CHAPTER 46
“Did the ghost of Bugsy Siegel come back to demand his due?” Catherine seemed singularly unimpressed with Sam’s plea for help. “Or is Tony still hooked on the good stuff?”
All of Sam’s composure disappeared. Eyes flashing, he leaned across the table. “I’m not joking, Catherine.” Then, as if physically keeping himself from saying more, Sam pressed his lips together and dropped his eyes. A long minute passed. “You know me, Muggs. You know I’m a self-made man.” He slowly raised his gaze. “How often do you think I ask anyone to help me out of a jam?”
Sara sat completely still in her chair, afraid even a stray muscle twitch would interrupt the conversation. The wait staff had vanished. The large room echoed with silence as Catherine and Sam squared off over the plates of rapidly cooling food.
“What kind of trouble, Sam?” Catherine broke first. “And how do you think I can help?”
Despite initiating the topic, Sam suddenly appeared reluctant to talk about it. He stood abruptly, tossing his monogrammed napkin onto his plate. “What do you know about the robbery at the First Monument Bank?”
“A crew went after some safe deposit boxes, shot a cop.” Catherine looked at Sara and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
What did the bank have to do with Sam? He was clearly Old Vegas. Bank robberies didn’t fit. Some old fashioned extortion and leg breaking, sure. With a shrug, Sara silently indicated that she shared Catherine’s confusion and lack of understanding.
Giving voice to their lack of comprehension, Catherine murmured, “What does all that have to do with you, Sam?
Again, he avoided an immediate and direct answer. “Did you know there is still a stigma for people who operate casinos?”
Really? Sara hid her disbelieving laugh in a strangled cough. It was enough to draw Sam’s attention to her, and she cleared her throat and reached for her drink to cover her sudden discomfort. “I didn’t know that…stigma had anything to do with bank heists.” Discomfort aside, Sara was tired of Sam’s game. Sarcasm filled her voice. “Or are you in for a little murder?” She enjoyed the way he flinched at the reminder of the slain officer.
“No.” Sam tried to smile, and it failed miserably. He gave up on the attempt and glared at Sara, lips a tight line. “It appears that one of my employees doesn’t share my feelings on robbery and death, however. Your friends in the Sheriff’s office identified a suspect in the case. A valet at the Rampart, Larry Whiting.”
Still not sure of how that connected to Sam’s plea for help, Sara pushed her empty glass away and leaned back in her chair. She was done with the conversation. This was Catherine’s problem. Actually, she mentally clarified, Sam was Catherine’s problem.
As if she had heard Sara’s internal comment, Catherine picked up the conversational ball. “I’m guessing the stigma you mentioned means that the Sheriff thinks there’s a connection between you and Whiting.”
***
“He’s had deputies trawling through all of my casinos, Muggs, and my lawyers tell me warrants will probably come down soon.” Sam sighed and rubbed at his neck. It was the first time Catherine had seen him look so old. So vulnerable. “I don’t have anything to hide. Not anymore.” The admission was wry – as was the look he gave her. “Whatever the locals and the FBI believe, I don’t have any connections. But having all the attention isn’t good for business.”
She was missing something. Catherine frowned and replayed their conversation. Sam wanted her (and Sara) to look into the case. Why? There had to be more than some tenuous link between Whiting and Sam. What did the Sheriff think was Sam’s motive? “What aren’t you telling me, Sam? As much as I hate to say this, the Sheriff isn’t in the habit of coming after high profile businessmen without a solid reason.” It would damage his political aspirations too much.
“You tell me, Muggs.” Leaning forward, Sam reached for Catherine’s hand. “I have no idea what the Sheriff has in mind. I didn’t know Larry Whiting. He was a valet, for God’s sake. If he’d worked inside the casino as a pit boss or a high-stakes dealer, maybe. I make it a habit to visit people who handle large sums of my money.”
“You don’t cruise through the parking lot?” The question was a lame jab, giving Catherine time to consider the new information. In spite of her protest, the Sheriff had made some truly monumental mistakes with cases in the past. Was this one of them? Was he going after Sam to court votes? A man of Sam’s stature – if he was guilty – would be a huge feather in the Sheriff’s re-election cap.
Gripping the back of the chair in front of him, Sam ignored the mocking question and expanded on his request for help. “I’m not asking you to steal evidence or even interfere in the investigation, Muggs. All I want is the same information you just asked about. Why? Why is the Sheriff trying to pin a bank robbery, of all things, on me? I don’t need to break into a vault if I need cash. I have several of my own, and I know the combinations to all of them.”
Catherine nodded slowly. “I see your point,” she allowed. That didn’t mean Catherine was satisfied with his explanation, however. “You mentioned lawyers. They have to know what the Sheriff has on you.” When Sam’s lips tightened further, she held up a hand. “Sorry. What the Sheriff thinks he has on you. What do you expect me to tell you that they can’t? I work in a lab, Sam. I see evidence, not the case the DA may be building.”
“That’s just it, Muggs.” Suddenly more energized, Sam paced back and forth along the length of the table. “You see the evidence. You can see what’s really there, and not what some prosecutor’s imagining as he plans his big career move. Busting me… It would go a long way toward a seat in the Governor’s mansion.”
Glancing at Sara, Catherine tried to read the other woman. She didn’t trust Sam. Not since she’d learned the truth about her mother’s “friend” as a teenager. Sara didn’t have all of her baggage to shift through, though. If Sara believed Sam was sincere...
