Wherefore

Chapter 6

Babies have always made me uncomfortable.

It's not that I couldn't hold them, or take care of them. I could. It's just that they're the opposite of what I was prepared to deal with. I learned at an early age that people lie. They lie, and they're all out for themselves. At the end of the day, everyone just wants to be left alone.

Everyone except babies.

Babies need people. They crave human contact. And when you look in a baby's eyes, there's no guile, no ulterior motive. I'd become too used to deception, I guess, because whenever I met a baby's gaze, it made me cringe.

Juliette's in the shower, and Ian's in my arms, staring at me pensively. He's studying my face, his little hand clutching my finger tightly. I crack a tentative smile and his mouth twitches. He's experimenting, trying to manipulate his lips with his brain, and eventually a grin spreads across his face. Is he smiling because he likes me, or because I look like Juliette?

They've been at my house for over a week now. I've held him countless times, developing that rocking sway that all mothers have mastered. I've fed him and changed him, and somehow in the process he's managed to change me right back. All of a sudden, I love to look in babies' eyes. There's something pure there, something that settles me.

Ian hums softly as his eyelids begin to droop. Before I know it, he's snuggled into the nook of my neck, his tiny breaths coming slower and slower as he falls asleep. I can't help inhaling the sweet scent of talcum powder and milk and cotton.

"It's weird, isn't it." Juliette's standing in the hallway, toweling off her hair.

"What's weird?"

"Holding life in your hands, instead of death."

I shrug self-consciously, and she smiles.

"Don't get too used to it."

"Because you're leaving soon?"

"No," she says, a little wistfully. "Because if you get too used to dealing with the living, you'll never be able to go back to work."

We arrive at the lab a little after seven. Ian's wide awake, and Sofia's happy to take him off our hands.

"It's slow tonight," she grins, settling the baby on her hip. "Just waiting on some test results."

"Page me if something comes up, and we'll get him."

"Sure thing." She waves Ian's hand at us as Juliette and I head down the hallway.

When I started working in Vegas, all interrogations were held at the police station downtown. Eventually Grissom pointed out that CSI's were spending an average of fifteen hours a month commuting to interviews, and the mayor agreed to install two interrogation rooms in the crime lab. Of course, this means that now we have to listen to Brass complain about his own commute, but it's worth it.

"Right through here."

We step into a tiny room. When I flip a switch, the wall in front of us turns transparent, revealing the inside of Interrogation Room One. Grissom and Brass are sitting on one side of the table, while Robert Davis and another man occupy the seats across from them. From the looks of the guy's expensive suit, Robert has hired decent counsel.

"You're sure you want to see this?" I ask, and Juliette nods quickly.

"I need to know why he did it. I need to understand."

I squeeze her hand briefly. "Make sure you stay in here until I come and get you. We don't want you to run into him in the hall."

She surprises me by pulling me into a fierce hug. "Thank you, Sara. You're..." She lets me go, somewhat sheepishly. "You're a real friend."

The interrogation room is silent when I enter. Grissom and Robert are glaring at each other as I take my seat.

"Before we begin," I say conversationally, "Is there anything you'd like to tell us?"

Robert turns his glare onto me. "Yeah. I'd like to tell you that this is ridiculous. Serving a warrant for my DNA in the middle of an important meeting was bad enough, but then you send two cops to remove me from my office and fly me to Vegas? There was no need to humiliate me at my place of business."

"I'm sorry for any inconvenience. Time is of the essence in these cases."

The lawyer leans over and whispers in Robert's ear, then straightens up and looks at me. "My client is a busy man. Let's get to the point. Why is he here?"

Grissom slides me a file wordlessly. Opening it, I pull out several glossy photos.

"Mr. Davis, do you recognize this necklace?"

He glances at the photos. "Looks like my mother-in-law's."

"That's correct. We found a hair in the chain, most likely an arm hair. The DNA matched yours."

"So?" Robert scoffs. "She was old, and when her arthritis acted up I'd help her fasten her necklace."

"That would involve the clasp. The hair was found in the front of the necklace, where her throat was slit."

The lawyer chuckles. "Please tell me this is why you brought my client out here. Because if it is, I'll enjoy suing you for harassment. You've got nothing."

I just smile blandly. "Mr. Davis, where were you the night Josephine O'Dell was murdered?"

"At home," he shrugs. "Asleep."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You weren't in Las Vegas?"

"No."

It's probably petty of me, but I love catching a suspect in a lie. I pull some papers out of the file. "See, that's interesting to me. Because the morning before Mrs. O'Dell died, your mechanic changed the oil in your BMW. He made a notation in his database that your mileage was at 11,450."

"So?"

"So two days later, you brought the car back to have the transmission checked. The mileage was at 12,070. You drove six hundred miles in two days."

He pauses. "So what? That doesn't mean I was in Vegas."

I open the file again, pulling out Archie's printout of the elevator surveillance photo. "This was taken in the Tangiers, about the time of Mrs. O'Dell's murder." The shot's a little grainy, but there's no doubt. It's him.

"This doesn't prove anything," he insists. "So what if I was in Vegas. I'm not allowed to gamble?"

"Oh, you took a gamble, but not at the slots. You went up the stairs, right to the victim's floor."

"It's circumstantial. You don't have any proof that I killed her."

Grissom leans forward, speaking for the first time. "We placed you at the scene of the crime, and your DNA is on the body."

"I'm not impressed," the lawyer claims. "There's still the matter of motive. I have dozens of witnesses who'll attest to the fact that Mr. Davis and his mother-in-law had a good relationship."

I cock my head in concession. "Our witnesses say the same. But this wasn't about Mrs. O'Dell... was it, Robert?" Without waiting for an answer, I slide over a copy of Josephine's will.

