Grave Matters

GIL GRISSOM SAT in his darkened office at a desk piled left and right with paperwork, which he was ignoring in favor of staring into his thoughts.

Jim Brass poked his head in and said, 'Brooding? Meditating? Saving the city on the electric bill?'

Grissom waved Brass in. The detective took the liberty of hitting the light switch, which caused the CSI supervisor to grimace.

Brass dropped himself into the chair opposite. 'We have a good suspect, finally. Why are you troubled?'

'I'm not troubled,' Grissom said. 'I'm just not convinced.'

'The evidence-'

'Not enough yet. And there are anomalies.'

Brass winced. 'I hate it when you use that word….'

'Such as…whoever murdered Kathy Dean also disposed of Rita Bennett's body. Where are those remains?'

'Who knows? But who better than a guy like Black to stage the disappearing act? Getting rid of corpses is his racket.'

'Why, then-in a house of corpses-would our presumed guilty party, mortician Dustin Black, choose a high- profile local celebrity like the Bennett woman for the switch?'

'I have no idea,' Brass admitted. 'She must have been…handy.'

'Handy? The choice of Rita is further compounded by the used-car queen having been a friend of our mortician.'

Brass shrugged. 'I have to tell you? People do wacked-out things'

'Granted.' Grissom sat forward. 'But doesn't it strike you as odd that Black, running a mortuary where dozens of bodies move through in a week, didn't pick a stranger for his shuffle?'

Brass ticked off on his fingers. 'Motive points to Black. Opportunity points to Black…means to dispose of the body, possession of the murder weapon. Somebody told me once that the evidence doesn't lie.'

'No. But you have to ask it the right questions.'

Amusement twitched at Brass's lips. 'You know what, Gil? I think you're a man with a hunch. Hey, happens to the best of us. Even atheists pray in foxholes.'

Grissom arched an eyebrow. 'Well, right now I'm praying for more evidence. At the moment, I'm waiting for lab results. Anything on your end?'

'Also waiting. Patrolmen are bringing in Grunick and Doyle from the Desert Haven staff-assistant morticians who helped with Rita Bennett's funeral.'

'Makes sense,' Grissom said, nodding. 'If Black did switch the bodies, one of them may have seen something. Meaning no criticism, Jim-we should have interviewed them sooner.'

Brass sighed. 'Yeah, I know, and we would have, if Black hadn't kept us hopping, chasing down his lies.'

'Let me know when the junior morticians arrive. I'd like to watch the interviews.'

'Will do.'

First to be led by a patrolman into HQ was Mark Grunick, in a conservative suit the color of a storm-bearing sky, his short dark hair fading north of his forehead, ears sticking out slightly.

In the observation booth adjacent to the interview room, through the one-way glass, Grissom watched and listened.

Seated at the table with its two chairs, a portable cassette recorder nearby, Grunick had a passive manner that may have reflected the fatalism of his chosen profession. If being interviewed by a police detective created any anxiety in this subject, Grissom would hate to see the assistant mortician bored.

Brass, seated across from Grunick, hit the RECORD button. 'State your name, please.'

'Mark Patrick Grunick.' The young man looked at Brass with an unblinking expression that was not quite sullen. 'I'd like to know why I was brought in.'

Brass outlined the situation in very general terms, which were nonetheless startling, though you wouldn't know it by the assistant mortician's shrug.

'I don't think so,' Grunick said.

'What don't you think?'

'That any kind of switch was made. Mix-up maybe-that's a long shot. But a switch? It's not a horror movie; it's a funeral home.'

Brass cocked his head. 'Mr. Grunick, I was there when the casket was exhumed. That wasn't Rita Bennett in the coffin. It was a young woman named Kathy Dean.'

'Fine, if you say so-but I don't know how that could've happened. Before the service, Jimmy and I closed the coffin ourselves.'

Brass smiled with what might have been patience but wasn't. 'Why don't you think carefully and give this to me in more detail? A lot more.'

Grunick sighed, which was the first indication the young man was capable of an emotional response; he looked skyward, as if referring to notes in the air.

Finally he said, 'We sat through the service, took the casket out, loaded it in the hearse, went to the cemetery, had the committal service there, and the casket was interred. The end. Literally.'

Brass's eyes narrowed. 'You were with the coffin for every second?'

'Yes-that is why it's impossible….'

Brass tossed a picture of Kathy Dean in the coffin onto the table in front of the interview subject. 'Not impossible. It happened…and I'm asking you again. Think hard. Were…you…with…the…coffin… every…second?'

His brow knit as he indeed thought about it. Then the color drained from Grunick's face.

'Wait,' he said. 'Wait a minute…I'm sorry. I am sorry.'

'About…?'

Energy came into the young man's manner and his expression. 'I do see how it happened…. Understand, inmost cases these days, the pallbearers are ceremonial. We're the ones that do the work, and it's always the same: After Mr. Black backs the hearse up to the door, Jimmy and I do the lifting. That one funeral, Rita Bennett, though-it didn't go down that way, not exactly.'

'What did happen 'exactly,' Mark?'

'Well, Mr. Black and Jimmy were talking about something. I was leading the way, and the two of them were pushing the cart with the coffin down the hall…toward the side door? Anyway, they were blabbing and I couldn't hear about what, nor did I care…but suddenly Jimmy peeled off and went back into the chapel. And when we got to the door, Mr. Black told me he'd watch the body while I got the car.'

'So Black was alone with the coffin.'

'Sure, which means he was alone with the body. And I'll bet that's when the switch went down!'

Brass nodded now, playing along as the guy got more into it. 'What happened, Mark, when you came back with the hearse?'

'Well, we loaded the coffin in the hearse.'

'Who did?'

'Jimmy and me.'

'Where was Mr. Black?'

Mark Grunick shrugged. 'I'm not really sure. Maybe in the limo, already…didn't think about it then. Jimmy was there, and him and me loaded the body. Things were, you know, back to normal.'

'When do you remember seeing Black again?'

'Oh, well, by the time the procession was ready to leave, Mr. Black was behind the wheel of the limo. Jimmy and me, we were in the hearse.'

In the observation booth, Grissom heard the door behind him open and he looked back at a grave Nick, in the doorway. The younger CSI gestured for Grissom to join him out in the hall.

'Something, Nick?'

'Something, all right. I fingerprinted Black.'

'Good.'