A barely noticeable headshake answered, and Sara crossed her arms over her chest. “Why all of this?” Sara’s question was quiet, yet still intense. Catherine reasoned that Sara didn’t trust Sam, either. “Why not pick up the phone and call Catherine at the office? If you really don’t have any connection to the case, why go to all the trouble to arrange that meeting downstairs? We all know you didn’t accidentally run into Catherine this morning.”
Sam came to a halt, facing Sara. “I don’t know who you are, Ms. Sidle. This is between me and Muggs.”
“No,” Catherine quickly denied. “We’re all in this now, Sam. You brought both of us up here to wine and dine and convince of your innocence. It’s too late to back out. Sara’s right. I might have hung up the first few times you called, but eventually, I would have listened to what you had to say. There’s more going on here than you’ve said.” And that one point made Catherine’s decision easier. She stood in one smooth motion. “Find someone else to play your games with, Sam.” Quoting one of her least favorite Grissom lines, Catherine continued. “The evidence doesn’t lie. If you really have no part in the robbery, not even a corrupt Sheriff or a glory-seeking DA will be enough to make a case.” She waved a hand at Sara before striding toward the door.
“Muggs, please!” Catherine didn’t hear Sam’s footsteps, thanks to the thick carpeting, but she did feel his hand as it closed on her arm. “You have to help me.” Pulling her to a halt, Sam glared down at her. “Damn it, Cath. Why are you doing this to me? Are you still mad because of your mother?”
Tensing against his hold, Catherine glared back. “Mad?” Dear God. Sam was an idiot. “Mad doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about the way you treated my mother.” And me. She bit back that admission, knowing that Sam would probably never understand. “This isn’t about Lily, though. This is about you. You and your lifestyle. You and the casinos. You and that Mob connection you deny.” She took a violent step backward, Sam’s fingers scraping her upper arm as she pulled free. “It’s about you using me to protect your own ass.”
The hiss of the air conditioner and a distant electrical hum from the elevator behind Catherine seemed suddenly loud.
Into that vacuum, Sara’s voice was shockingly loud. “Mr. Braun, thanks for breakfast.” Her hand was soothing as she gently maneuvered Catherine backward. “But we have to go. Cath promised to show me the sights.”
Catherine thought briefly of resisting Sara’s urging. She had more she wanted to say to Sam.
A lot more.
“Cath…” This time, Sara’s voice was a mere whisper of warning.
Acceding reluctantly, Catherine fired one last, parting shot. “Goodbye, Sam. Good luck with the Sheriff and that glory-seeking DA.” Her eyes met his for a second before she turned away. “I’m sure the evidence will point to the real killer.”
The walk to the elevator felt like miles. Catherine’s legs felt numb, and she struggled to put one foot in front of the other without stumbling. Her head pounded and whirled at the same time. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t feel. Or… Maybe Catherine felt too much.
Sara’s voice was an indistinct mumble behind her, mixing with the muted rumble of Sam’s reply. Catherine ignored that, punching the call button for the elevator with unnecessary force. She needed to leave. Now. Unfortunately, the elevator wasn’t listening to Catherine’s inner urge to flee.
“You need this, Cath.” Sara reappeared at Catherine’s side, extending a plastic card for the key slot below the call button. A light ping sounded, and the doors slid smoothly open.
Face burning, Catherine stepped into the waiting car and avoided looking at Sara. Even with her eyes averted, though, she could feel Sara’s gaze. “Sara…”
She wasn’t ready for Sara’s husky chuckle. “God, Cath, you should have seen your face. It was priceless. If I hadn’t come along with the card key, how long would you have stood there?” Sara grinned engagingly. “Not to mention the fact that Sam lost his polish. He’ll have to hire a whole new crew to help him get rid of the scowl lines and wrinkles. Do you think he’s got a plastic surgeon on staff?”
Catherine chanced a look at Sara. Behind the laughter and the teasing lilt, Sara stared back soberly. She wasn’t taking Sam – and his problems – lightly. “Oh, at least one per hotel.” Following Sara’s lead, Catherine kept her comment light. “The signs of aging can happen anywhere, you know.” Slowly, responding to the new tilt to Sara’s lips, Catherine let the anger go. “Thanks for the backup, Sara. Sam and I go way back, obviously, and he’s always been good at pushing my buttons.”
“I think Sam is used to doing that with everyone, Cath.” Sara stopped talking as the elevator reached the ground floor and they exited into the service hallway. Continuing in a lower voice, she said, “Like the man boasted, he’s self-made. A millionaire in Vegas. You don’t get that high without being a master manipulator.”
Somehow, the words didn’t make Catherine feel less like an idiot. She knew what Sam was like. As soon as he’d approached them in the lobby, Catherine should have been dragging Sara for the door.
Her preoccupation with “should haves” ended abruptly when Sara poked her shoulder.
“Ow! Has anyone told you that you have bony fingers?” Catherine complained, rubbing at the (not) sore spot on her arm.
A second passed. Then two. Sara’s face went bright red then ghostly white and then settled on a rosy pink. “No. No, I haven’t heard that comment before.” Before Catherine could make sense of the reaction, Sara hurried on. “Let it go, Cath.” She opened the door at the end of the hallway. “Stop thinking about Sam and about how breakfast didn’t turn out the way you planned it – and start deciding where you’re taking me to lunch. I got one piece of bacon down before you and the Godfather started swinging.”
