With a sigh and a mental farewell to his bevy of beautiful dancers, Nick Stokes buried himself in the computer records of Lynn Pierce. E-mails were still coming in, mostly junk, but one from her brother indicated she hadn't gone to visit him…unless something really clever was going on-a possibility that, however far-fetched, had to be considered.
Another e-mail, from a Sally G., whose handle was AvonLady, was even less promising. Several mass e-mailings from Lynn Pierce's church indicated a limited and specific social circle. But Nick kept digging and had been at it about an hour when Grissom stuck his head in Sara's office and announced their first real chunk of evidence.
"You coming with?" Nick asked.
"No. Take Warrick."
Less than two minutes later, Nick strode into the locker room, where Warrick sat on the bench in front of his locker, his head hanging down, a jock who just lost the big game.
"Who cleaned your clock?" Nick asked.
Warrick gave him a slow exhausted burn. "Me, myself, and all that overtime."
"Well, guess what-we just bought some more."
Looking up, alert suddenly, Warrick asked, "What gives?"
"Grissom got a call from Brass-Lynn Pierce's Toyota's turned up in long-term parking at McCarran."
Warrick was on his feet. "Yeah, I was hoping to put in a few more hours-let's go before I change my mind."
McCarran International Airport was one of the five busiest airports in the nation, and one of the most efficient. In the wee hours, dawn not yet a threat, airliners still screamed hello and good-bye, and cars made their way in and out of the parking lot.
Twenty-five minutes after leaving HQ-five minutes of which had been taken up dealing with security at the parking-lot entrance-Nick and Warrick's black Tahoe pulled to a halt behind a squad car that blocked in a white 1995 Toyota Avalon. As they climbed down from the Tahoe a uniformed officer got out of his squad and came back to meet them.
"Anybody been near here?" Warrick asked.
The uniformed man, a fair-haired, weathered pro in his forties, shook his head; his nameplate read JENKINS. "Airport security, making the rounds, recognized the car from our wants list and matched the plate, then gave us a call."
"Good catch," Warrick said.
Officer Jenkins nodded. "They've been making more frequent visits out here ever since September eleventh. Security guy stayed by the car until I got here, but he never got out of his Jeep."
"Good," Warrick said.
"You take a look?" Nick asked.
"Yeah," Jenkins said. "Walked around it once, cut it a wide swath, though-looks locked. Didn't touch shit. Didn't smell anything foul comin' from the trunk area, so I just got back in the squad and waited for you."
"Not your first time at the rodeo," Warrick said. "Thanks."
Jenkins liked that. "You fellas need me to stick around?"
"Naw," Warrick said.
Nick asked, "You call for a tow truck?"
Jenkins shook his head. "Should I have?"
"Naw, that's cool," Warrick said. "We'll get it."
"All right then," Jenkins said, and let out some air. "I'm gone."
"Thanks again," Nick called after him.
The officer waved but never turned back. He climbed into the cruiser, fired it up and rolled away-Nick's guess was the officer's shift was also long since over and the guy had likely logged more than his own share of overtime.
Warrick used his cell phone to call for a truck. The parking lot was well lighted and, at first, they didn't need their Maglites for their work, which they began by photographing the car from every angle. Then they dusted the handles, the hood and the trunk for prints.
"Wipe marks on the handles," Nick said.
Warrick smirked humorlessly. "Trunk too."
"Kinda makes you think maybe it wasn't Mrs. Pierce who parked it here."
"Don't let Grissom catch you at that."
Nick frowned. "At what?"
"Thinking."
Nick grinned, and Warrick motioned for them to go back to the Tahoe, and wait, which they did.
"You know, if you're in the trunk of a car," Nick said, "you're doing one of two things."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"You're a corpse waiting to get dumped, or you're sneakin' into a drive-in movie."
Warrick smiled a little. "They still got drive-in movies in Texas?"
"Last time I was home, they did."
It took forty-five minutes for the flatbed truck to arrive and another three or four for Warrick to stop Nick from bitching out the driver for taking so long. In under ten minutes, the driver-a civil servant in coveralls impervious to Nick's complaints-had hooked up the car and dragged it onto the bed.
"Well, that was quick," Nick admitted to the guy.
"You made my night," the driver said with no sincerity whatsoever, and disappeared into it.
Once they had the car out of the way, the pair of CSIs got out their flashlights and searched the parking space carefully, even getting down on their hands and knees-but found nothing. Satisfied they hadn't overlooked anything, they drove back to the CSI garage to take a more careful look at the car.
After putting on coveralls, they entered the bay where the Avalon sat like a museum exhibit. Fluorescent lights gave the car a bleached, almost ghostly cast. Warrick used a slim-jim to undo the lock.
"Twelve seconds," Nick said with a chuckle. "Man, you're slippin'."
"Want me to lock it back up, and give you a shot?"
Waving his hands in surrender, Nick said, "No, no, that's okay-if I showed you up, you'd lose the will to live."
"Yeah, well I'm just hangin' on as it is," Warrick harumphed, and opened the door. He dusted the driver's door handle, the armrest, the steering wheel and the gear shift. Nick did the passenger side handle, armrest, and the glove compartment. Again, they noticed that the car had been wiped.
"Somebody's hiding something," Warrick said.
"Usually are," Nick nodded, "or we wouldn't be involved-we're just going to have to look harder."
"Yeah, well I better start looking with my eyes open, then," Warrick said. He stared down at the armrest of the open driver's door. "You see that funky power-window button?"
Nick glanced down at the passenger arm rest. "Yeah, it's got that weird…lip, in the front."
"So…how do you suppose one would go about raising the window?"
Nick frowned-was this a trick question? "Well, 'one' would put his finger under the lip…and pull up."
"Which should leave the clever team of criminalists with…what?"
Nick smiled, wide. "A fingerprint on the underside…"
"Very good, class."
So Warrick printed the underside of the power-window button…and got a partial. He got another partial off the back of the gear shift lever, and Nick lifted a pretty good print off the passenger-side window button. The prints would go into the computer as soon as they finished with the rest of the vehicle. They would also need to take Owen Pierce's prints, of course, and daughter Lori's.
"You got a preference over the trunk," Nick asked, "or the interior?"
Warrick shrugged. "Whichever."
"I'll take the trunk."
"Go for it, drive-in boy," Warrick said dryly, and opened the passenger-side door. Sinking to his knees, next to the car, he shone his Maglite on the floor and started going over the carpeting, inch by inch. After his inspection he would vacuum the floor as well; but for now, he just wanted to see the car, up close and personal.
The two CSIs worked in church-like silence, each focused on his particular task. Nothing on the passenger-side floor, nothing in the glove compartment, nothing wedged into the seat. Warrick looked in the cup holders, in the console storage area, even ejected the plastic sleeve of the CD player and found nothing.