"Nice work, Sergeant. Thanks."
He gave Catherine a little grin. "Getting along out there all right, without me?"
Catherine smiled at the big man. "Yeah-but don't think you're not missed."
"Holler if you need me," he said, and headed back toward the PD wing.
Thirteen minutes later, Catherine and Sara pulled up in their Tahoe to find Conroy standing on the sidewalk out in front of the brick apartment house, speaking with a silver-haired senior citizen in a gray sweater, white slacks, black socks and sandals.
"This is the landlord, Bill Palmer," Conroy said. "I've already apologized for bothering him, this time of night."
"Morning," the older man corrected, trembling slightly as he shook their hands. He had wire frame trifocals, and one gigantic overgrown white eyebrow that looked like a caterpillar had died on his forehead.
"I've served Mr. Palmer with the warrant," Conroy said, "and he's about to let us in."
"Let's get on with it," Palmer said.
The three women followed him up the stairs and around behind the building. They'd made this trip enough that Catherine was considering adding it to her normal exercise routine. Palmer worked his way through half a dozen different keys-apparently there was no single master-before he finally managed to unlock the door of the apartment. Once they were inside, Conroy escorted the landlord back outside, to clear the scene, while Catherine and Sara snugged on their latex gloves and went to work.
As was so often the case in their job, they didn't know what they were looking for, exactly; so they started right there in the living room. Moving slowly, the two CSIs went over the single-armed couch, the chair, the hassock, and the rest of the living room, finding nothing of any apparent significance.
"If you take the bathroom," Sara said, "I'll take the kitchen."
"What a deal."
"I'll buy breakfast later, if you do."
"That is a deal."
In the bathroom, a gold-metal basket sat empty on the back of the toilet lid and Catherine knew at once that Tera Jameson had taken all of her cosmetics and such with her. Nonetheless, Catherine opened the medicine cabinet, but found nothing of use in there.
Whether the killer was Lipton or Tera or someone else, they would need DNA evidence on each of their suspects. Using a forceps like a spoon, Catherine dug around in the sink drain and came up with a wad of hair. Actually, she noticed two different colors of hair-Tera's and Jenna's, most likely. She stuffed it all into an evidence bags and slid over and did the same thing with the tub drain.
Sara came in from the kitchen and stuck her head in the door. "Nothing."
"Not much here either. Hair for DNA samples."
"Care for a double-team in the bedroom?"
"Sounds like more fun than it will be."
A king-sized bed with an ornate bookshelf headboard dominated the far wall of Tera's bedroom. A good-sized matching dresser stood against the left wall, a small television perched on top of it. The right wall was all closets and the wall with the door was home to a small dressing table, with a framed Penthouse magazine cover on the wall nearby…and Tera-wearing a golden chain mail outfit that most of her flesh showed through-was the cover girl.
Sara went directly to the dressing table, while Catherine started with the headboard. Dark oak and sturdy, the headboard contained two shelves and a drawer on either side. The top shelf was lined with paperbacks, mostly Grisham, King, Koontz and various other thrillers. The bottom shelf held magazines and a small electric alarm clock radio. Opening the nearest drawer, Catherine looked inside and found a tie-on seven-inch sex toy.
"Well hello, big fella," Catherine said.
"What?" Sara said.
"Have a look at this."
Sara came over and peered into the drawer. "DNA on a stick!"
Catherine snapped several photos of the device then she carefully slipped it into an evidence bag. "I'll let you drop this one off with Greg," she said.
Sara gave her a "gee thanks" expression, then said, "Found a couple of wigs, but nothing like the short-hair one in the security video. And no mustache, beard or spirit gum."
"Let's keep looking. There's a surprise in every drawer…."
"Be nice to find a Lipton Construction jacket."
Sara went from the dressing table to the closet. The second drawer of the headboard was empty and Catherine moved to the bed. The RUVIS showed a few spots of bodily fluids on the spread and Catherine bagged the spread, too. Recently washed, the sheets were clean under the ultraviolet. Stripping off the sheets, Catherine immediately saw small dark stains in numerous places on the mattress.
Sara was pulling several pairs of jeans from the closet; these and a couple of baseball caps, she bagged, saying, "No boots."
"None?"
"Cowboy or otherwise-nothing."
After taking pictures, Catherine took scrapings from the dark spots on the mattress. It appeared to be menstrual blood, but she bagged each scraping separately.
They spent hours combing the apartment, but never found any boots or Lipton Construction jackets or any other evidence that seemed to point toward Tera Jameson's guilt.
Finally finished, they packed up their silver field kits and met Conroy and the landlord outside.
"Anything?" the detective asked.
Catherine shrugged. "Some material to send through the lab…then maybe we'll know more."
Conroy frowned. "No jacket? No beard?"
"No jacket. No beard."
The elderly landlord was looking at them like they were speaking in Sanskrit.
At the bottom of the stairs, a sporty black Toyota eased by them, and Catherine recognized the woman behind the wheeclass="underline" Tera Jameson.
The car parked, the engine shut off, and the woman unfolded herself out of the car and started in on a brisk walk. Carrying a purse on a shoulder strap, she wore tight denim shorts, a black cropped T-shirt exposing her pierced navel, and high-heeled sandals. Her bushy brown hair was tied back in a severe ponytail.
Then she saw the little group at the bottom of the stairs and froze in mid-stride.
"Is that my stuff?" she asked, her voice shrill, angry. "What the hell are you doing with my stuff?"
Conroy stepped forward and held out the folded paper. "Tera Jameson, we're serving you with a search warrant."
The exotic eyes were wide, nostrils of the pretty face flared like a rearing horse; she did not accept the warrant. "What the hell is this? I got rights like anybody else, you know!"
Conroy's voice was coldly professional. "Ms. Jameson, this warrant allows us to search your residence for evidence, which we have done in your absence."
"Evidence of fucking what?"
Catherine stepped forward and said, "Ms. Jameson, we're gathering evidence in the case of Jenna Patrick's homicide."
Tera shook her head angrily, the ponytail swinging. "You've got that abusive son of a bitch in custody, don't you? Why aren't you searching Lipton's house?"
"We have," Catherine said, calmly.
"Well…isn't he the killer?"
With a noncommittal shrug, Conroy said, "We have several suspects."
"Oh, and I'm one of them now? I was working the night Jenna was killed. Jesus! He's a crazy jealous asshole! He did it, you know he did it."
"Well we do know one thing for sure," Conroy said. "Lipton never lied to us."
"Right!" she laughed, bitterly. "Lie is all Ray Lipton does." Then she stopped as she realized what Conroy meant. "Wait…you think I lied to you?"