“You think with your stomach,” Catherine griped. “I’m up there dealing with the ghosts from my past, and all you care about is bacon.” She scowled playfully at Sara, the last of the tension slowly dissipating. “Are you sure Linds is my kid and not yours?”
For once, mention of Lindsey didn’t send Sara into a panic. Catherine watched Sara’s smile widen as her left eyebrow rose. “Cath, you know me better than that. I’m pure as the driven snow. How would I have had a daughter, locked away in my blue-coated tower?”
The image Sara in a stiffly starched lab coat, languishing in a tower lab, was too much. Catherine threw back her head and laughed as they exited the private hallway. Several of the people hurrying toward the casino glanced their way. Some even smiled at the sound of her merriment. “Honey, even I know there are ways for lesbians to have babies. And pure? I doubt you’ve ever been celibate, Sidle. Not with your looks.”
The shared smiles from their audience faded, replaced with slack jaws and wide eyes.
“Oops?” Catherine quickened her pace and risked a glance at Sara.
Sara’s cheeks were fiery red.
Oh, shit. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that out loud.” Trying to backpedal – and apologize – Catherine continued in an embarrassed mumble. “It was supposed to be funny. And it was. In my head. I know I promised not to…”
The flood of words stopped when Sara snickered. “You’re priceless. Better than TV,” Sara announced. “I thought it was a riot when you gave the elevator Mom Glare. This, though…”
Catherine couldn’t decide if she should be angry or amused at Sara’s new spate of laughter.
“All those people. My God, they won’t even care if they win the jackpot. All they’ll be talking about with the folks back home is the pair of dykes discussing insemination methods in the hallway.” The gap between Sara’s teeth flashed as she smiled.
Amusement won out. There was no way to resist the pull of that smile. “Oh, they won’t say anything, Sar.” Getting into the spirit of things since Sara hadn’t run for the hills, Catherine flung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Haven’t you heard?” she murmured, tilting her head until her lips were inches from Sara’s ear. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
***
Nothing Sara did stopped the shudder – or the goose pimples covering her neck – in response to the feel of Catherine’s breath brushing her ear. “That’s…” Her voice cracked. “That’s true?” Sara finally got out. “I thought that was an ad campaign.”
“Oh, it is. A good one, you have to admit.” Catherine’s arm eased but remained loosely around Sara’s waist. “You wouldn’t believe the number of people we interview who seem to think that no one back home will ever know about the hooker or the fact they lost everything at the card tables.” Tilting her head back, Catherine sucked in a deep breath. When she resumed speaking, some of the humor had slipped from her voice. “Maybe it’s not such a bad plan, though. I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to go somewhere. Anywhere. Do whatever you want. Then go back to real life with no one to judge.”
Before she could censor the words, Sara replied, “Try P-town.”.
That earned her a raised eyebrow and a hip bump from Catherine. “Please. We both know that would only cover sleeping with you and a dozen other women.” So Catherine knew Provincetown. Before Sara could question her knowledge, Catherine continued. “What if I wanted to masquerade as a high-stakes poker player? Or rub elbows with the whales at the Foundation Room? Can they match that in the lesbian mecca of North America?”
Catherine had a point. Sara heaved a dramatic sigh. “You’re such a femme, Cath. Not everyone wants to dress up and play prima donna with the rich and famous. How about a flag football game instead?” It didn’t take much imagination to envision Catherine lounging on the bleachers as a host of dykes fought over the football – and a chance to impress their audience.
Catherine. On the bleachers. In shorts and a tank top.
Stopping abruptly in the middle of the parking lot, Sara didn’t even dare to look at the woman next to her. No one would be watching the game. No. They’d all be ogling Catherine.
Including her.
“Sar?” Catherine was frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Only her overactive imagination. And her libido. Hiding that realization with a shoulder bump of her own, Sara worked to keep things light. “I think the thought of sun and sand and no dead bodies was too much for me.” She reluctantly left Catherine’s embrace and walked to the passenger side of the Tahoe. “Either that, or I got too weak from hunger to keep going. You never know…”
The door locks clicked open. “One track mind. God,” Catherine grumbled, “I thought Eddie was bad.”
If Catherine only knew. A blush crawled up the back of Sara’s neck and heated her ears. “Nice. I can’t believe we’ve gotten to that point already. Geez, Cath. I thought I’d get at least a year of wedded bliss before the comparisons started.” She settled into the bucket seat with a mock pout. “I moved all the way from Frisco because you asked. For this? There were scores of adoring women on the Castro who would appreciate my talents.”
Catherine’s chuckle sounded over the engine. “Honey, there are scores of women here, and for the right amount of money, they’ll be adoring, too.”
It was too much. Sara’s embarrassment faded and she laughed “That sounds so bad, Cath.”
“It’s the truth,” Catherine assured her. “One, prostitution is legal here so pros are big in numbers.” Her eyes glinted when she glanced Sara’s direction. “You wouldn’t have to go hunting for one. And two, most dancers don’t start out doing more than showing skin, but after a while… Well, customers are a quick way to score.”
“Is that how Eddie hooked you?” Damn it. Sara straightened in her seat. She hadn’t meant to ask that. Not now. “Cath, I’m…”
Not letting Sara apologize, Catherine said softly, “No. No I was clean when I met Eddie. Just dancing.”
