"Evidence room" was something of a misnomer ever since the LVMPD had been forced to add a building to the CSI complex in order to accommodate the overflow from all the department's investigations. The small, one-story, concrete building out back had a dozen rooms on the first floor and almost that many more in the even more heavily guarded basement.
This overwhelming backlog of evidence had built up fast because of the slow grind of the wheels of justice-not just the court system, but bureaucratic security measures. Each piece of evidence was now affixed with a scan tag, so that when Nick went there for evidence it felt like going to Sam's Club. Scan the number, take your prize with you. One room held computer equipment, others housed stereo equipment, tires and so on, while the really dangerous stuff, the drugs and guns, were stored within the bunker-like security of the basement. Access to this part of the building was only slightly harder than getting into the control room of a nuclear missile silo.
Nick observed Carroll and Giles and the others poring over the computers, then he turned to watch their boss. Seeing the biker-like Tomas Nunez delicately tapping the keyboard of his laptop was like watching Lurch play the harpsichord for the Addams Family. The rangy Hispanic computer expert had jacked Ruben Gold's hard drive into his massive forensic computer and was using a program called ILOOK.
Developed by a Britisher named Elliot Spencer, ILOOK was the best computer forensic software this side of the National Security Agency, and Nick was pretty sure the NSA wasn't going to share its techno-wealth with the LVMPD. Nick leaned over Nunez's shoulder, Catherine next to him, as the expert punched keys, currently running through print orders searching for the work station that had ordered Gold's printer to run off the pornographic images.
"You know," Nunez said idly, "in 1995 only five percent of all crime involved computers. Now the figures are more like eighty-five percent." He went silent as he studied his monitor.
Catherine glanced at Nick, obviously surprised by these stats.
Nick didn't doubt Nunez; on the other hand, the computer expert might be viewing crime through his end of the CPU. "Anything yet?" he asked.
Nunez's touched a line on the screen. "Yeah. Already something cruciaclass="underline" the print order was not generated from Gold's computer."
Catherine and Nick again traded glances, and the former asked, "But do we know where the order did come from?"
Nunez looked hard at his monitor, then said, "That would be a big bingo-work station number eighteen."
"Whose station is that?" Catherine asked.
Nick looked at the printout Janice Denard had given them that showed who occupied which work station. "Ben Jackson."
Catherine sighed, rolled her eyes. "It would be one of the handful we didn't fingerprint."
"Yet," Nick remind her. Something didn't feel right, and he asked, "Didn't Janice Denard tell us that Jackson was gone all weekend?"
"Yeah." Catherine looked at her watch. "Let's go see if he came to work early today, now that he's back in town. Maybe he'd like to show us snapshots from his trip."
The edge in Catherine's voice troubled Nick. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said, getting out his cell phone. "I'll fill O'Riley in. See if he can meet us over at Newcombe-Gold."
Turning to Nunez, Catherine said, "You'll call if you find anything?"
"In a cyber second."
Twenty-one minutes later, Nick Stokes was wheeling the Tahoe into the Newcombe-Gold parking lot, where on this sunny morning only a handful of cars were parked. The CSIs were getting their silver crime-scene kits out of the back of the van when Sergeant O'Riley pulled his Taurus into a slot next to them.
O'Riley ambled over. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked a little like the zombie Nick had almost mistaken him for, the other day.
"No fair," the detective said. "You guys caught some sleep."
Nick grinned. "Three hours'll do wonders."
Catherine made a wry face. "At Nicky's age, it will."
"Aw," O'Riley said to her, "you're beautiful at any age."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment."
They started toward the building, O'Riley saying, "Sounds like our computer geeks are making some progress."
Nick said, "Sounds like."
The agency's front door was unlocked. The attractive brunette receptionist was working and it took only a minute or so for Janice Denard to answer the summons. The two CSIs and the detective moved with Denard away from the reception desk, for some privacy.
The office manager had replaced yesterday's polka-dot dress with snug-fitting blue jeans and a long-sleeve red silk blouse with the top two buttons undone.
"Casual day?" Catherine asked lightly.
Janice sort of smiled. "Casual every day, thanks to you people."
That may have come out harsher than Denard intended, but Catherine didn't react. Oddly, it was Nick who found himself working hard to swallow an angry retort.
It was just that the woman's reaction was all too typical. People wanted protection, wanted law enforcement to keep all the badness in the world away…but without disturbing anything, without disruption.
Such an attitude played into why, the longer they were on the job, so many officers grew cynical. For his part, Nick tried hard to keep any cynicism in check-spending so much time in the lab, hitting the science end, helped. Still, Nick knew the Denard woman was doing her best to cooperate, balanced against her need and desire to keep making her living.
Funny-it wasn't that Nick was in a bad mood, really. Neither was Catherine. Nor did they seem particularly on edge, but…
…something about the nature of this case was working on them, and not in a good way. He would try to keep tabs on himself…and Catherine. Grissom's voice seemed to whisper in his ear: Not subjective, Nick-objective.
Catherine was bringing Denard up to speed, closing with, "Is Ben Jackson in yet? We need to talk to him."
"Oh, my God," Janice said, a hand coming up in front of her mouth. "Not Ben!"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Catherine said pleasantly. "It was Ben's work station that ordered the print job, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's the one who did this."
Straightening, obviously trying to calm herself, Denard said, "Well, I hope it isn't Ben. It doesn't seem that it could possibly be Ben…."
O'Riley asked, "Who is he around here?"
"Well he's a sweetheart," Denard said. "Just a real sweetheart!"
Nick smiled a little. "Maybe you could be a little more specific."
"Yes. Sorry." Denard seemed mildly flustered; but then she composed herself and went on: "Ben's a young man who joined the firm just last summer-after he graduated from college."
"Is he in today?" Catherine again.
Janice nodded toward the doorway to the corridor of offices. "I'm pretty sure I saw him get here, oh, a little while ago. Half an hour maybe? He, Jermaine, and Mr. Randle, and maybe Mr. Newcombe are the only ones who'll be coming in today. Doing what they can, mostly on the phones. The rest of our staff won't return until we call them back."
O'Riley asked, "Are Mr. Allred and Mr. Randle here yet?"
Denard nodded, qualifying it: "Jermaine for sure. I told him the computer towers were gone and that the place was shut down. Naturally, he wanted to know why."
"What did you tell him?"
"Just that it was part of an investigation. I'm afraid I…I lied to him."
O'Riley arched both brows. "How so?"
"I…I told I didn't know what the investigation was about. He seems annoyed, I have to say."