Nunez folded his arms. "Those will be locked up in the police evidence room until this matter is resolved. When I start searching your equipment for the source of the illegal material, I'll be searching copies, too. The originals will be perfectly safe. Other than copying them, your property won't have any processing done-nothing will happen to it. It will be completely safe in our evidence lockup."
Denard was shaking her head now, disconsolate again, much as they had found her when they first arrived. Catherine tried a few more soothing words, but she didn't have much luck with the woman, and soon gave it up.
"Oh-kay," Nunez said, standing, turning his gaze from Denard to Nick. He clapped, once. "Let's start getting this equipment loaded up-the truck here yet?"
"I'll check," Nick said, moving toward the office door.
He wove through the maze of cubicles, making his way past the conference room to enter the long corridor that led back to the lobby; funny-the floor had been deserted when they'd entered, then was filled with workers starting their day, and now, not long after, was deserted again. Something eerie about it. It was as if the CSIs had the power to…
But Nick stopped the thought cold.
It wasn't the CSIs who had the power to stop the world, or even the police in general-it was crime. Criminals. The job of the police, and the CSIs, was to see to it that its reign was a brief one….
Barely halfway down the hall, he could hear Ian Newcombe's voice carrying from the lobby, where the ad agency partner continued to address his personnel.
"I know it's irritating," he was saying, "and frustrating, but these police and crime scene people have a job to do, and we have to let them…and do anything we can to assist them."
"Are we in any danger?" a woman asked, toward the front.
"Physical danger? No. Not at all."
"Mr. Newcombe, may I ask a question?" a very professional-looking woman in front asked.
"Certainly," the executive said.
"Are we still getting paid?"
A tiny amount of nervous laughter rippled, but the faces were mostly grave.
"Yes," Newcombe said, and the wave of relief was palpable…and short-lived. Because the exec went on to say: "At least for the time being. We don't know how long this is going to go on…how long the authorities will take with this matter. Our computers are being seized. All of our software."
A ripple of discontent replaced the relief.
Newcombe raised a hand and silenced it. "We don't know the ramifications yet, but for now-for the short-term, yes. And please understand, it's to my selfish personal benefit to keep the best team in Vegas advertising on the payroll."
Relief again. Nick did not envy these employees their emotional roller coaster.
"We'll let you know when we're up and running again," Newcombe said, blandly summing up. He turned to O'Riley, and put him on the spot: "Detective, do you have any idea how long that will be?"
O'Riley shrugged; he was a good guy, but not Nick's pick for handling p.r. "I'll talk to the experts and get a better idea. But I can't tell you now."
Another negative roll of the emotional roller coaster, and Nick had had all he could take of it. He walked to the front door and stuck his head out to see a Ryder truck backing into the parking space next to the black Tahoe.
When the truck stopped, Nick watched the driver climb down and come around to the back of the vehicle where he opened the rear overhead door. Just as he did, a sky-blue Dodge van pulled into the lot and parked on the far side. Four men got out and strolled across the parking lot, making a total of five new people coming in, all of whom Nick assumed were answering Nunez's bat signal. One of the five, the driver of the Ryder, was a uniformed officer Nick recognized from swing shift-a tall blond guy named Giles. Another one, a passenger in the van, was an African-American FBI computer investigator, and now a connection finally made itself in Nick's mind: the guy's name was Carroll! They had worked one job together, first year Nick joined LVMPD CSI, albeit briefly, cop ships passing in the night.
Carroll wore jeans and a navy blue T-shirt with a large yellow FBI across the chest. Nick didn't know the other three, all of whom were dressed in T-shirts and jeans as well. But from recognizing the first two, he figured Nunez had already started calling in favors to get all the imaging done ASAP…whether that meant a week or just under a year, Nick had no idea.
"You the CSI on this?" Giles asked as he led the others inside.