Slowly relaxing, Sara turned slightly so she could watch Catherine. A Catherine who appeared strained. And sad. Her fingers were tight around the steering wheel and she no longer looked anywhere except the road ahead.
“He was handsome, and charming, and he didn’t treat me differently despite what I did for money.” Catherine’s lips twisted. “Hell, Eddie was a big deal back then. He had connections – good ones – in the music industry. I felt like Mom with Sam. Special. Loved. And I didn’t have to worry about the real wife and kids ever finding out.”
When Catherine lapsed into silence, Sara didn’t push for more. She’d heard enough. The Eddie Willows she’d seen in the lab hadn’t looked like a big deal. In fact, he’d looked like a user – of people and drugs. It was hard, though, to visualize Catherine young enough to need anyone like Eddie. Not now. Her Catherine…This Catherine was too confident and comfortable with herself to rely on anyone.
“Unfortunately, Eddie made a few really bad choices. Contracts never materialized or the bands flopped.” The blinking turn signal was shockingly loud for a second. “And the money and the future dried up.” Catherine shrugged. “It’s a typical story from here, I’m afraid, Sara. Man meets girl, man showers her with money and favors, man marries girl. Then the money goes away.”
Yeah, it was typical. As a CSI, Sara had seen the fallout of this scenario many times at crime scenes. “Man finds a medicinal way to soothe his masculine pride,” she said, continuing Catherine’s story.
“Man hooks wife so she won’t wake up and leave him.” Catherine pulled the Tahoe into the lot of The Original Pancake House and parked in what appeared to be the only empty spot.
“But you did wake up, Cath,” Sara was quick to remind Catherine. “You did leave him.” They had gotten far, far away from the teasing and laughter. Too far. To remedy that, Sara added, “When I saw the two of you in the hallway at the lab, I was sure Eddie was taking a trip through the glass window of the break room. If he hadn’t been so high, he would have screamed like a girl and run. You’re scary when you’re mad.”
The ploy to rediscover humor worked only slightly. Catherine smiled for a second as she opened her door. “Oh, I wouldn’t have tossed him through the window. Too much cleanup. If you hadn’t shown up, I’m sure Gil would have wandered in to help.”
Grissom? No way. Sara didn’t laugh, though, because (despite that tiny smile) Catherine hadn’t sounded as if she was joking. “Warrick and Nick would have given you a hand, I’m sure.” Probably with more violence than the glass window would account for. Hopping out of the SUV, Sara wanted to derail the conversation. She had what she needed to understand, at least a little, Catherine’s past. Unfortunately, there was one more question she had to ask. And Sara knew, with that query, she risked turning breakfast into a repeat of yesterday’s booze fest. If you could buy anything stronger than orange juice at a pancake house.
***
When Sara fell silent, Catherine was relieved. She owed Sara a lot more of her life story. But not today. Or even this week. Meeting Sam hadn’t been part of the plan, and she was still trying to find her footing. In fact, she mentally acknowledged as she trudged toward the restaurant, Sara might be the only one enjoying their breakfast. A sour taste burned the back of Catherine’s throat, and if there had been more than coffee in her stomach, it might already have made a reappearance.
“What’s next?” Sara interrupted Catherine’s brief spate of brooding.
Hadn’t she had enough? Catherine raised an eyebrow and gave Sara a disbelieving look. “You have a thing for family reunions? I could call Lily if you do.” Not that she would. Not with the recent confrontation with Sam. “Or did you want me to schedule a sleepover with a bunch of Linds’ friends?”
It was a cheap shot, and Catherine felt the roiling in her stomach increase immediately.
Sara, however, surprised Catherine again. She didn’t turn and stalk away. Instead, she met Catherine’s eyes. “How about next week? I’m still living out of a suitcase, and I’m sure I’d need some of my favorite pajamas to fit in.” One hand reached past Catherine and gripped the door handle. “For now, can we concentrate on how you want to handle Gris and the Sam Situation?”
Catherine heard the capital letters in the final two words. “I told him no, Sar. You were there. What else is there to say or do?” Didn’t Sara understand? There was no way Catherine was going to help him. If he kept pushing the issue, she’d simply go to the DA. Adding a tampering with evidence charge to the current mix wouldn’t really tack on much prison time to what Sam could pull for killing a cop.
But it would make Catherine smile.
There was no response from Sara as they waited for the hostess to seat them and explain the special of the day. After she hurried off, though, Sara put down her menu and leaned across the table. “He’s Sam Braun, Cath. You don’t have to be a Vegas insider to know he made his reputation on more than solid business decisions. He won’t give up, and I doubt his next ‘plea’ will be as friendly.” Taking Catherine’s hand, Sara continued intently. “We have to have a plan for when the gloves come off.”
“You’re serious.” Catherine stared at the hand gently entwined with hers. “You really think Sam’s going to push the issue? He won’t,” she reassured Sara. “He can’t. We’ve got him by the short hairs if he tries anything.”
Sara’s fingers tightened. “Look, Cath, family’s a funny thing. And I don’t mean that in the ‘mine was screwed up so yours has to be, too,’ way. I think, in your head, Sam is the guy your mom loved. The guy who treated you like a daughter.”
