'Those words appear in your books,' said Mac. 'I've got seventeen others I'd like to ask you about.'
'Do you use a thesaurus, Louisa?' asked Pease calmly.
'Sometimes,' she answered.
Pease raised his hands and smiled.
'And our expert witness who'll testify that Charles Lutnikov wrote Louisa Cormier's novels?' asked Fineberg.
'I've got five expert witnesses who will say she did write her own books,' said Pease. 'All with Ph.D.'s. Where do we go from here?'
'We find the murder weapon,' said Mac. 'And the bolt cutter your client used to open the lock at Drietch's firing range.'
'Good luck,' said Pease. 'According to your own report, the gun found in the box at the firing range is not the one used to kill Mr. Lutnikov.'
'It's not,' said Mac, his eyes on Louisa, 'but I think I know where the one that did kill Lutnikov is.'
'And the elusive bolt cutter?' asked Pease.
Mac nodded.
'A bluff,' said Pease. 'Where are they?'
'Right out in the open,' said Mac. 'That sound familiar Ms. Cormier?'
Louisa Cormier shifted slightly and did not return his look.
'I think we're finished here,' said Pease. 'Unless you are prepared to arrest my client.'
Joelle Fineberg rose. So did Mac and Pease. Louisa Cormier remained seated, her eyes fixed on Mac.
In the elevator going down, Joelle Fineberg said, ''Right out in the open?' Where did you get that, Poe or Conan Doyle?'
'From one of the Louisa Cormier novels,' said Mac. 'I don't know where she got it.'
The elevator arrived at the lobby and the doors opened.
'Call me when you have something,' she said.
Mac nodded.
In the lobby they passed McGee, the doorman, who nodded and smiled. It was snowing again, not much, but it was snowing. The temperature had dropped to five above zero.
'The gun is in this building,' said Mac. 'She can't get rid of it.'
'Why?'
'Because we know she owns it,' he said.
'You examined her gun,' said Fineberg. 'It hasn't been fired.'
'The gun she showed us hadn't been fired,' he corrected.
It was the lawyer's turn to nod.
'And the bolt cutter?' asked Joelle Fineberg. 'What if she did get rid of it?'
'She thinks she's smart enough to pull it off.'
'What?'
Mac smiled and walked toward the stairwell. Joelle watched him for a few moments and then buttoned her coat, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and put on a pair of dark earmuffs she took out of her pocket.
When she looked back over her shoulder, Mac was no longer in sight. McGee opened the door for her and she stepped out into the bitter, biting cold.
'Where did you get this?' asked Hawkes.
'Tissue in the garbage,' answered Danny. They were sitting in the tile-floored box of a room in the basement of CSI headquarters where the coffee-, soda-, sandwich-, and candy-dispensing machines lined the walls like slot machines in Las Vegas washrooms. Above them, one of the bank of florescent lights sputtered softly.
Sheldon Hawkes put his tuna fish sandwich with too much mayo on the paper plate in front of him and took the slide from Danny.
'Come up and take a look at it under the microscope,' said Danny.
'You've identified it?' asked Hawkes, handing the slide back and picking up his sandwich.
'Rare, but not all that rare,' said Danny.
'You tell anyone?'
'No one around,' said Danny. 'Stella called. She said she was on her way in, asked me to have all the Spanio crime-scene photographs out.'
'How did she sound?'
'Sick,' said Danny.
Hawkes finished his sandwich, downed the last of his Diet Dr Pepper, threw his trash away, and got up.
'Let's take a look,' he said.
On the table in front of Stella were neatly arranged photographs of the bedroom in which Alberta Spanio was murdered and the bathroom adjacent to it. It was the bathroom in which she was interested right now.
She selected four photographs and scanned them, her head bent close to each image. Her recollection proved to be right. Leaning over increased the pain in her head and the threat in her stomach.
Stella reached for the tea she had been trying to sip in the hope of it settling her stomach. The tea was not inviting. She changed her mind.
She was sure she was right. She was reasonably sure she knew what had happened and who had killed Alberta Spanio and maybe even why Collier had been murdered. If it weren't for the flu, which she now acknowledged, she would have figured it out much sooner.
Someone came through the laboratory door behind her. Stella stood up and turned. She felt light-headed but determined.
Hawkes came in with Danny.
'I figured it out,' she said, wondering what Hawkes was doing here. He seldom left his corpses except to eat and go home.
'What?' asked Danny, approaching with Hawkes at his side.
'The Spanio murder,' she said.
'Great,' said Danny.
'I've got to call Mac,' said Stella.
'I've got some slides I want you to look at right away,' said Danny.
Hawkes held up two slides.
'Can't it…?'
Hawkes was shaking his head, 'no.'
'What's going on here?' she asked.
'Look at the slides,' said Danny.
Stella sighed and moved to a microscope, switching on the light and taking the slides from Danny. She sat down, the two men looming behind her. She adjusted the focus on the first slide. The microscope was multifunctional and powerful. With a few adjustments, she had the slides lined up next to each other so they could be compared.
'Virus,' she said. 'Same on both plates.'
'You know what it is?' asked Hawkes.
'Don't recognize it,' said Stella.
'It's leptospirosis,' said Hawkes.
Stella blinked, going through the catalogue of diseases in her mind.
'It's rare,' Stella said.
'One to two hundred cases a year in the United States,' said Danny. 'Half of those in Hawaii. It's a tropical- climate disease normally.'
