Grave Matters

fear. 'What could I possibly have to lie to you people about?'

'Apparently…everything.'

'I have done my level best to cooperate with you, every step of the way. Give me one example where I did otherwise, and-'

'Well for instance,' Brass said pleasantly, 'the two hours it took you to drive Kathy Dean home the night she disappeared?'

Black slumped back into his chair, the red draining from his face. 'What makes you think I lied?'

'Your wife.'

Alarm flared in his eyes. 'Cassie? What did she tell you?'

'That you and she got home from the movie just after ten and you immediately left to take Kathy home.'

Black grunted dismissively. 'Cassie wasn't feeling well that night-she probably got the time wrong. It was more like midnight.'

'I don't think so.'

Shrugging, Black said, 'What you think doesn't matter. I'm sure Cassie will tell you herself that she was so sick that she may have been confused about the time, when she first spoke to you.'

'Must be nice to have such a devoted wife.'

A touch of smugness came into the mortician's expression; his voice, too. 'Actually it is.'

Brass beamed at the man. 'You think she'll still be that devoted to you, Mr. Black, when she finds out it was your habit to take your teenage babysitter home the really long way?'

'What you're implying is-'

'What would you say fibers from your Escalade on the knees of Kathy's jeans imply?'

The mortician's face lost its redness; in fact, it became very white.

Brass continued: 'Now of course there may be some innocent way in which that transfer of fibers from your car's carpet to her knees occured. But we're looking right now at her clothing from that evening-other evidence may have been transferred. Remember Bill and Monica? We have the girl's underwear as well. And then there's a sad piece of evidence-the unborn fetus Kathy Dean was carrying. Three little letters, Mr. Black-DNA.'

The mortician's gaze fell to his lap.

Which made sense to Brass, because that's where the man's guilt began.

Brass said, 'DNA evidence will likely show that not only were you having an affair with Kathy, but you got her pregnant…and that gives you a motive, Mr. Black. To go with opportunity.'

Black looked up, shaking his head, his eyes pleading. 'I didn't do this-you have to believe me.'

'Actually, I don't…especially since you've done nothing from the start but lie to us.'

A knock on the door made Black jump; but Brass had been expecting it.

'Come in,' the detective said.

Nick entered, crime scene kit in hand.

'This is Nick Stokes from the crime lab, Mr. Black,' Brass said, gesturing for Nick to join them. 'Nick, meet Dustin Black.'

Eyeing the silver case suspiciously, Black asked Brass, 'What's he doing here?'

'Nick is going to take a DNA sample from you.'

The mortician swallowed and straightened in his chair. 'What if I refuse to cooperate? What if I say I want to talk to my attorney?'

Brass shrugged again. 'You certainly have that right. I'd suggest there are two ways for you to play this-one, you become indignant, call your lawyer, who will tell you to demand a court order, which we'll obtain, and then we'll take the DNA sample anyway, and while you gain yourself a tiny bit of time-for what purpose I can't imagine-you get on our bad side, and we'll think you're avoiding cooperation because you've got something to hide.'

Black swallowed thickly, as if Brass's words had been a big brackish spoonful of medicine. 'This DNA evidence-if it proves this affair you allege, even including a…a baby-that doesn't mean I killed the poor girl.'

'It doesn't, you're right. And if you really didn't, if you'd like to demonstrate your innocence, that brings us to your other option: Accept the inevitable and voluntarily submit to the buccal swab.'

Nick withdrew from his kit the plastic tube that protected the actual swab, and said, 'Mr. Black, it won't hurt at all.'

His glance going from Brass to Nick, then back to Brass, Black considered these options for only a few seconds before saying, 'What do I need to do?'

Nick smiled, in a not unfriendly manner. 'Just open your mouth, sir. You don't even need to say 'ah.' '

The CSI took only a second to wipe the swab on the inside of the mortician's mouth.

'Thanks,' Nick said to the mortician, his smile so easygoing even Brass couldn't detect any sarcasm.

And the CSI was gone.

Running a trembling hand over his bald head, Black asked, 'Does Cassie have to know about this, Captain Brass?'

'Unless you lie to her,' Brass said, 'she's going to know tonight, most probably.'

Alarm flared in the eyes again. 'Why? Are you going to tell her?'

'Unless you're a stupid man, Mr. Black, and I don't take you for one…you're going to tell her yourself.'

'I am?'

Brass nodded. 'When she comes here to pick you up-unless, of course, you want to ride a hearse home.'

'What?'

Brass got out his cell phone. 'You see, I'm about to call a tow truck to impound your Caddy….'

The detective did so, then continued to the mortified mortician: 'Now you could make up a story, about your vehicle going in for service or whatever. But Mr. Black-and I say this whether you are guilty or innocent…'

'Innocent!'

'…the time has come to start telling the truth. You can't cover up this affair with the babysitter any longer- and any effort to do so will only look like you're covering up the girl's murder.'

Black blanched. 'But I haven't done anything!'

Brass grunted. 'Really? You were having an affair with a teenager who may have been pregnant with your child when she was murdered. I wouldn't sweat keeping that information from your wife temporarily, when you should be worrying about other little things…like possibly facing lethal injection.'

'Oh my God…'

'Mr. Black-can you account, I mean accurately account, for your time the night Kathy Dean disappeared?'

The mortician sat frozen, as stiff as the corpses that passed through his portals.

'I didn't think so,' Brass said.

'What should I do?' the mortician asked, leaning forward with sudden animation. The helpless expression was unusual for such a highly successful businessman, particulary one whose specialty was offering controlled consolation.

The detective felt a wave of something for the suspect so much like pity that it surprised him. Maybe it was this room, where so many of the bereaved had received sympathy while making arrangements that would make Dustin Black wealthy.

'Mr. Black,' Brass heard himself saying, 'you really should call your lawyer.'

While they waited for Dustin Black's DNA results, Nick got to work on the Escalade in the CSI garage. He glanced at his watch and hoped Sara would be back soon. Either he or she could run the gas chromatograph and mass spectrometer on samples of the Escalade's carpeting while the other searched the vehicle itself for more evidence.

He started in the back, the most likely place for Kathy and Black to have trysted. The carpeting was navy blue, which would make it harder to pick out hairs and other kinds of fibers. Still, Nick was diligent and that usually won out in cases like this. With a suspect like Dustin Black, who'd been so prone to lying since jump street, Grissom's dictum about trusting what can't lie-the evidence-seemed particularly apt.