Catherine automatically protested. “Sam Braun is…”
“Sam Braun is a player, Cath,” Sara interrupted. She leaned farther across the table and peered into Catherine’s eyes. “You may hate him for what he did to you and Lily. But there is still a part of you that thinks of him as a father figure. It’s understandable.”
Reacting to the soft reassurance, Catherine relaxed slightly. Her feelings were understandable. Anyone could see how badly Sam had treated them. She completely ignored Sara’s comment about Sam being like a father. Sara was way off base with that thought.
Voice still quiet, Sara continued intently. “Cath, you haven’t spent time with him for years. He isn’t an up and coming casino owner any more. He’s Sam Braun, one of the most powerful men in Vegas, and he’s facing a possible murder charge. That breakfast invitation wasn’t a friendly gesture. It was all planned. You said it yourself. Think, Cath. The whole setup was supposed to impress and intimidate. You and me up in his private room with Vegas spread out below. Can you truthfully say that someone like Sam will give up after your first refusal?”
Sara had to be wrong. Catherine tugged her hand free, letting it drop into her lap. She could see Sam as he’d been in her childhood. Wide smiles and armfuls of gifts. He’d been generous with his time and money.
Then the picture altered. Sam’s generosity had ended abruptly when Lily had refused to move closer to the casino. Closer to Sam. The visits had slowed. The gifts had disappeared.
Lost in the past, Catherine was only dimly aware of the waitress’ return.
Sam had dangled the return of his full-time affections out for Lily like a carrot. Do what he wanted and he’d grant her every wish. Refuse him and he’d allow her to languish, alone, in the tiny house he’d bought for her.
“Damn it. I hate when you’re right,” Catherine muttered. She picked up her fork and brutally stabbed her scrambled eggs.
“No,” Sara corrected with a smirk. “You hate it when you’re wrong. It’s a thing with you.” Pausing to take a drink of orange juice, she watched Catherine so closely that Catherine fought an urge to shift in discomfort. Was there something else bothering Sara? “But whatever’s behind the thought, I’m glad you aren’t blowing me off.”
Taking a moment to taste breakfast, Catherine met Sara’s intent eyes. “No, I’m not blowing you off. I may not believe Sam will come after me with guns blazing; that doesn’t mean I’m going to bury my head in the sand. You’ve got a point.” Her right eyebrow shot up at Sara’s triumphant smile. “Oh, put that away,” she grumbled. “Makes me want to reach across the table and smack you.”
“Go ahead. I dare you.” Sticking her tongue out, Sara lounged back in the booth. “I’ll be happy to file an assault report and escort you to anger management classes. Grissom would give me an award.”
“I’m not that bad.” When Sara laughed, Catherine dropped her head into her hands dramatically. “OK, maybe I am. Sometimes,” she clarified. Admitting she had a problem was one thing. Calling herself a bitch was another. Catherine had to draw the line somewhere. “I don’t want to waste too much time thinking about Sam, though, Sar. He’s not taking over my life the way he did my mother’s. We know he’s out there; we’re waiting for him. That should be enough.”
Sara didn’t look convinced; still, she let the matter drop. “Good enough.” She fell silent and focused on her breakfast.
Enjoying the companionable quiet, Catherine ate slowly. The food was good, and the coffee was hot. With each sip, the lingering tension from their meeting with Sam drained away. “Thanks,” she finally said. At Sara’s questioning expression, Catherine elaborated. “For looking out for me. It’s been a long time since someone did that.”
***
Scowling, Sara glared at the pile of clothing in front of her. Whoever had killed the victim had made absolutely sure there was no chance for survival. The thin silk blouse was covered in blood stains and littered with tears and jagged-edged holes. Jeans that had once been blue had become rusty and stiff with yet more blood.
“You find anything?” Warrick’s voice pulled Sara’s attention away from the evidence.
“No.” She stood and stretched, meeting his heavy-lidded eyes. “The blouse is too damaged and there’s no way we’re getting any ID on the weapon from the marks. I’ve got samples down at Trace, though. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the perp cut himself. Lots of blood stains.”
Warrick snorted and walked into the room. “Be sure you don’t do that luck crap with Griss around. The last time I did that, I got an hour-long lecture on science versus luck. Almost made me transfer to days.” His lips twitched. “Right up until I remembered Ecklie ran that shift.”
The infamous Ecklie. Sara hadn’t met him, but she felt as if she had, thanks to the comments from the rest of the team. “I’ll remember that.” Tilting her head at the table, she asked, “What about the rest of the house? I rode back with the body. Any other clues?” She hoped so. If not, they’d need a miracle to find the killer.
“The killer was a pro, Sara. Vacuumed the carpet. Scrubbed up in the bathroom and then bleached,” Warrick answered. He sat down on a stool and rubbed his eyes. “Man, I’m tired. This is the third double this week, and I’m batting zero to top it off.”
There was nothing Sara could say to that. She had ten open cases in her in-box, and more than a dozen cold cases Grissom had asked her to review. “I stopped counting the close rates a long time ago,” she shared. “It got so bad in Frisco, I almost quit. Too many bodies and not nearly enough justice.” Idly poking the blouse with a gloved hand, Sara continued. “All the technology we have now… It’s not enough anymore. As fast as we improve our techniques, the perps find ways around them.”
Like this perp.
