Wherefore

Chapter 5

The muffled sound of weeping wakes me before sunset.

I've only known Juliette a couple of days. We're not quite at the "Hey, sorry your mom's dead and the long-lost love of your life is investigating her murder" point in our relationship, so I don't knock on the guest room door. Instead, I leave a note on the counter with names of some good restaurants in the area, and head to work. Maybe I can make some progress before Grissom gets to the lab.

But he's already in his office when I arrive. In fact, judging by the scruffy beard and bloodshot eyes, he went straight here after dropping me at home this morning. He doesn't even notice me when I walk in... though, to be fair, there's a huge stack of binders partially blocking his view.

"You look well-rested," I say wryly as he looks up.

"Hey," he mumbles, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face wearily. "You're early."

"You're late. What's with the binders?"

"Public records on Robert Davis," he sighs as I take a seat. "This can't be right."

"What?"

"I called several of Josephine's friends, and they all said she and Robert got along well. I've read every page of these binders, and there's nothing here. According to these, he's the American dream. Raised by his widowed father, who worked two janitorial jobs to put his only child through school... top of his class at Yale and Wharton... rose through the ranks at O'Dell to become Vice President by the time he was thirty-eight... and now he's a multi-millionaire."

"So?"

"So it can't be right. There's got to be a motive somewhere."

It takes real effort not to roll my eyes, but somehow I manage. "You pulled a triple trying to pin the murder on Robert?"

"He's the only one who makes sense," he frowns, shaking his head in frustration.

"Uh, except there's no motive."

He cocks his head. "Yet."

"Or evidence that he was in that hotel room."

"Yet."

"Grissom, maybe we should let the evidence lead the investigation, rather than fixating on-"

"I'm not fixating," he insists. "It's logical."

"It's logical that a man with no motive would kill his mother-in-law?"

"Well not when you put it like that..."

I can't help smiling. He looks pitiful. "Did she have any enemies?"

"No." He picks up his coffee mug and takes a sip, wincing at the taste. God only knows how old that sludge is. "Everyone liked Josephine. She was on the board of several charities, even served as a crisis counselor. She was a good woman."

"Maybe someone she counseled developed a grudge?"

He gives a dismissive shrug. The lines around his eyes look deeper today. It's supremely unfair that some men get more attractive with every wrinkle. "How'd you sleep?" he asks, studying my face.

"Okay."

"The baby didn't keep you up?"

For just a moment, I can't help imagining a different situation, in which he'd be asking me the same question. But I stop the daydream before picturing what color our child's eyes would be, because I'm treading on dangerous ground.

"No, he's an angel."

"How's Juliette holding up?"

I start to say she's fine, but he'll see right through me. "I think she's lonely."

"Mm," he grunts.

"Do you need to talk to her?" I ask tentatively.

"No."

"It might help."

"Help what?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "It's not like I've been pining over her the past ten years."

"Haven't you?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Because you seem like you've been pining."

"Not over her."

He's always doing this. Dropping an offhanded reference to the ever-present attraction between us, and then plowing ahead like it never happened.

Only now he's looking right at me, not shuffling papers or talking about evidence. In fact, the only evidence on display right now is the naked expression in his eyes. "Sara..."

My pager goes off before he can continue. Flashing an apologetic smile, I glance down. "Archie's got the surveillance tapes from the Tangiers."

"You should go," he says, looking away. "I'll be here."

I want to touch his hand or say something meaningful, but this isn't the time. Despite what my coworkers might think, I can be a patient person.

"Talk to me," I say to Archie, walking into the A/V lab.

"I've got tapes from the casino, elevators, and stairwells," he says, queuing up several decks. "The hotel floors themselves don't have surveillance, but anyone going to or from that room will be on these tapes somewhere."

"David placed the murder somewhere around 9:30," I tell him. "Start the tapes at 8:30, to be safe."

The images speed by. Gamblers and alcoholics and tourists, all coming and going at a breakneck speed. I jot down the time at which Juliette and Ian enter an elevator - just after nine.

"That one of your suspects?" Archie asks.

Not in my mind, but I reluctantly nod. "Yeah."

"She reminds me of someone." Join the club, pal.