"Nick Stokes," he said, nodding to the others. They paused and shook hands, all around; Nick was not, at the moment, in latex gloves. "There's two of us here-you'll meet Catherine Willows, soon. She's prettier than I am."
"Wouldn't be tough," Giles said good-naturedly. "Where's our guy Nunez?"
"I'll take you to him. You're going to be passing through some very unhappy campers."
None of them looked surprised.
The employees were still shuffling around in the lobby, most of them watching Nick and his squadron of computer investigators as they marched through. O'Riley waved Nick over and the tech group huddled just outside the corridor while the CSI and the detective had their own two-man huddle.
O'Riley said, "I'm callin' in some backup to help me interview these employees. If I don't, it'll take all day and they're already starting to look like a mob."
It occurred to Nick that O'Riley would make an excellent Frankenstein's monster for these angry villagers, but he nonetheless had to dampen the detective's notion, at least a little.
"That's a good idea," Nick said, "but we're gonna have to fingerprint them all before they go. And there's just me and Catherine."
O'Riley nodded. "How long you been on shift, anyway? Since last week?"
"It's going to be a full double shift."
"With all that overtime," O'Riley said, "I'll know who to come to for a loan. Mobley's gonna love you."
O'Riley meant Sheriff Mobley, whose hobby was cracking down on overtime; the police and of course the CSIs were under the sheriff's jurisdiction in Vegas.
Before long, Nick had escorted the makeshift computer squad to Janice Denard's office. When they gathered clumsily at the door, Nunez looked up and grinned. "Hey-the compu-posse!"
They trooped in and Nick went to Catherine's side. Her eyes were wide; she hadn't expected so large a crew.
"You all know each other?" Nunez asked as he rose from Janice's desk and came around.
"I know Giles and Carroll," Nick said.
"You'll know everybody before we're through. Better than you want."
The computer expert made intros all around, starting with Webster, a tall, thin state trooper who seemed unable to stand still. The other two, Nunez explained, were freelancer buddies of his: Wolf, a short muscular guy whose name suited him; and Moes, a slightly over-weight bemused middle-aged man who among the group looked closest to a stereotypical computer geek.
Nick and Catherine watched and listened as Nunez explained the situation to his volunteer team; neither CSI had any additions or corrections, and were impressed with Nunez's summary, since the man had followed them onto the scene.
He closed by saying, "It's Monday-best-case scenario, I want this company back open for business by Wednesday."
"What's the worst-case scenario?" Wolf asked.
"Thursday…. We can't punish this business for the perversity of one employee. That means we've got plenty of work to do and not much time to do it in, so let's get started."
Catherine stepped forward and offered a business-like smile. "I'd like to thank you for helping out. And while you get on it, Nick and I'll start fingerprinting the employees."
Somewhat forgotten in her chair off against the wall, Janice Denard piped up, in voice tinged with both outrage and resignation, "You can do that?"
Nick turned to her and said, pleasantly, "At this stage, it will be voluntary; but it's a good way to get yourself exonerated right away."
"I'm afraid I don't follow you."
Nick shrugged. "Sooner or l
ater we'll find out which keyboard sent that print order to your boss's machine. When we do isolate the work station, we'll dust the keyboard for fingerprints. We will match those prints to someone, most likely someone who works in this facility…and then we'll be a lot closer to finding out who's guilty and who's innocent."
Denard said, "Well, you might let me pave the way by volunteering to go first."
Catherine said, "That's a nice gesture. We appreciate it. Anything you can do to keep the feathers un-ruffled around here would be helpful."
Denard managed a brave nod. "I'll try."
As Nick and Catherine set up fingerprinting shop, Tomas Nunez supervised the dismantling of Newcombe-Gold. This would be the most time-consuming part of the effort and, even with the extra help, would take hours. Nunez had already directed Leary to get a head start photographing each computer, all the peripherals and the wiring in the back, but even so, the uniformed officer still had plenty of pictures left to shoot when the team arrived.
