Turning back to his charges, Grissom's face was tight. 'Let's do it.'
Sara was already bent over the coffin. 'Blood on the pillow,' she said. 'I can't tell more until we get the body out.'
Grissom said, 'All right, then…Nick, you work the casket. Someone put her in there-let's see if we can't find out who. Sara, find out who she is and walk her through autopsy. Tell Doc Robbins this is a rush-we're already at least three months behind.'
Brass added, 'I'll start with the cemetery and work my way back to the mortuary.' He checked his watch. 'The staff should be there by now-you gonna work past the end of shift?'
Grissom nodded. 'All the shifts are working overtime these days.'
Sara asked, 'What about Rita Bennett?'
'We can't find out what happened to her,' Grissom said, 'until we
'Blood on the pillow,' Sara said. 'Already looking like murder.'
Nick shook his head slowly. 'Doesn't
Grissom cast his charming smile on the younger CSI. 'Where would the fun be in that, Nick?'
2
THE 'RED BALLS,' as high-priority murders were known in some jurisdictions, got the adrenaline flowing, and were the kind of cases that could build careers. But CSI Catherine Willows had come to prize the more normal calls, particularly in a period of record homicides and double shifts like the one she was in the midst of.
This morning-at a time when a nightshift criminalist like Catherine should by all rights be in bed asleep-she and her partner, Warrick Brown, were riding out to the Sunny Day Continuing Care Facility with the Tahoe siren blessedly off and the air conditioning whispering its soft song. In addition to less stress, such a relatively routine call provided Catherine a better sense of connection with the people she and the LVPD served.
For having worked all night, Catherine Willows looked surprisingly, if typically, crisp in cool cotton, a man- tailored white shirt, and khaki-color slacks; after twenty years of harsh Vegas sun, the slender, strawberry-blonde crimefighter remained blessed with the facial features and general architecture of a fashion model, though her past actually included runways of another sort. The journey of this former exotic dancer into this highly respected, demanding profession had been very much a self-made one.
Behind the wheel, Warrick Brown-with his restrained dreadlock Afro, creme de cacao complexion and arresting green eyes-did not reveal the long hours either. In the tan cotton pullover and cargo pants, he looked almost collegiate…or would have if his world-weary demeanor didn't convey something of the terrible things a CSI had to learn to live with.
The sun was already high, but the temperature hadn't risen to the broiler-like numbers it would register in another few hours; so the day still held the promise that perhaps the heat-soaked murder spree gripping the city might let up.
They had been summoned to Sunny Day by Detective Sam Vega, a veteran investigator with whom the nightshift CSIs had worked on numerous occasions. Routine or not, Catherine knew something must be up-the no- nonsense Vega neither spooked easily nor suffered fools lightly.
But as they made their way through traffic, Catherine forced herself away from pointless speculation about what might await them at the Sunny Day facility, and tried instead to concentrate on the very real sunny day all around them. Heat or not, she was enjoying it, particularly in thinking that she and her daughter Lindsey might get to the park later and enjoy some of this golden sunshine.
But Warrick, at the wheel, wouldn't let her evade the reality of her…of their…job. 'So what's this about, anyway? Vega say?'
Catherine shook her head, gave her partner half a smirk. 'Vega was vague.'
Warrick arched an eyebrow. 'Actually, 'vague' is not Vega…he's usually one specific cop.'
'Not this time. Just said he had something he wanted us to take a look at.'
'What, scene of a missing bedpan?' Warrick took a left.
Catherine laughed in spite of herself. 'Hey, don't be smug-we're all headed to Sunny Day, someday. You be nice, now. Respectful.'
Warrick's easy grin seemed a little embarrassed. 'Sorry, just kidding. I mean, with the kind of high-flyin' homicides we've been pulling lately, a rest home sounds, I don't know…'
'Restful? Would you rather have a dead scuba diver up a tree, or possibly a frozen corpse in the desert?'
Warrick nodded. 'Maybe. Keeps you awake, on these endless shifts….'
Tucked away in a quiet Henderson neighborhood, just off Lake Mead Drive, Sunny Day Continuing Care was a sprawling facility of the one-stop-shopping sort that seemed to be springing up in cities everywhere. Not merely a nursing home, Sunny Day offered the growing number of retirees invading the Vegas Valley everything from independent living to constant care.
Heading there, Warrick turned one more corner and they found themselves moving down a street with houses on the right side and an eight-foot wall down the left. Easing the Tahoe up to the guard shack outside the gate in the middle of the block, Warrick hit the down button on his power window.
A silver-haired guard, who might himself have been a Sunny Day resident, asked and received their names, inspected Warrick's ID, said he was expecting them, checked something off on a clipboard, and returned to his shack to hit the button that opened the wrought-iron gate.
The drive split in two around a green space occupied by park benches and, at the far end, a shuffleboard court. One side of the gated community was split between condos and duplexes, where the more active residents lived. The other was dominated by a pair of high-rises that housed the semi-care and full-care patients of the facility. Out in front of one high-rise could be seen Vega's Taurus, an ambulance, and a squad car.
'I think we've found the party,' she said.
'I doubt I'll need my noisemaker,' Warrick said dryly, referring to the automatics both CSIs packed on their hips, weapons that were rarely drawn, though a department mandate of recent years required carrying them-even on a nursing home call.
Warrick pulled the Tahoe up near the other vehicles, parked, and they climbed down. A single officer manned the door of the building.
'What about our kits?' Warrick asked, deferring to the senior officer.
Catherine shrugged. 'Vague as Vega was, I say we get the story first, then come back for whatever we need…
'I like the way you think, Cath.'
They approached the officer playing sentry. He was a dayshift guy who Catherine had encountered a couple times, most recently on a love triangle murder in a Summerlin kitchen-Nowak was the name, if she remembered right. As they neared the tall, painfully young-looking officer, Catherine sneak-peeked at his nameplate.
Then with friendly familiarity, she said, 'Hey, Nowak-what's the word?'
'Two words,' the uniform said, giving Catherine a shrug and Warrick a quick nod. 'Heart attack.'
Catherine asked, 'You know where we're headed?'
The officer gestured. 'Doctor's office, second door down the hall. Administrative wing.' He pulled the glass and steel door open for them. 'On the right.'
'Heart attack,' Warrick said, shaking his head. He looked at Catherine and said, 'And we're here why?'
Catherine said, chipper, 'I don't know, Warrick. Why don't we ask Detective Vega?'
Officer Nowak said, 'I think Vega's interviewing Doctor Whiting right now.'
Warrick grunted, 'Well, we'll try not to get in the way.'
Warrick headed in and the officer raised his eyebrows and said to Catherine, 'What's his problem?'
'Three days of double shifts.' Catherine grinned. 'Or maybe just his time of the month.'
That surprised a laugh out of the officer, as Catherine stepped inside to catch up with Warrick.
It must have been even hotter outside than she thought, because this place felt like a walk-in refrigerator.
'Wow,' Catherine said, head rearing back, almost laughing.