At 9:20, a nervous-looking man enters the elevator, mopping his brow with a tissue as he presses the button for the eleventh floor. I'd recognize the sweaty bald head of Frank Collingswood anywhere.

"Is that The Wizard?" Archie asks, cocking his head.

"None other." We watch as Collingswood gets off at our vic's floor. Seven minutes later, he gets back in the elevator, takes it to the ground floor, and leaves. The tape runs until after ten, when Juliette and a sleeping Ian ride back up to their floor.

"Nobody else got off at the eleventh floor during that time span," Archie notes. "Let's take a look at the stairwells." He pops in a couple more tapes, and the fast-forward begins.

"Whoa, stop," I say suddenly. "Who is that?"

There's a shadowy figure making its way up the staircase at 9:25. Judging by the build, I'd say it's a man. But he's wearing a long overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat, and the way he's walking makes it impossible for the camera to catch his face. Somehow, I don't think that's a coincidence.

Archie replays the man's ascent to the eleventh floor several times, but we can't get anything more.

"Let's see when he leaves."

Ten minutes later, the same figure appears in the stairwell, then hurries down the steps and through the exit door. Again, there's no good shot of his face. I shake my head with frustration. "I wish we had another angle. When he gets off at our vic's floor, he picks his head up. He must have known there aren't cameras out there."

"Huh," Archie says slowly, squinting in thought. "It took him a couple minutes to climb eleven flights of stairs. I wonder..."

He pops out the stairwell tapes and starts rolling the elevator footage again. At 9:27, Collingswood enters the elevator. Archie punches a few buttons, and the tape slows to three frames per second. Just as the elevator doors are about to close, a figure walking down the hallway comes into view, just for a split second.

"Can you enhance?" I ask, my fingers drumming against the counter with excitement.

He nods and turns a few knobs, zooming in to focus on the stranger's face. "The quality's not great, but let me try this..." He punches a few more buttons, and we've got a fairly clear image. "How's that?"

"It's great," I sigh. "Thanks, Archie."

Grissom is insufferable when he's right.

I reach his doorway at the same time as Mia, whose long fingers are clutching a file. "I've got good news for you on the Tangiers murder," she tells us.

Grissom leans forward. "What is it?"

"Greg pulled several short hairs out of the victim's chain necklace. When I ran DNA on the skin tags, one wasn't a match to our vic. So I figured it could be the guy you're looking for."

"Or girl," Grissom says, glancing at me grudgingly.

"Nope," she says. "Guy. The DNA belongs to a male."

"Did you compare it to the samples we gave you?" I ask.

Mia nods. "Frank Collingswood is not a match. Obviously, neither is Juliette Davis."

"So we're back at square one," Grissom sighs.

"Not quite," she says. "Sara, you and Greg gave me samples of the grandson's DNA."

"That was just so that if any bodily fluids were found at the scene, we could rule them out," Grissom tells her. "I mean, Ian's just a baby. If that hair is his..."

"It's not," she interjects. "However, I can tell you that whoever our mystery killer is, his DNA hit all thirteen loci. Common alleles means..."

"Blood relative," I finish for her.

"More specifically, a blood relative on the father's side, since I ruled out a blood relation to the mother."

"Thanks, Mia," Grissom says as she nods and walks out.

"Look, Grissom-"

"I know," he interrupts. "I can't jump to conclusions. Robert could have a twin..."

"He's an only child," I remind him.

"But still. I need to follow the evidence. You were right."

"So were you," I say with a lopsided grin. "Archie got a shot of Robert Davis on the vic's floor, around the time of the murder."

"A clear shot?"

"Clear enough."

He nods as he mulls it all over. "Well, let's... let's not get ahead of the evidence. I checked the flight manifests and his credit card records, and there was nothing to indicate a trip to Vegas."

"Could have driven here," I note.

"True. I'll call Judge Atten, see if I can get a warrant for Robert's car." Grissom picks up his phone and starts to dial.

"Okay." I can tell we're getting close, because adrenaline is starting to course through my veins. "What should I do?"

He pauses, putting a hand over the mouthpiece. "Motive, Sara. I need you to find motive."