When he sees it, Robert's eyes dart up in alarm.

His lawyer looks confused. "Mrs. O'Dell left her estate to my client's wife."

"That's right," I nod. "And in the event of a divorce, following the terms of his prenuptial agreement, Mr. Davis would receive half of their combined assets. Including over 100 million dollars."

"Mr. Davis is already a millionaire, many times over."

"Yes, and if this were just about money, we wouldn't be here. But Josephine O'Dell left her daughter a 51 percent share in O'Dell Financial Group. Juliette already had 25 percent, and Robert here had 10."

"Meaning after the estate is distributed, they'll own a total of 86 percent of the company," the lawyer says. "If they divorced, Mr. Davis would receive 43 percent. That's not motive."

"51 percent is, though." I pull the last sheet of paper out of the file, noting the pale expression on Robert's face as I hand the sheet to his lawyer. "This is a signed affidavit from Jonathan Gibbons, former Vice President of O'Dell Financial. He says that he agreed to sell Robert Davis his 8 percent share in the company for seventy million dollars, two years from now. After a divorce went through, I assume?"

"That'd give you a controlling share of the company," Grissom pipes up. "Ownership. You wouldn't have to marry the boss' daughter and kowtow to her mother anymore. You'd hold the power."

Robert just glowers at him. "You think this was about power?" He bats his lawyer away when the other man attempts to silence him. "This had nothing to do with power. This was about self-preservation."

"You wanted to leave your wife for your secretary," Grissom replies scornfully.

"That's what you would do," Robert throws back, then gestures towards me. "You traded in Juliette for a younger model, why shouldn't I?"

"How dare you," Grissom explodes, and Brass has to restrain him, grasping his shoulders firmly to keep him seated.

"The great Gilbert Ian Grissom," Robert taunts. "Beautiful women are just a dime a dozen to you, aren't they?"

Oh, god. I can feel the blood drain from my face. We've gotten this all wrong. This really was about self-preservation.

"He didn't kill Josephine for the power, or the money," I say softly, and Grissom freezes in surprise.

"What?"

"This was about Ian."

Robert looks away, then finally turns angry red-rimmed eyes toward me. "Damn right it was."

"You'd been trying to have a baby for, what... eight years?"

"I finally went to a reproductive specialist," he says. "Told him I'd try anything. He ran all sorts of tests on me, and finally told me my sperm count was so low, it'd be next to impossible for me to impregnate anyone."

"What did Juliette say when you told her?"

"I didn't," he says humorlessly. "When I got home that night, she told me that she was pregnant." He gives Grissom a bleak look. "We could have adopted. We could have been a family. But you ruined that."

Grissom looks flabbergasted. "What are you saying?"

"Oh, come on. Nothing I ever did was enough for her. She was always thinking about you in the back of her mind, and I knew it. And then she goes and has your bastard child, and names him after you. It was only a matter of time before she left me. At least now I have the business."

"Mr. Davis," I say, shaking my head. "The reason we knew you were a suspect was that the hair in Josephine O'Dell's necklace was a partial match to Ian's. The results from your DNA test confirm it."

"What?"

"Ian is your son."

Robert looks stricken, like his world is slowly crumbling around him. I guess, in a sense, it is. "But... he's blond. With brown eyes, and dimples. He looks nothing like me."

"No," Grissom agrees. "But he looks just like Julie did at that age. I've seen pictures."

Brass stands up to place Robert under arrest. He doesn't even look up as the handcuffs are snapped on and his lawyer mumbles things like "plea bargain" and "temporary insanity." The three of them file out of the room, leaving me and Grissom alone.

Whenever we've solved a case, there's this palpable fatigue that falls over us. A sort of paralysis that follows days of running solely on caffeine and adrenaline. Grissom and I take a moment to gather ourselves, to locate some reserve energy before we can continue.

"I'll call David and have him release the body," I murmur finally.

"Sara..." He reaches out and lays his hand over mine tentatively. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate the past week. Your dedication to the case... your kindness to Juliette..."

"It's fine."

"No, I mean to say-"

The door behind him opens abruptly. It's Sofia, carrying a wailing Ian and looking harried. "He won't stop crying," she frets.

"It's okay, he gets like this sometimes." I take him and cuddle him close, rocking him gently and kissing his forehead. He settles down quickly, sniffling and reaching a chubby arm out to grab my necklace. When I glance down at Grissom, he's got that strange look on his face again. It's almost like longing.

"Is his mom still here?" Sofia asks.

Oh, right. Juliette. I glance at the two-way mirror guiltily, and Grissom chuckles.

"I should have guessed. Sara, could you... would you mind holding onto Ian for a bit?" He looks at the mirror nervously. "I think Julie and I need to talk."

Robert is out of the picture, I realize. There's just Juliette and Ian, and Grissom will complete the family he wanted so many years ago. But when I meet his gaze, there's such warmth there that I can't help but trust him. "Sure. Just have her call me when you're done, and we'll come get her."

Sofia wanders off as I carry the baby into the observation room. Juliette's sitting in one of the plastic chairs, wiping away tears.

"You okay?"

She shakes her head. "My mother's dead and my marriage is over, all because by some miracle Robert and I got pregnant. How could so much evil come from so much good?"

"I'm sorry," I tell her needlessly. After a moment, I nod toward the interrogation room, where Grissom is sitting quietly. "He, uh... wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I saw that," she mumbles. "I saw everything."

"What?"

"Nothing." She stands up and smoothes down her hair.

"I'll be in the break room," I say, switching Ian to my other hip.

"No," she says firmly. "Stay in here." Noticing my questioning expression, she smiles sadly. "Believe me, you'll want to hear this."