Carroll and state patrolman Webster pitched in to help Leary. The plan was that when the photos were finally done, Nunez would personally disconnect each item, tag it, and hand it to one of his team, who would carry it out to the truck where Giles would catalogue and load each piece by hand. Catherine was just finishing fingerprinting Janice Denard, handing her a paper towel to wipe her hands, when O'Riley strolled into the room.
"I have three guys helping me now," O'Riley said. "We're maybe halfway through doing these preliminary interviews."
Catherine asked, "Have your questions alerted them to what's going on?"
"No. Of course they already know it had something to do with computers, and probably figured out we're not tryin' to figure out who's playin' computer solitaire on office time. And anyway, this thing isn't likely to stay hidden."
Denard said, "Well, I won't spread it around!"
Catherine smiled at the woman. "I'm sure you won't. But Sergeant O'Riley is right-it's unlikely to remain our little secret." She turned back to the detective. "Can you start sending them our way, for fingerprinting?"
"I'm glad to hear you say that," O'Riley said. The big man plopped into a chair, sighing, clearly exhausted. "Sooner we get these pissed-off people outa here, the happier I'll be. But telling 'em they got to stand around a while longer, while you get 'em fingerprinted, isn't going to make them love us more. How about one of you guys delivers that cheery news?"
Letting out a mirthless laugh, Catherine said, "I'm it." Then, clapping the detective on the shoulder, she added, "You can be my backup. Case somebody tries to kill me."
O'Riley gave her a look.
"It's not just a job, Sarge-it's an adventure."
Shaking his head, the detective hauled himself to his feet and followed her out.
While Catherine went to the lobby, Nick asked Janice Denard for a master employee list.
Nick explained, "We need to track who we have and haven't spoken to."
Denard rose to her feet; her eyebrows rose, too. "Take me a little while without the computer."
"I hear that," he said, giving her the sympathy she clearly craved.
In the lobby, Catherine was confronting the grumbling crowd, while off to various sides of the lobby, three detectives were pausing in the midst of interviews. After introducing herself, she said, "As you've gathered, we're looking for a suspect in a serious crime."
"What crime?" a voice yelled, echoing.
With a tight smile and a shake of the head, Catherine said, "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to talk about it at this point; but here's the deal-in order to eliminate each of you as suspects as quickly as possible, we would like you to voluntarily submit to being fingerprinted."
"How about-no," a red-faced man said near the front of the crowd.
From behind him, another man suggested, "How about hell no!"
Catherine shrugged and remained low-key, even light. "There's another option. We can get court orders for each and every one of you, and that could take quite some time considering the number of people who work here. Then we'll just wait until the court orders arrive. Another possibility is releasing you now, and then you can come into the crime lab for fingerprinting. Maybe you think that would make an interesting day trip."
"You don't have to be sarcastic," a woman snapped. "We're just trying to do our jobs."
"I know the feeling," Catherine said.
This seemed to make the point as well as anything.
"I'm going to ask a show of hands," Catherine went on. "Who is willing to be fingerprinted, without a court order?"
Gradually, all of the employees raised their hands, as if in half-hearted surrender.
They were in that posture when Nick came in carrying their print kits and the employee list he had gotten from Denard.
Nick said to Catherine, quietly, "Let's not drag them into the crime scene."
Catherine, nodding that this was a good idea, pointed toward the receptionist's desk and he nodded. Going down the list, they printed twenty-two employees, while O'Riley and the three other detectives completed their preliminary interviews. All the while, the employees and CSIs watched Nunez's guys hauling the very guts of their business outside to the waiting truck.
When Nick and Catherine finally finished up, they cornered Janice Denard one last time, in her office. Neither Catherine nor Nick confronted her about her lack of "paving the way" with the employees, re the fingerprinting. But the personal assistant clearly read displeasure on their faces, just the same.
"What's the problem?" Denard asked.
"I thought," Catherine said, "you told us twenty-seven people had computer access."
"That's right."
