful to the deceased they were disturbing.
Next to the backhoe, a flat bronze headstone with Rita's name, birth, and death dates carved into it, stood on edge, standing sentinel over the awkward proceedings. Brass and the CSIs stood well off to one side, watching the growling machine paw at the dirt.
Moderately tall with graying hair and a trim dark beard, Gil Grissom was dressed in black, head to toe, blending with the night. Even when the sun was out, though, the man in black gave no sign that the heat bothered him in the least. Brass, meanwhile, wore a tan sportcoat and light color shirt and had, all day, felt like he was walking around inside a burning building.
Grissom's two associates seemed dressed more appropriately for the weather. Sara, her dark hair tucked under a CSI ball cap, wore tan slacks and a brown short-sleeve blouse; her oval face had a ghostly beauty in the moonlight. Square-jawed, kind-eyed Nick Stokes stood next to her, a navy blue CSI T-shirt doing its best to contain the former jock's brawn; his dark hair was cut high over his ears and he seemed almost as at ease in the heat as Grissom.
Stokes said, 'With the run of murders we been havin', I wouldn't think the sheriff would want to go digging up new customers.'
'If it does turn out to be a legitimate customer, Nick,' Grissom said, in his light but pointed way, 'we'll give full service.'
'No autopsy,' Sara said. 'That doesn't smell right.'
'Don't say 'smell' at an exhumation,' Nick said.
'That's not inherently suspicious,' Grissom said to Sara, meaning the lack of autopsy. 'Some people want to get shuffled off this mortal coil in one piece…. Not unusual for religious beliefs to preclude an autopsy.'
Sara made a face and shrugged. 'I'm just saying.'
But that was all she said.
They watched as the backhoe clawed another gouge in the earth. Before long, Bob the gravedigger waved for Joe, the backhoe operator, to stop. Joe climbed down off the machine and the two men met at the head of the grave, in executive session, apparently.
'Everything okay?' Brass asked with a frown.
Bob, hands on hips, looked over. 'We've reached the vault.'
Brass and the CSIs moved to where Bob and Joe stood at the edge of a hole that went down three to three- and-a-half-feet. Barely visible at the bottom was a sliver of something brown.
'Have to dig the rest by hand,' Bob said. 'Graves on each side are too close to use the backhoe, and 'course we don't want to damage the vault.'
Brass knew this and so did Grissom, Sara, and Nick; but the gravedigger had never done an exhumation with this group before, and he seemed to enjoy sharing his wealth of information.
'Not our first time at the rodeo, Bob,' Brass said dryly. 'Do what you do.'
'Could take some time,' Bob said, cocking his head, relishing his power.
'This is a graveyard, Bob,' Grissom said. 'We'll reflect on the relative nature of time.'
'Huh?' Bob said.
'Dig,' Nick said.
Bob thought about that and then a grin appeared in the midst of his dirty face. 'Yeah-yeah,
And the gravedigger scurried back to work, as Sara and Nick traded rolling-eyed expressions.
The detective and the three CSIs watched as the two men used tile shovels to carefully excavate around the concrete vault. Neither of the workers looked very happy as they gingerly pawed at the earth within their small hole.
'Where's the concerned daughter,' Nick asked, 'to watch us dig up Mommy?'
'Be nice, Nick,' Grissom said.
Brass said, 'She'll meet us back at CSI and be there when we finally open the coffin. Legal procedure requires her presence.'
Sara said, 'If I were forced to do this, with the grave of a loved one…? I wouldn't want to be anywhere around.'
Grissom looked at her curiously. 'But you're a scientist.'
'Even scientists have feelings,' she said, with a mildly reproving glance.
Shrugging, Grissom said, 'Nobody's perfect.'
Sara and Nick took photographs of what followed. Grissom made field notes. Brass just watched.
The two workers finally got cables under the vault and, using the backhoe like a crane, they lifted the concrete box out of the ground and set it on a flatbed truck. Brass and the CSIs piled into the black Tahoe and followed the vehicle back to the station, where the flatbed backed in the tall door at the end of the garage behind the CSI building. Meanwhile, Nick parked the Tahoe, after which the quartet marched inside to get down to business.
The garage had spaces for three cars, beyond which was an oversized bay built to accommodate trucks even bigger than the one that carried the strapped-down remains of Rita Bennett. Essentially a concrete bunker with a twenty-foot ceiling and an overhead crane, the garage had a workbench along the back wall and two huge tool chests, one against each of the side walls.
First, Nick and Sara climbed up onto the truck and removed the straps from the vault. As they did, Brass went inside, to the office, to bring back Rebecca Bennett. As Brass disappeared through the door, Nick motioned for Grissom to come closer to the truck.
Keeping one eye on the door even as he and Sara undid the straps, Nick asked, 'Don't we have better things to be doing than an exhumation to satisfy one of Atwater's contributors?'
Grissom's voice remained soft, but his face grew serious. 'She's not a contributor-her late mother was.'
'What, are we gonna quibble?'
'No, Nick, we're not going to quibble-this is a woman who needs answers about the death of her mother… answers that we might be able to provide.'
'Hey, all I mean, there's serious crimes-'
'Do your job, Nick.'
Nick started to say something, but Sara cut him off: 'It's a sealed vault! Gonna take us some time gettin' into it.'
Nodding once, Grissom said, 'No time like the present.'
Using the overhead crane, Nick and Sara put the crane's metal runners under the frame of the concrete lid and tightened them down. Then, using the column of buttons on the hanging control box, Nick nudged the RAISE button a few times, until the slack was gone from the chain and the vault was just about to leave the bed of the truck.
Accepting a pry bar from Sara, Nick went to work on the sealed edge of one side of the vault while Sara worked on the opposite side. They had been at it for almost ten minutes, both perspiring despite the air conditioning inside the garage, when Brass reappeared with an attractive, slender, black-haired woman in dark-