Sara picked up the bloody shirt and dropped it into the paper evidence bag. “Let’s go at this from a different angle.” They had to. There was nothing useful here. “Help me put this away, and we can check in with Archie. He had the victim’s computer on the table when I hit the break room earlier.”
The walk down the hallway was quiet. Technicians moved between offices and labs in bursts of frenetic energy; however, no one else cluttered the hall. “Where’s the rest of the team?” Sara glanced up at Warrick. It wasn’t usual not to see Catherine or Nick striding along with bags of evidence or case files. “Did Gris give them the night off and not tell us?”
Warrick chuckled. “A night off?” Meeting Sara’s eyes, he smiled. “How many doubles you got this week?”
Raising both hands in acknowledgement, Sara mumbled, “This week? I haven’t had a day off in almost a month. I threatened to put a cot in the break room after the fourth double. By the time Cath and I get home and read a story to Linds, we might get three hours before shift starts up again.” Her smile turned wry. “Or the pager goes off. You think I’d learn and not hope for a full shift off.” She really should have listened to Catherine and taken the batteries out of her pager when they got home.
“Whoo! Listen to you, all Mama Sara. Will you read me a bedtime story one night?” Warrick wiggled his eyebrows comically.
That earned him a smack to the stomach; although, Sara laughed…and then marveled at how little his teasing bothered her. Maybe it was all the time with Lindsey. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Whatever the cause, Sara realized that being with Catherine’s daughter hadn’t caused a panic attack (not a full-blown one) in weeks.
When had that happened? Now that the thought was out there, Sara needed to pinpoint the changes…and the explanation behind them. Frowning, she poked at her memory. The story thing was new. Catherine had kept her word and not thrown Sara and Lindsey together. What had they done before that?
Movies. That was easy to remember. Movies and popcorn. Sara’s frown lessened, tilting toward a smile. She could probably sing every song from every Disney movie by now.
“Sar? You still with me?” Warrick’s question snapped Sara out of her thoughts.
Damn. They were in Archie’s lab, the tech watching them curiously, and Sara had no memory of most of the walk. Scrambling to pull her attention back on the case, she answered more brusquely than necessary. “Right here. Where else would I be?” When Warrick’s eyes widened at her tone, Sara sighed. “Sorry. I was…” She was what? Nothing she intended to talk about. Not bothering to finish her excuse, Sara turned to Archie. “’Rick and I are hoping you found something.”
***
The phone at Catherine’s elbow rang, and she absently picked it up. “Willows.”
“Ms. Willows? This is Judy at the front desk. I’ve got a delivery for you.” Background noise filled the line for a minute. “Do you want me to have someone bring it back?”
“No, thanks.” A break sounded good. Catherine stood up and stretched. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Or two. Fresh coffee and a walk just might get her head clear enough to put the evidence together. Hanging up, she grabbed her coffee mug, grimacing at the cold sludge at the bottom. Fresh coffee was a must. No way could she revive that, not even using the microwave.
Striding down the hallway, Catherine peered through the windows into the various labs. A few technicians waved or smiled, and Catherine returned the gestures. She’d been right. Getting out of the office helped. Her eyes still burned but things were back in focus. The headache that had dogged her for the past few hours faded. By the time Catherine reached the reception desk, she was ready to face the piles of evidence again. “What do you have for me?” she asked.
“These.” Judy’s expression was envious as she lifted up a massive bouquet of white and yellow roses from behind the desk. “You must have made a really good impression.”
“Mmm,” Catherine replied vaguely. She’d spent so much time at the lab lately there was no one she could have impressed. Cradling the flowers in her arms, she searched for the card amidst the tissue paper surrounding the stems. Ah. There it was. She plucked the card from the holder.
Muggs, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I thought we were family, that’s all. I didn’t mean to impose. Please say you’ll forgive me? Let’s do lunch and talk.
The scent of the roses suddenly choked Catherine. “I think these were delivered by mistake, Judy.” Stuffing the tiny card into her pocket, she offered the bouquet to the other woman. “Why don’t you find a vase and put them out here on your desk? I’ll call the florist in the morning and let them know.” Right now, she had other plans. Waiting only long enough to make sure Judy had the flowers in hand, Catherine spun on her heel and stalked away from the desk. She needed to talk to Grissom. Now.
Her heels pounded out a staccato rhythm. Damn Sam. Sara had been right. He wasn’t going to let this go. The flowers were such a familiar sight from his years with her mother. The first step in his efforts to manipulate her. Well, Catherine wasn’t going to be manipulated. Sam would learn she was far stronger than Lily. That strength was apparent as Catherine shoved the door to Grissom’s office open, sending it banging into the stopper on the wall behind it. “I need to talk to you!”
The faint strains of Billy the Big Mouthed Bass singing from his spot over the door were the only sounds in the office. Grissom stared at her with wide eyes and clutched the files in his hands tightly to his chest. “Ah, sure, Cath. Is there a problem?” Slowly placing the folders on his desk, Grissom leaned back in his chair as if to put as much room as possible between them.
“A big problem.” Catherine made sure to close the door before dropping into a seat in front of the desk. How the hell was she going to explain this? Springing back to her feet, Catherine paced. “Sara and I were at the Rampart a few weeks ago, and we ran into an old friend of the family.” An old friend… The words were such a pale description of the larger than life role Sam had once played in Catherine’s life. Her anger wavered. What if she and Sara had been wrong? What if this wasn’t a ploy to get her help with Sam’s case? It had been a while since their breakfast together. What if Sam really was sorry?
