Sources
Chapter 2
When Grissom's team arrived at the hotel room, Brass was waiting for them.
"Hotel guests next door heard two shots fired at approximately 10 p.m. Bellagio security came in, found the bodies. We got the vics' names from their work ID's on the dresser. Male vic is Thomas Brody, age 51, pediatrician down on South Bruce. Female vic is Rebecca Palmer, age 36." Brass raised an eyebrow at Grissom. "His nurse."
Grissom tapped his chin with his finger. "Affair gone sour?"
Catherine surveyed the room, while Sara photographed the bodies and Warrick started dusting for prints.
"Crime of passion," Catherine mused.
She looked at Rebecca Palmer, who was lying on the bed with a gun in her hand and a bullet in her neck. A bloody trail led from the foot of the bed to the bathroom floor, where the body of Thomas Brody lay with a gunshot wound to the chest. "She shot him, then shot herself. Maybe he was ending it, going back to his wife." She shook her head. "What is it about married men?"
"Husbands are chiefly good as lovers when they are betraying their wives," quoted Grissom. Warrick looked up from the doorknob he was dusting.
"Source?"
Grissom smirked. "Marilyn Monroe."
"He wasn't married."
They turned to look at Sara, who was crouched on the bathroom floor. She reached out a gloved hand and carefully lifted Brody's left arm to show them. "No ring. Well-tanned arms, but no hint of a ring tan line."
She grasped his watch, unbuckling it and placing it into an evidence bag. Grissom caught on. "But he has a watch tan line."
Sara nodded. "Same thing with the other DB."
Warrick looked thoughtful. "Couple gets a $400 room at the Bellagio, even though they're both locals. They must have been hiding their relationship from somebody. Significant others, maybe?"
Catherine held up several photographs of the late couple. "These were in both of their wallets. No other photos."
Retrieving a hair from the dresser top, Grissom paused. "Warrick has a point about the hotel room. Who spends that kind of money to stay five minutes from home?"
Sara came out of the bathroom. "Maybe it was a special occasion that they were celebrating. A birthday, or an anniversary. There are plenty of logical reasons."
"The heart has reasons that reason cannot know," Grissom quoted. "Source: Pascal."
Catherine could tell by Sara's tight expression that she was not in the mood for Grissom's quotations. The two CSIs' relationship had been strained for months, and this night's combination of Sara's irritation and Grissom's urge to wax poetic on love were leading down a dangerous road. Catherine tried to catch Grissom's eye to warn him. When she failed, she tried bringing the conversation back to the evidence.
"The body placement and blood spatter are indicative of a self-inflicted gunshot wound," she said, looking at the body of Rebecca Palmer. "Bullet pierced the neck, not the head. Common with female suicides by firearm, they're thinking about open caskets."
Warrick joined her, taking out a magnifying glass to peer at the entrance wound. "But as a nurse, she'd know that a bullet to the brain brings almost instant death." He frowned. "Bullet to the neck often means a painful death. Suggests she was already in pain and didn't think the physical kind would hurt as much."
"Pleasure of love lasts but a moment, pain of love lasts a lifetime," said Grissom. When no one responded, he supplied, "Source: Jean Pierre Claris de Florian."
Sara stood by the door, watching him in annoyance. "Okay," she said, "How about Tennyson? 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.'"
Catherine silently willed Grissom to realize he should back down, but it was no use. He turned toward Sara with a half-smile.
"He who loves 50 people has 50 woes; he who loves no one has no woes. Source: Buddha." He leaned against the wall, waiting for her response.
Sara stood, stricken, and Grissom's smile faded as he noted the glint of tears in her eyes. Her voice shook slightly as she quoted, "Of all the pains, the greatest pain is to love, but love in vain."
Grissom swallowed, and there were several seconds of silence.
Brass knocked on the door and entered, pausing when he noticed the palpable tension in the room. "Er, Sara?" She turned toward him wordlessly. "Sorry to interrupt. I've got an odd question for you . do you have any siblings?"
Frowning, Sara replied, "Yeah, an older brother, why?"
Brass shook his head. "It's the strangest thing. Patrolman found a beaten woman in an alleyway. Blonde, blue eyes, maybe five feet tall. Doesn't look a thing like you, has a different last name, but keeps asking for her sister, Sara Sidle."
Sara felt the blood drain from her face. "Mandy?"
Brass looked startled and checked his notepad. "Amanda Warren, age 28."
Time seemed to stand still as Sara stared at Brass. "What was she. why was. where." she stammered. Her brain worked frantically, trying to solve the puzzle while her mouth tried to keep up. Finally she managed, "Where is she?"