Binding Ties

conditions-almost anything's possible.'

'Why would anyone do that?'

'Why would anyone strip, torture, and strangle a victim, apply lipstick to the mouth and put a DNA cherry on the sundae?'

'I got a better one…. Why would two people do that?'

'That kind of question, I can't answer. What I can give you is: old rope and old lipstick, on the new killing… You think ol' Mackie's back in town? The original CASt, I mean?'

Warrick's shrug was elaborate. 'It's looking that way. Can you imagine a scenario where the copycat suddenly shifts to old rope and ancient lipstick?'

'Just tell me this isn't Freddy versus Jason.'

'Greg-it just might be.'

The tech grinned. 'You could always call in Ash to take 'em on.'

'Huh?'

'Evil Dead?Chainsaw?…Warrick, you have absolutely no sense of great cinema.'

'Riiight,' Warrick said, and slipped out.

Back in the fingerprint lab, Warrick checked the results of the first batch of prints he'd put in. Paquette, Brower, and Mydalson's prints were, of course, on the CASt envelope from the Banner. Bell's prints were all over his house and on the keycard. No fingerprints inside the Diaz residence, other than those of the owner; same was true of Sandred's place. No surprises, there.

But then the computer slapped Warrick right in the face.

Fingerprints, from the doorbells of the two houses, matched.

And the truly shocking thing was the identity of who those fingerprints belonged to….

Warrick grabbed the report from the printer and hustled off to tell Grissom. The CSI didn't know what thrilled him more: the idea that the case was finally breaking; or that for once he had something that Grissom couldn't already know.

Gil Grissom and Jim Brass sat opposite David Paquette at the interview room table. The editor's gray suit looked rumpled and much the worse for wear; so did the editor, his red-rimmed eyes indicating sleep was a luxury he hadn't availed himself of since being taken into protective custody.

'What makes you think Perry wasn't a victim of the copycat?' Paquette was asking. 'Why do you peg the real CASt for Perry's murder?'

Brass and Grissom exchanged looks; the latter nodded and handed a file to the former, who got up and handed it to Paquette.

Brass said, 'I know crime scene photos are second-nature to an old police beat reporter like you…but these are rough. The first set is Sandred, then Diaz…and then Perry Bell. I know Perry was a good friend….'

Paquette opened the file, hunkered over the photos, his face turning as white as dead skin over a blister as he paged through. During the final set, he shook his head and said, 'Perry…oh, God, Perry…'

The editor shut the file, passed it down to Brass, who took it and returned to his chair next to the CSI.

'I…I see what you mean,' Paquette said. 'The first two are…obviously staged. The final one…final one is all too fam…familiar.'

The editor leaned on an elbow and covered his face with a hand. He wept.

Brass rose again, pushed a box of Kleenex toward him, and he and Grissom waited for several minutes.

The editor used two tissues, drying his eyes, blowing his nose, then he gathered himself and said, 'What makes you think this…this maniac might be after me, too?'

Grissom said, 'You were the coauthor of CASt Fear-with Perry a target, his collaborator seems likely a second one.'

Brass made a casual gesture. 'Of course, it's possible Perry was the copycat.'

Paquette's bloodshot eyes popped wide. 'Are you serious? You can't be serious. Perry? Perry Bell?'

Grissom said, 'Perry was a good reporter past his prime, apparently with a drinking problem. Putting CASt back on the front page would revive his glory days. Desperate men do desperate things.'

'Gil,' Paquette said, 'you knew Perry. He was a sweetheart. He just didn't have the sick twist of mind necessary, not to mention the stones, to carry off those first two killings.'

Brass said, 'John Wayne Gacy visited children in hospitals and did a clown routine. He was active with the Chamber of Commerce.'

'Not Perry. No way.'

'Dave, I tend to agree with you. I think Gil does, too. But it's an easy road to take.'

The editor blinked. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean, that the real CASt-seeing that a copycat is stealing his thunder-might logically assume that you and or Perry were responsible.'

'Perry the copycat? Me? Why, in hell?'

Grissom said, 'With the exception of a small handful of police, you and Perry know more than anyone about the original crimes…including the digit removal and the semen signature.'

Paquette had nothing to say to that. He rubbed his stubbly chin. 'Then…you really think I'm next, on his list?'

Before either man could answer, Warrick slipped into the interview room.

Grissom gave him a sharp glance-this was a breach of not just procedure but etiquette-but Warrick leaned in and said, 'I know, I know, I'm sorry…but this won't wait.' He shot a look at Paquette, then handed his supervisor the printout.

Grissom read it fast, then passed the sheet to Brass, who also quickly absorbed its contents. Warrick slipped out.

Brass looked up at Paquette. 'Tell me about Mark Brower.'

'What about Mark?' Paquette asked.

'Is there any way he might have had access to the hold-back details on the original case?'

'Not that I know of-he wasn't even around during the first cycle of murders, or for that matter, when Perry and I were writing the book.'

Grissom said, 'Could Mark casually…wheedle something like that out of Bell…like when Perry was in his cups?'

Paquette thought about that. 'Possibly. Perry reprinted the book-there was talk of revising it, which ultimately didn't happen, because it was a self-publishing deal, and expensive.'

Grissom considered that momentarily, then asked, 'So Perry and Mark, when the possibility of doing a revision was on the table, might have talked about the details that were omitted first time around?'

'I don't know that for a fact, Gil. But it's possible, yes. You're not looking at Mark as a suspect?'

Brass said, 'Aren't we?'

'He's one of my best employees. He's a stand-up guy.'

Grissom titled his head; an eyebrow raised. 'Really. Maybe you can explain how his fingerprints got on Marvin Sandred's doorbell?'

Brass added, 'And Enrique Diaz's doorbell?'

Paquette smiled disbelievingly and shook his head. 'Oh that's just crazy…I don't buy that for a minute….'

'At least consider the sale,' Brass said, and he handed the report across to the editor.

Leaning over, holding the sheet in both hands, close to his face, his expression shifting from incredulous to outraged, David Paquette read of the match between the prints on both doorbells and the ones Warrick took at the Banner office.

'Goddamn that little bastard!' Paquette said, shaking the sheet. 'That psychotic little son of a bitch!'

Grissom and Brass traded glances, both thinking that the editor's warm assessment of Brower had not taken long to turn.

Brass said, 'What do you make of it?'