Grissom looked harder-this was indeed Lori, formerly blonde and rather wholesome-looking, perhaps getting an early start on Halloween.
The girl froze, her eyes wide, the whites of them making a stark contrast with the heavy black mascara. "Is she…al…all…right? What they found…on TV…was it…?"
Pierce was on his feet, nodding gravely, motioning to her. "Come here, baby…come 'ere."
A short, sharp breath escaped her, then Lori ran to her father's arms and he held her tight, saying, "She's gone, honey…Mom's gone." They stayed that way for a long time. Finally, Pierce held his daughter at arm's length.
"What happened?" Lori asked, her pseudo-adult makeup at odds with eyes filled with a child's pain.
Pierce shook his head. "No, honey. It's not the time for that…. I have to deal with these…the authorities."
"Dad…"
"Lori, we'll talk about this later."
She pulled away from his grasp. "I want to know, now."
Grissom had a shiver of recognition: he'd said almost exactly the same thing about Lynn Pierce to Warrick and Nick.
Brass was on his feet. He moved near the father, and said, almost whispering, "Why don't you let me talk to her, Mr. Pierce. I have a daughter, not much older than her…."
Turning to face him, Pierce said, rather bitterly, "Your compassion is noted, detective. But I don't think that's such a good idea."
"I do need to ask your daughter some questions," Brass said. "I'm sure you want to cooperate…both of you?"
The girl's eyes were tight, her expression paralyzed, as if she couldn't decide whether to scream, cry, or run.
"Lori's had a great shock," Pierce said, reasonably. "Can't this wait until later?"
"Frankly, Mr. Pierce…no. This is a murder investigation. Delays are costly."
Exasperated, Pierce turned to Grissom. "Can't you stop this? You seem like a decent man."
With a tiny enigmatic smile, Grissom rose and said, "You seem like a decent man, too, sir…. Maybe you and I should leave Lori and Captain Brass alone, so they can talk…and you can show me the garage."
Pierce was looking at Grissom as if the criminalist were wearing clown shoes. "What?"
"Your garage," Grissom said, pleasantly, pointing. "It's this way, isn't it?" He started toward the kitchen.
Reluctantly, with a world-weary sigh and one last glance at his daughter, Pierce followed the CSI.
"Sit down, Lori, please," Brass said, gesturing toward the sofa. "You don't mind if I call you Lori?"
"Do what you want," Lori sniffled. Tears were trailing down her face, mascara painting black abstract patterns on her cheeks. She looked at him skeptically, then demanded, "Are you going to tell me what happened to my mother?"
"Lori…please. Sit."
She sat.
So did he.
"I'm Detective Brass. You can call me Jim, if you like."
Her response was tough, undermined by a teary warble in her Sniffles the Mouse voice: "I feel so close to you…Jim."
Brass took in a deep breath, let it out slowly through his mouth. No sugar coating this; the girl had seen the television news, after all. He said, "Your mother was murdered."
He watched her as she took that in. Her face auditioned various emotions, one at a time, but fleeting-surprise, fear, anger-as she struggled to process and accept what he'd just told her. Her internal struggle, barely letting any emotion out beyond the unstoppable tears, reminded Brass a great deal of his own daughter. He wondered if Ellie had cried when his wife told her that he had left them; he wondered where Ellie was now, and if she still hated him.
"Are you all right?" he asked the girl.
"No, I'm not all right!…Yeah, right, I'm fine, I'm cool! You got a touch, don't ya?"
Brass felt a fool-just as his own daughter had so often made him feel. Of course Lori wasn't "all right," and for that matter, probably never would be. Mothers were not supposed to get murdered.
Then the girl's toughness dropped away. "I…I can't believe it," she finally managed.
"It's hard to lose family," he said. "Especially a parent. Even if you had trouble with them. Sometimes that only makes it harder."
The streaky face looked at him differently now. "You…?"
He glanced around, making sure they were alone. "Yeah, both of mine are gone. Not as rough as you, Lori."
"No?"
"Natural causes, and I was an adult."
"But…it was still hard?"
"It's always hard. Lori, I don't like this, but we all owe it to your mother to find out what happened to her, and clear this up as much as possible."
"What, like that'll bring her back?"
"Of course it won't bring her back. But it could mean…closure, for you. And your dad."
"Closure, huh? Everybody talks about closure. You know what I think, Detective? Closure's way fucking overrated."
"…You may have a point, Lori…. Now, I've got to ask you some questions-you up to it?"
She took a deep breath and nodded, what the hell.
Brass hated this part of the job, and wondered where he should start. If he hit a raw nerve, the girl-who had warmed to him some-might come unglued; and then he'd have a hell of time getting her to answer any questions. If she truly broke down, he'd have to call in the Social Services people, to provide the girl counseling…and his investigation would take a backseat.
Best to tread carefully, he thought. "Did you get along with your mother?"
Shrug.
"You're what, Lori? Sixteen?"
Nod.
"So, how did you get along with your mother?"
"You already asked me that."
He'd gotten some words out of her, anyway. "Yes, Lori, but you didn't really answer me."
Another shrug. "Not good, really. She didn't want me to do, you know, anything."
"What do you mean…'anything'?"
"You know-go out with guys, go to concerts, get a job. She wanted me to be the girl in the plastic bubble. She barely tolerated my boyfriend, Gary."
"Tell me about your boyfriend."
This time the nod carried some enthusiasm. "Gary Blair. He's cool."
"Cool? Aren't the Blairs a pretty straight-laced family?"
A tiny smile appeared. "Basically. I don't know about lace, but he's pretty straight. His parents are in a church group with Mom…otherwise, I don't think she'd even let me go out with him."
"How strict was your mom?"
She snorted. "She's way past strict into…" Her expression turned inward. "…I mean, she was way past strict…."
Brass could have kicked himself for the past-tense slip. She'd just been opening up, when he made the faux pas, and now he had to find a way to save the interview, before the kid caved.
"What do you and Gary like to do together?" Brass asked. "Movies? Dancing?"
Lori, lost in thought, didn't seem to hear him. She was still on his previous question, mumbling, "Yeah, Mom made the 700 Club look like, you know, un-psycho."
"You and Gary?"
She seemed to kind of shake herself out of it. "We, uh…you know, go to the movies, we hang out at the mall. Sometimes we just stay here."
"Ever go to the Blairs?"
"Not much. His mom is really weird, kinda…you know, wired? Like a chihuahua on speed?"
Brass smiled at that, though the drug reference was disturbing. "So when you and Gary hang out here, what do you do?"
Yet another shrug. "Listen to CDs in my room, watch DVDs, stuff like that. Sometimes surf the 'net. Go in chat rooms and pretend to be people, you know, like pretend I'm a nympho or a dyke or somethin'-typical shit."
Brass was starting to wonder if the shrugging was a nervous tic, or simply generational-his sullen daughter had shrugged at him a lot the last time he'd seen her. Somewhere along the line, shrugging had become a substitute for speech. "Gary ever around, when your parents argued?"