“Catherine?” Grissom’s chair squeaked as he stood up. “What happened?”
It was decision time. Claim she’d made a mistake and leave. Or…Catherine pivoted and faced Grissom. “The friend I mentioned is Sam Braun.” Watching Grissom’s eyebrows raise would have been funny if Catherine hadn’t been working so hard to convince herself she was doing the right thing. “He asked…” She could see her mother so clearly in Grissom’s office. See Lily shake her head, warning her to stop. Unfortunately for the phantom Lily, Catherine forged on. “He asked me to take a look at the evidence in the bank case.”
“Take a look?” Grissom immediately parroted. All of the absent-minded professor expression disappeared as he sat forward in his chair. “Take a look how?”
Catherine grimaced. “What do you think, Gil?” Squeezing her eyes shut against the sudden return of her headache, she mumbled, “He asked very politely that I keep him informed of any new developments or evidence.” The darkness behind her eyelids was comforting; it helped block out the reality of her situation. Unfortunately, Catherine knew hiding wouldn’t make things better. She reopened her eyes and peered tiredly at Grissom. “He didn’t come out and ask me to touch anything. In fact, he was very clear on that. He wanted me to pass on information that he would get – eventually – from his lawyer, anyway.”
This time, Grissom’s response was longer in arriving. He reached up and removed his glasses, gently setting them on his desk. “Well…”
Yeah, well. It wasn’t what Catherine wanted or needed. “I told him no, Gil,” she announced sharply. “Just to get that out there.” When Grissom avoided her gaze, Catherine took one step closer to the desk, bent at the waist, and planted both palms on top of the cluttered file folders. “I told him no and Sara and I walked out.”
“OK.” Grissom rolled his chair a few inches back from the desk. And from Catherine. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you go straight to the DA or the Sheriff? Why wait and then come here? This is a lab, Catherine. We handle the physical evidence.”
Damn. He had a good point. Why hadn’t she reported Sam’s request to the DA?
Phantom Lily reappeared, her sad face a reminder of Catherine’s past.
“I didn’t… I mean…” Faltering, Catherine slowly straightened. God, she had to get a grip. “I’m sorry, Gil. I didn’t really think Sam was serious.” Even after the conversation with Sara. “As far as I was concerned, it was over.”
“What changed your mind?” Tilting his head, Grissom regarded Catherine intently. “Did Sam threaten you, Cath?”
Catherine shook her head and chuckled bitterly. “Worse,” she said. “He sent me flowers.” She’d lost Grissom completely. His mouth opened and closed silently a few times before Catherine took pity on him and continued. “It’s what he did…does when he wants to woo you.”
“Woo?” Now Grissom appeared truly alarmed. “Catherine, have you been seeing Sam Braun? He’s been under investigation, by this lab, over a dozen times in the last few years. Do you know…?”
“For God’s sake, Gil, shut up and let me finish!” Catherine spun away from the desk, crossing her arms to keep from swinging them in frustration. “For a man who brags about his love of all things scientific and logical, you are the worst at jumping to conclusions.”
A stilted silence, broken only by the faint creak of Grissom’s desk chair, filled the room.
Catherine waited another few seconds, testing Grissom’s resolve and her own self control, before facing him again. “I didn’t date Sam. My mother did, a long time ago. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in years. Out of the blue, he finds me and Sara on a breakfast break and invites us up to his private room at the top of the Rampart.”
She had Grissom’s full attention. Wheeling closer to the desk, he picked up a pen and dug a legal pad from under the case files. “Tell me exactly what he said to you, Cath.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Gil.” Too tense to sit, Catherine resumed pacing; although, at a much slower speed. “Sam’s too smart to say anything incriminating. He was careful; I told you that. He simply said he was under investigation in the bank heist case.” She paused long enough to smile grimly at Grissom. “Of course, he’s innocent. A victim of a vengeful DA who’s out to make a name for himself.”
“Yes, of course,” Grissom agreed wryly. “Aren’t they all?”
Despite her earlier rage at Sam and his attempts at manipulation, Catherine bit back another impatient comment at Grissom’s flippant remark – and then had to take a second to wonder why. Why did she still think Sam might be innocent? God, Sara had been right. Family really screwed things up. “I guess so,” she finally uttered. “At this point, I don’t think guilt is even relevant. I don’t know the details in the case.” Her hand shot up when Grissom started to talk again. “And I don’t want to, Gil. If Sam keeps pushing, or he suddenly stops by the house for coffee, I don’t want there to be even the smallest chance I’ll give something away.”
Grissom nodded. “Good idea.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Was breakfast the only time Sam approached you, Cath? You came in here on a mission; what else do we need to worry about?”
“Flowers.” Catherine felt her cheeks heat at Grissom’s disbelieving look. It sounded so pathetic when she said it out loud. She’d torn into the office because of a dozen roses. “Look, it’s a thing with Sam,” she continued in an attempt to make her fears sound logical. “When Sam doesn’t get what he wants from you, he kicks off his campaign with flowers. I saw enough roses, carnations, and lilies when I was a kid to fill the first two floors of the Rampart.”
Eyebrow cocked (but slowly lowering), Grissom pressed for more. “And if the flowers didn’t convince you to change your mind?”
