The Goth girl was still living in the little girl's room she'd grown up in.
After unloading their tools in the hall, they split up, doing their best not to trip over each other-it was actually a goodsized bedroom, but with six of them working there, the space seemed impossibly cramped. Catherine took the desk and dresser, Grissom the bed, Warrick the closet, Nick and Sara worked the components of the entertainment center. Using the RUVIS on the bed, Grissom was the first to sing out.
"Someone's been having sex on this bed," he said, like a bear finding signs of Goldilocks.
Everyone looked over at the multiple blossoms of white showing up under the ultraviolet.
"Lots of sex," Catherine said, raising an eyebrow.
Sara and Nick dismantled the television and stereo, finding nothing, reporting as much to Grissom.
Catherine pored over the dresser, found nothing on top or behind it, then went through the drawers one at a time. Except for a stash of condoms in the third drawer, she found nothing other than the girl's clothes. However…
"Traces of white powder on the desk," she said.
"Cocaine?" Brass asked.
"Greg will have to confirm, but take my word for it…that's coke."
No one argued with her. Their grave expressions indicated a mutual understanding that, despite the little girl surroundings, Lori Pierce had grown up, and not in a good way.
The tower, monitor, and keyboard yielded nothing, but Catherine discovered a tiny bag inside of the mouse, the source of the white powder. Smaller than the bag they found in the vent in the basement, this one too carried the little red triangle that was Lil Moe's logo.
Catherine shared her discovery, then asked, "You suppose Pierce knows his daughter's buying drugs from his partner?"
"Remind me to ask Daddy," Brass said, "right after I present him with his Father of the Year award."
The top shelf of the closet contained boxes, books, and even more stuffed animals. Warrick leafed through the hanging clothes in the closet, a peculiar mix of the Goth girl and the preppier Lori; but again found nothing.
Not surprisingly, the closet floor was cluttered with shoeboxes; propped against the wall, behind the hanging clothes, leaned a tennis racket and softball bat, a glove nearby, and a pile of magazines-Sassy, Spin, Sixteen. After moving all this stuff out, Warrick went over the flooring, his flashlight beam illuminating his way.
In the corner, he found a tiny pile of dust. Loose floorboard, he thought, and pried at the board with a screwdriver. Slowly, one end came free and he eased the board free, then the one next to it, then one more. Craning his neck over the hole and shining his light down inside, he made a wonderful, terrible discovery.
Warrick felt a nausea burning a hole in his stomach as he realized what this meant. "Got it-I've got the gun."
Everyone traded looks of mixed emotion-no one had wanted this to come down this way.
Warrick bagged the .44, then went back into the hole, found the box of bullets, and two more bags of coke. "This just keeps getting better," he said glumly.
"Next stop the Blairs?" Grissom asked Brass.
Brass used Lori's phone book to get the number and punched it into his cell. "…Mrs. Blair, this is Captain Brass-would you check on your son, and Lori?"
"I don't understand. They're both in bed, asleep, Captain…Gary in his room, Lori in the guest-"
"Wake them, get them dressed, and…just sit with them, till we get there. Involve your husband, would you?"
"Captain Brass, I still don't understand."
Not wanting to alarm the woman, Brass said, "We just have some new questions that have come up, and it really can't wait."
"…All right, then. Please hold."
Brass waited, everyone's eyes on him. Several endless minutes went by, when the woman's voice jumped into the detective's ear. "They're both gone! I can't find them anywhere in the house!"
"Calm down, Mrs. Blair. We'll handle it."
"But…"
"You and your husband just stay put. Someone will be around. We'll find your son and his girlfriend."
"Like you found Lynn?…I'm sorry. That was uncalled for, I…"
"Please, Mrs. Blair. You and your husband, stay put."
Brass pushed END and said to Grissom, "They're not there. Lori's gone missing-Gary, too."
"Where are they off to?" Sara asked.
"Are they on the run?" Nick asked.
"I don't think so," Grissom said. "I think they're coming here."
"Here?" Sara asked.
"Homeward bound," Brass said, nodding his agreement with Grissom's unstated thinking; he gestured to Warrick's findings. "Far as Lori knows, we're long gone, and Daddy's in lockup. But we might be back during the course of our investigation, and she's got drugs and the gun here."
"She'll want to ditch the gun," Warrick said.
"And use the drugs," Catherine said.
The detective pressed quickly on, urgency coloring his tone: "Let's pull the vehicles around the corner. If Lori is coming, let's not tip her off that we're here."
Warrick, Nick and Sara moved the cars; Grissom, Catherine and Brass put the room back together, but did not replace the evidence in its hiding places. When the car-parking trio returned, all six of them spread out through the house. Warrick and Nick took the basement, Grissom and Sara the first-floor rec room, and Brass and Catherine went upstairs to the master bedroom.
A few minutes later, the garage door whirred up, then down, and Grissom heard voices coming in through the kitchen.
A muffled voice, recognizable as Gary Blair's, said, "I'll wait here…. Hurry up."
And Lori Pierce's voice said: "You don't wanna go upstairs? Party a little?"
"No! I wanna get back before my parents miss us. Don't fool around, Lori!"
"I thought you liked to fool around…"
"Just get that stuff, and let's go!"
From their rec room post, Grissom and Sara heard her feet padding up the winding stairs.
Within seconds, Lori's reaction at realizing her stash had been discovered echoed through the house: "Shit! Shit shit shit!"
The girl came flying down the stairs, wild-eyed, just as Grissom and Sara came around to meet her. She froze on the stairs, a few steps from the bottom, then glanced over her shoulder-Catherine and Brass were just above and behind her. Warrick and Nick entered the foyer, the latter hauling a bewildered-looking Gary Blair by the arm.
"Lori Pierce," Brass said, in a neutral tone that was nonetheless chilling in the teenagers' ears, "you're under arrest for the murder of your mother, Lynn Pierce."
"What?" Gary Blair blurted. He shook himself free from Nick's grasp, but didn't go anywhere; his expression was that of a kid who'd just heard the truth about Santa Claus. "Her father did it-he confessed!" Gary looked around at the adults clustered in the foyer. "You heard him, you all heard him! I heard him."
Grissom's eyes weren't on Gary, but on Lori, as he said, "Mr. Pierce lied, son…. He lied to protect his daughter."
"My father killed my mother," Lori insisted, desperation edging her voice, her face, her gestures, animated. "Gary and me, we heard him confess-just like you did!"
Grissom walked up several stairs to face Lori, where she was caught between the two groups of grown-ups. "We heard him confess," Grissom acknowledged, "but we also heard him lie."
Lori's voice was filled with typically teenaged contempt. "How do you know?"
"We know because the evidence is at odds with what your father 'confessed'-your mother's murder couldn't have happened the way he said, Lori. And the fingerprints on the gun and the box of bullets are going to be ID'ed as yours."