"I anticipated that, and what I found was, the toxic stuff is all over the wine bottle…and the glass he was drinking from." He held up the autopsy report. "And my associate, Doctor Albert Robbins, concurs: death by poisoning. Actually, not that common a murder technique, these days."
"Making it easier to miss," Warrick said almost to himself, "than you'd think."
Vega said, "We've got her using the same poison for two victims."
Catherine said, "Don't break out the champagne just yet-the same poison doesn't an MO make. The husband was killed over a long period of time, in small doses…hence the traces of poison in his remains."
Greg said, "She's right."
Warrick, smirking humorlessly, said, "Well, we do know Rene Fairmont's poison of choice, at least. All we need now is a way to prove our nasty nurse did these murders."
Greg scratched the side of his head. "Didn't you guys mention that Derek died in Mexico?"
Warrick nodded.
Catherine said, "Yeah."
Greg cocked his head. "Did you come up with a Mexican death certificate?"
Catherine wondered where Greg was going with this. "Yeah, we did, it was faxed to us-says heart attack."
Greg's smile was almost as charming as one of Grissom's. "Tell me-was there a consular mortuary certificate?"
Catherine winced. "A what?"
"If the Mexican death certificate said heart attack, my guess is someone was bribed," Greg said. "I mean, the poison was right there for anyone to see…and if there's no consular mortuary certificate, and Derek here really did die in Mexico…then his wife brought him back illegally. Which is against the law. I mean, that's a federal law she's broken."
Catherine looked at Greg with a newfound respect. "How did you know all that?"
"It's 22 U.S.C. 4196; 22 CFR 72.1."
"Huh?"
"That's the part of the federal code that deals with the death of U.S. citizens abroad." Greg smiled. He showed the cheat sheet in his hand. "Hey, where would science be without Google?"
Vega had a grimly satisfied expression. "We need to report that to the feds."
"I'll do it," Catherine said.
"And in the meantime," the detective said, "I'm going out to Sunny Day and have another chat with Rene Fairmont."
"We may not have enough to arrest her yet," Warrick said. "But this is a hell of a series of coincidences-seems like everyone she knows turns up murdered."
"Why don't you come with me, Warrick," Vega said, then turned to Catherine. "How about you, Cath?"
"No, Sam-I'll make that federal call…doing my best not to have to talk to agent Rick Culpepper…and then I'm going to see if I can run down those presumably bogus charities of hers. Keep Rene talking, and maybe between Uncle Sam and my own Google-ing, you can put the collar on her."
"We have enough to bring her back here for questioning," Vega said.
When Vega and Warrick were gone, Catherine turned back to Greg. "Thanks, Greg."
"No problem."
"Don't lose your focus, now-heads up."
"Oh yeah," Greg said, and he reached for the skull.
Warrick took the Tahoe and drove, Vega riding, and when they drew up at the Sunny Day guard shack, the CSI found the silver-haired guard, Fred, on duty.
Fred approached the vehicle and asked, "Hello again, fellas. What can I do for ya?"
"Hi Fred," Warrick said. "Rene Fairmont on duty this afternoon?"
The guard said, "Well, she was, but then she left about half an hour ago. Funny deal."
"Funny how?"
"She was only in for, oh I'd say…five minutes? Then she took off. Drove outta here, faster'n a bat out of hell. Next time I see her, I'm gonna talk to her about that. That's reckless behavior, for an employee."
Warrick looked at Vega and said, "Flight risk?"
"Oh yeah," the detective said with a curt nod. "Go!"
"Fred, stand clear," Warrick said, and jammed the Tahoe into reverse to peel out the driveway. He braked, tossed the gearshift into drive, and floored it, tires squealing as Vega got the dashboard light flashing and pulled the cell phone from his pocket.
"Who're you calling?" Warrick asked.
"Dr. Whiting-just watch the road!"
Warrick did as he was told, thanking the powers-that-be that Lake Mead Drive would eventually turn into Interstate 215. Trying to drive clear across this busy city, through snarled street traffic, would have cost them precious time, even with a flasher going.
Rene Fairmont had the same knowledge, of course, and a half hour head start. The siren's whine kept Warrick from hearing much of Vega's brief conversation with Dr. Whiting. When the detective hung up, they had to shout to be heard over the shrill siren scream.
"What did Whiting say?" Warrick yelled.
"That Rene said she had an emergency and just split! He tried to ask what was wrong, but she just grabbed her things and said she had to leave."
"I don't think Fred's ever going to get a chance to have his talk with Rene about recklessness."
"Me neither," Vega said. "But maybe we can…."
Warrick kept the pressure on the accelerator. The angel of mercy had the sense to know they were getting onto her, it seemed; maybe she wouldn't know how close they were…maybe they would reach this angel in time, before she flew off into her next identity….
Catherine had returned to looking into the various bogus charities, seeking some commonality between the entities themselves or at least their dead-drop mailboxes: ten different charities, not counting D.S. Ward Worldwide and its Des Moines drop, with ten different drop box sites.
Although three of the mailboxes were local, the other seven were out of state. She would check, in person, the three locals, scattered around the city; already she'd memorized their locations.
Out of state would be trickier: Jonathan Hooker Ministries in Salt Lake City; Father Lonnegan's Children's Fund, Laramie, Wyoming; Shaw Ministries, Grand Island, Nebraska; Pastor Henry Newman Charities in Joliet, Illinois; and three more even farther east.
If Rene Fairmont was behind all these scams, how exactly was she picking up the money? In-person pickup was required. Could the woman have an accomplice in every one of these cities? That didn't seem likely-this was a loner's game….
The CSI decided to turn the computer loose on the problem. Into a search, she typed all the keywords from the charity names. While that ran, she pulled up a map of the United States and highlighted all the cities with Rene's drops.
In less than a minute, Catherine felt her mouth drop and her eyes pop.
All of the cities lined up.
From Vegas, I-15 north to Salt Lake City, then east on I-80 through Laramie, Grand Island, Des Moines, Joliet and so on. It wasn't just a network of scams, and certainly not an indication of accomplices hither and yon: This was an escape route.
The plan opened like a blossoming flower to Catherine, in all its sick beauty. With this route waiting, Rene Fairmont could pick up, leave town, and melt into the sunset. Well, sunrise actually, since she'd be traveling eastward.
Depending on how much money waited at each drop, their venal angel of mercy could come and go from each city, whenever she wanted. As far as Rene knew, no one figured out her route or her plan.
A chill prickled the back of Catherine's neck: She knew-and it was well beyond a hunch, even Grissom couldn't question this-that Rene was getting ready to run. The sleazoid local lawyer used in several of the estate scams the woman had tied off like the loose end that he'd become-perhaps right after Catherine and Vega had spoken to her at the Fairmont home-and probably right about now Warrick and Vega were discovering that Nurse Fairmont had departed Sunny Day as well.