"We've got prints for twenty-two."
Nick said, "Mr. Gold is out of town-where are the other four?"
"Who are they?" Denard asked. "You must have their names, you cross-checked-"
Nodding, Nick read from the list, "Jermaine Allred, Ben Jackson, Gary Randle, and Roxanne Scott."
With a one-shoulder shrug, Denard said, "Well, for starters, Roxanne Scott is my counterpart."
"Counterpart, how?" Catherine asked.
"Ms. Scott is Mr. Newcombe's personal assistant and the assistant office manager. She just started her vacation today."
Catherine was frowning, partly in confusion. "Mr. Gold's gone, and Roxanne is gone? One partner and the other partner's personal assistant? Isn't that unusual? Doesn't that put the business at a disadvantage?"
"Not as much as having our computers hauled out of here," Denard said, somewhat acidly. Then, gathering herself, she calmly explained, "The two partners have different responsibilities, which I would say is typical, not at all odd."
"Go on."
"Mr. Gold works on the client side, Mr. Newcombe on the fiduciary side. With this arrangement, they don't both have to be here all the time, and they can nonetheless have an understanding of what the other is up to, which is key, since major company decisions are still made jointly."
"But Roxanne was here Saturday?" Catherine asked.
"Yes-her vacation started when she went home that day."
"Do you know where she is?"
Denard smiled, and it seemed vaguely strained. Was there, Nick wondered, a hint of jealousy in that near smirk?
"Roxanne and her beau," Denard said, somewhat archly, "went to Tahiti for the week. Frankly, I wish I could say the same…."
"All right," Catherine said, finally processing all of that, sighing. "How about the other three?"
"Give me a few minutes to check on the others, will you? Without my computer-"
"Yes," Catherine said, a little sharply. "It will be difficult."
"Well it will."
And Janice Denard went briskly from the office.
Nick considered, briefly, making a cat growl, but thought better of it.
While the two CSIs waited for Denard to track down the three absent employees, they packed up their gear and walked through the empty office. The place really wa
s like a big haunted house, empty even of its ghosts, all the employees having slowly filtered out to go home, as their fingerprinting obligation was fulfilled.
Now the place reminded Nick of some end-of-the-world movie, where vampires or zombies or mutants awaited around every corner. Like the empty streets of those B-movies of his adolescence, the Newcombe-Gold offices-stripped only of their computer equipment-were at once weirdly normal and strangely wrong, as if the human race had vanished from the planet overnight, though Nick was relatively sure no zombie waited around the next corner. Then he turned it and almost ran into O'Riley.
Nick jumped and the stocky detective gave him a quizzical look.
"What?" the detective asked.
Catherine was looking at Nick, amused.
"Sorry, Sarge, you just startled me," Nick said.
Wryly, Catherine noted, "He sometimes has that effect on people."
O'Riley made a little face-repartee was not his long suit-and fell in step with them and the trio made their way to the front door where Tomas Nunez watched the last of the computer equipment being loaded into the truck. Twenty-nine computers, thirty counting Newcombe's laptop, and all the zip disks, CDs, floppies and tape backups that Nunez could find, were piled into the back of the Ryder. It was a haul that came close to filling the rental truck.
"How goes it?" Nick asked.
"That's the load," Nunez said. He heaved a huge sigh; there'd been lots of sighing, today. "Now comes the hard part-we take all this stuff back to the lab and dig in. Wherever the perp has the stuff hidden, we'll find it."
"Good to hear," Catherine said, exhaustion in her voice.
Janice Denard walked out to join them in the parking lot. "I have the rest of the information you requested."
"Yes?" Catherine said.
"Ben Jackson left Friday to go out of town, and took a vacation day, today, for his return flight."
Squinting in sunlight, Catherine asked, "You know where he went?"
Denard held out two open, empty hands. "I think maybe he said something about Idaho-that's where he's from."
"And the others?"
"Jermaine Allred called in sick this morning."
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