“That’s when things got ugly.” There. Catherine felt immensely better with that one sentence. This was the crux of her fears. “Once the wooing stage fails, Sam moves on to bigger and better things. He has a gift for ferreting out your weakest points. Things that bother you that even you didn’t realize.” A sudden, painful picture of Lily’s face as she’d watched a press conference where Sam had been proclaiming his love and devotion for his wife and sons invaded Catherine’s consciousness. “We both know I’ve got a lot of places for Sam to find ammunition.”
“And you’ve got a lot of friends, Cath.” Grissom held Catherine’s eyes steadily. “This isn’t much to go on; I still want you to file a report with the DA and the Sheriff, and I’ll brief Ecklie on Sam’s interest in the evidence.”
Unexpected tears threatened. Catherine knew how little Grissom paid attention to office protocol. Even more, she was very familiar with his difficulties with Ecklie. “Thanks, Gil. I…” Her intended vow to file her reports before the end of her shift was cut off as her cell phone buzzed. Breaking off, she pulled the phone from her belt. “Willows.”
“Hey, Cath. Looks like we caught a break,” Nick announced on the other end of the line. “The perp left a couple of smudged prints on the door frame. I’m riding with Vega to pick up the suspect, Donald Morris. You want in?”
“I’ll meet you in interrogation.” Catherine’s earlier exhaustion disappeared at the news. “I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up here; let me see if I’ve got more we can use to connect Morris to the scene.” The phone closed with a sharp click.
Grissom had moved during her brief conversation. He stood at the corner of his desk, glasses once again perched on the bridge of his nose. “Nick?”
“ID’d a suspect.” Catherine took a step away and then paused. “Thanks for the support, Gil,” she said softly. “I appreciate it. After I charged in here, I realized maybe I had overreacted. It’s good to know that I didn’t – for once.” She smiled wryly. “Don’t tell Sara I said that, will you? She’d never let me live it down.”
“You’re secret’s safe, Cath.” Grissom pointed a finger at her. “Just don’t forget to file your report on Sam Braun. Go finish with the evidence and meet Nick. But I want the documentation on Braun first thing in the morning.”
It was the first time Catherine ever remembered Grissom actually sounding like a supervisor. If he hadn’t looked so somber and serious, she might have laughed. Instead, she bowed before his authority. “You got it, Boss. Even if I have to work another double, I’ll get it typed up.”
“Sara, too. If she was there…”
Cutting Grissom off before he got too wound up, Catherine finished for him. “You’ll need corroboration. I am a professional, remember?” With a wave and a wink, she headed for the door.
***
Light peeked through the battered blinds in the locker room as Sara hung up her blue lab coat. “I’m sleeping for a week.”
“Right,” Warrick agreed. “You’ll be back here by dinner time, hunting for whatever it is you think we missed.” He slammed his own locker closed and dropped onto the long bench seat near Sara. “We all work crazy hours. You? I can’t figure out why you live with Cath and not here. Put a cot in that lab you normally use; it’d save on gas.”
“Catherine wouldn’t let me.” Deciding she was too tired to change out of her work clothes, Sara leaned one shoulder against the metal and regarded Warrick with a grin. “Come on, ‘Rick. You’ve worked with her for years. Can you see her letting me bunk here, living out of the vending machines?”
He laughed. “Nah. That mom thing would kick in.”
“More like kick me. June Cleaver, she’s not.” They shared a grin. “Come on.” Sara pushed away from the locker and closed it. “I’ll treat you to one last cup of Greg’s finest. There are officially five minutes left on the clock; if we hide out in the break room, maybe Grissom won’t find us.”
“That’s the first place he’ll look.” Warrick glanced at his watch. “Besides, Brown Time says shift is already over. You and your five minutes are full of it. I’m outta here. Me and Nick are hitting the diner for breakfast. You and Cath want to join us?”
“Uh…” Sara hesitated. She hadn’t heard anything from Catherine all night. “I don’t know. Probably not, though.” They’d been working so many hours; Catherine usually wanted to get home to Lindsay whenever they could. “Rain check?”
Leering playfully, Warrick leaned in. “You got a better offer, don’t you? Me and Nicky ain’t good enough anymore. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“You know, I think I do have a better plan for the morning – only…she’s a lucky girl,” Sara answered. Lindsay seemed to enjoy it when Sara, and not Catherine, read the stories. Anything involving Olivia added to the fun.
“You dog! Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Warrick stood up and poked Sara’s arm. “Next time I’m down at one of the clubs, I’ll call you to come share the show. Nick won’t go, and Greg? The kid’s an animal.”
Damn. Sara stared at Warrick, frozen in place. She hadn’t meant her comment that way. Then she mentally shrugged. What was the problem? Catherine and Dave already knew the truth. It was time to stop hiding. “Here’s a clue about lesbians, ‘Rick. Putting us in a room with a hundred drunk, leering, and cheering men isn’t the best use of your time – no matter how hot the women. I’d rather crawl through broken glass than spend an hour in a club on the Strip.”
Warrick pouted. “Come on. Just once?” She swore his eyelashes fluttered when he peered up at her. “I’ll pick the swankiest place in Vegas. No watered down beer or unwashed tourists, I promise.”
“Nope.” Sara didn’t even bother to hide her amusement at Warrick’s reaction. “I’m a one woman woman. And I’d better get going before she thinks I’m stepping out on her.”
To be continued…