Binding Ties

you? Well, that's what I want to hear.'

Sara swallowed. 'I'd like you to know I'm sorry for your loss. We all liked your dad around here. Not every reporter has a fan club around the police department, you know. But your dad was one of the good guys.'

'Thanks for saying that. What can I do to help you find the son-of-a-bitch who killed my father?'

'Did your father sound normal on the phone, when he cancelled his visit?'

'I don't know if I understand the question. What do you mean by 'normal'?'

'His voice,' Sara asked, 'his mood. Was there anything about the call that seemed different than usual?'

Patty Lang took a moment before answering. At last, she said, 'This isn't as easy to answer as it should be. You see, Ms. Sidle, I spoke to my father many times when he didn't sound 'normal.' He might be excited about a story he was working on, or depressed about the rut he was in or about losing Mom. And it wasn't unusual for him to call me after he'd had a few too many cocktails, either.'

'Did he sound like he'd been drinking this time?'

'No,' Patty said. 'Not…exactly. But he was a little…odd, now that I think about it. Stiff. Even…stilted.'

'As if he'd been prompted about what to say?'

'That's a strange thing to…Do you think his killer was there with him?'

Sara saw no reason not to be frank. 'We think the person responsible saw that your father was about to leave on a trip, and figured out that you were expecting him.'

'And forced him to call and cancel the trip?'

'Yes.'

'But, why…?'

'To delay the discovery of his body, Ms. Lang. To make our job more difficult.'

'You mean, I'd have been alarmed when Daddy didn't show up, and you might have gone looking for him, earlier than you did.'

'Yes.'

'Ms. Sidle, I've read my father's book about this…this bastard. I have a good idea of how he must have suffered before he died. And I'm…I'm only dealing with that thought right now by knowing that Daddy's at rest now…and that this creature will be caught.'

'If anyone can stop CASt, it's us.'

'That…that is very good to hear. But…oh my God. Now I understand….'

'Understand what, Ms. Lang?'

But the young woman was crying.

Sara swallowed; held onto the phone and waited.

Finally the voice returned: 'When he said goodbye to me…at the end of the call? He called me Pat-Pat. That…that was my nickname, when I was a little girl. I thought it was so strange he'd call me that, after all these years.'

'I see.'

'Do you? Ms. Sidle, he was saying good-bye to me…forever.'

The woman began to cry again and Sara said a few comforting things before they finally were able to say their own good-byes.

Catherine Willows sat at her desk, phone to her ear, hoping she didn't get Brass's machine.

Then Brass came on the line, and she blurted, 'It's me.'

'How did you and Nick do out at that facility? What is it…Sundown?'

'We found out Jerome Dayton is no longer a guest at that particular hotel.'

'What?'

'Hasn't been for a while. Say, seven years?'

The long silence told her that this was news to Brass.

She continued: 'Seems he got therapy and medication and returned to society, all better.'

'Good for him,' Brass said coldly. 'I suppose his father got him out?'

'That would be a big bingo-Jerome was released into his parents' custody.'

'Hell…Well, Tom Dayton had a lot of pull in this city. I'd like to say I'm surprised.'

Catherine said, 'Of course, as you know, his father's dead now. I assume Jerome's living with his mother.'

'Not unless he's gone Norman Bates on us,' Brass said. 'She died six or seven months ago. Got some play in the papers. You didn't see it?'

Something cold ran through Catherine. 'You mean…Jerome's got no supervision?'

'It doesn't sound like it.' Brass's voice changed from outrage that Dayton could be on the street without him even knowing, to something more hopeful. 'Cath, that means we have a suspect for the copycat. A good damn suspect….'

'Maybe. Or maybe you need to go back further.' She drew a deep breath. 'Jim-there's something else you need to know.'

'I'm in no mood for twenty questions, Catherine.'

'From the very moment Dayton was institutionalized, he was given day passes, weekend passes, to spend time with his folks.'

'God damn it! Are you telling me he was-'

'Away from Sundown the day the last CASt kill went down…yes. He was in town when Vincent Drake was murdered.'

Silence on the line. For a moment she thought Brass had hung up, or maybe hurled the phone across the room.

She asked, 'Jim?'

'I'm here.'

'Did Dayton have siblings?'

'No. Only child.'

'Then he would have inherited everything. Like, say, the family home?'

Brass didn't miss a beat: 'That's on Proud Eagle Lane.'

A hint of a smile found its way across Catherine's face. 'Of course it is. Where the hell is Proud Eagle Lane?'

'Inside the TPC at the Canyons golf course.'

'Ah. I know the area. Round of golf costs more than a week's pay for a lowly CSI.'

'Cath, imagine what kind of home might face onto a course like that.'

'Jim, I'd like to find out.'

'Good. Then grab Nick and meet me there-but don't bring your clubs. We'll play another game.'

'What about a warrant?'

'There isn't a judge in the county that'll listen to us at this point.' Brass's voice lightened, or pretended to. 'Let's just go see how Jerry Dayton's doing, out on his own. Can be tough on a 'kid,' y'know-losing his mom and dad.'

Catherine found Nick talking to Greg Sanders in the lab, gave her partner a nod from the doorway, and he joined her in the corridor.

'Strike two,' he said by way of greeting.

'On?'

'DNA. Dallas Hanson is not the copycat, nor is he the original CASt.'

'We knew that.'

'We thought that. Greg proved it.'

She reported her conversation with Brass.

'Hey, great,' Nick grinned. 'I been thinkin' about gettin' a membership to TPC. Maybe buy a home where I can walk right outta my back door onto the links.'

'Sounds like a plan. You could start as a caddy.'

They exchanged smiles and headed for the parking lot, spring in their step. Finally, maybe, catching a break on this damn case….