More work had been done on this forty-something woman than on one of her husband's average corpses; but the result was nonetheless striking and, Brass thought, she probably looked quite lovely, in low lighting.
"May I help you?" she asked, her voice a rich alto.
Brass displayed his badge. "Mrs. Black?"
"Yes."
"I'm Captain Jim Brass and this is Gil Grissom from the crime lab. Might we have a moment of your time?"
"I'm busy right now. But if it's important, I could spare you a few minutes."
"If it wasn't important, ma'am, we wouldn't be here."
She frowned in concern. "What's it about?"
"We're looking into the murder of Kathy Dean."
Her hand shot to her mouth; the too-large eyes got larger. "You found the poor girl? She was…murdered?"
"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Black."
"Nice-looking girl like that, when she disappears…you have to think the worst. So many awful people in this world. Values such as they are."
"Right. Could we come in?"
"Where was she found?"
"Desert Palm Cemetery."
"Oh my God…."
She opened the door farther and stepped back so the two investigators could enter.
To Grissom, the living room looked more like an Architectural Digest layout than somewhere a family actually lived, everything perfect, magazines fanned out on the coffee table, furniture arranged more for show than for ease of use. Only Mrs. Black's tan suit jacket on the arm of the couch, and her black purse nestled in the corner next to it, clashed with the color scheme of dark green and beige…which Grissom figured a top-ticket decorator had probably referred to as "spruce" and "champagne."
"You say the poor dear was found at the cemetery?" Mrs. Black asked, waving them to wing chairs that looked far more comfortable than they actually were. She perched on the edge of the sofa as if sitting back might overwear the couch material.
"Yes, under frankly bizarre circumstances," Brass said. "She was in a casket we exhumed a couple of days ago."
Mrs. Black, clearly confused, asked, "She was buried…in a casket?"
"Yes, someone else's casket. Rita Bennett's, actually."
The hand went to Mrs. Black's mouth again. "Oh, my God…Rita of all people!"
Grissom asked, "Your husband didn't mention this to you?"
"No, no. When I married a mortician, some years ago, I had only one hard and fast rule-Dustin must leave his work at work. I feel I hardly need to justify that wish."
"No." Grissom shrugged. "But then…having two corpses switch places is probably not business as usual."
"The reason we're here, though," Brass said, perhaps afraid Grissom was moving the woman down the wrong path, "is to talk to you about that last night…the night the Dean girl babysat for you and your husband."
"Well…I've already talked to the police about that night. Ad nauseam."
Brass nodded. "That was a fairly cursory conversation, I'm sure…. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Black, I haven't reviewed the interview with the officers involved, so quickly are we moving forward on this homicide. Which is why we'd like to talk about that night in a little more detail."
"Well, obviously, I want to do anything I can do to help. These animals who kill young girls, they should all receive lethal injection, as far as I'm concerned."
"No argument," Brass said, and smiled.
"All right, then, Captain…Bass was it?"
"Brass."
"Captain Brass." She settled her hands in her lap, like a Catholic school girl about to pray. "What would you like to know?"
"Well-why don't you just walk us through it from the beginning?"
She thought back for several moments, then said, "I had talked Dustin into coming home early that day-it was a Saturday."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Saturdays…if there isn't a funeral…Dustin usually likes to work with the staff on getting everything around the mortuary spiffed up for the next week."
"Spiffed up?"
"The hearse and limo get washed and waxed, and the mortuary is cleaned from top to bottom."
Grissom said, "For insisting your husband leave his work behind, you seem well-versed in the business."
"I own half of the business, Mr. Grisham."
"Grissom."
"Grissom. As co-owner, there's much I'm aware of. That doesn't mean I want to talk about the rising cost of hearses and caskets, or the latest in embalming techniques, over rare prime rib."
"Of course not."
"So," Brass said, picking it back up, "you got your husband to knock off work early."
"Yes-we were going to go out for an early dinner and then a movie. We get so little time away for ourselves. Between Dustin's business and my career, we eat up a lot of hours. The rest of the time we try to spend with our children."
"Your career?" Brass asked.
"I'm a vice president at InterOcean Bank. I work at the branch office in Henderson."
"You spoke of your children-where are they now?"
"My sister's. Patti sits for the kids-she's a stay-at-home mom-and can handle David and Diana when both Dustin and I have to work late."
"Like today?"
"Like today. I'm doing some work at home."
"Okay," Brass said. "Dustin left work early that Saturday."
"Yes. Kathy walked over just before five. Dustin and I left for dinner."
"At?"
"The Lux Café at the Venetian. It's always been a favorite of ours. We finished dinner just before seven and went to a seven-thirty movie."
"What did you see?"
"Some violent reprehensible action movie that I let Dustin talk me into. It made me ill. Physically ill."
"So, you came home," Brass said. "And then?"
Shifting slightly on the couch, Mrs. Black brushed her pant leg as if scolding it for being rude enough to wrinkle. "The kids were asleep on the couch. I put them to bed and went to bed myself. I was asleep almost immediately…. So that's really all I know about that evening."
"Just a couple more questions, please. What time did you get home from the movie?"
"Just after ten."
Grissom frowned. Something was not adding up-literally.
Brass asked, "And what time did you go to bed?"
"Right after. I put the kids down, went to bed, oh…before eleven?"
"You were asleep when Mr. Black got home?"
"Yes, but that didn't matter, anyway-Dustin didn't come straight home."
Brass sat forward. "He didn't?"
"No, he said he knew I was ill-that foul movie really did turn my stomach-and he wanted to let me get to sleep. I have trouble sleeping and sometimes, though he doesn't mean to, Dustin keeps me awake. Don't quote me, but…he snores."
Brass nodded. "So…what did he do, so you could get to sleep?"
"He went by the mortuary to catch up on some paperwork. He got home just after midnight."
Grissom glanced at Brass, then asked, "If you were asleep when he got home, Mrs. Black…how do you know it was just after midnight?"
She smiled. "Because he told me, Mr. Grissom-the next morning. I was asleep the whole night…. Now, I really have things to do, gentlemen. Can I show you out?"
She did, and at the car Brass said, " 'Don't quote me, but he snores'…I'll try to keep that out of the papers, but no promises!…What do you make of her, Gil?"
"She's a strong, smart woman. But something's wrong."
"What?"
"I'll get back to you."
Soon, in the car, when Brass was turning onto Serene Avenue, Grissom finally figured out what bothered him.
"Pull over," he said. "Let's talk."
Brass pulled over and parked in front of the Dean home.
The CSI said, "The Deans and the Blacks agree that Dustin Black drove Kathy home."
"Right."
"And the Deans and Dustin also agree that Black dropped Kathy off around midnight."