Warrick checked his watch; and traffic looked light. "We'll meet you outside the Mayor's door in twenty minutes." He ended the call and turned to Brass. "City Hall."
Half an hour later, Warrick, Brass, Sara and Grissom were seated in the mayor's maple-paneled outer office. Comfortable seating lined the walls and it was easy to imagine the spacious office bustling; but today it was strangely quiet. Only the detective and the CSIs were present, as well, of course, as the mayor's new secretary, a man in his vague thirties, in a crisp gray suit with dark blue tie. The secretary's brass nameplate on a formidable maple desk identified him as Woo, which struck Warrick as ironic, considering the homely man was replacing the late lovely Candace Lewis, who'd been so much more than a secretary to His Honor.
"The mayor will be receive you shortly," Woo said to them.
No one bothered to select a magazine to flip through. While Brass seemed (as was often the case) faintly bored, Grissom looked relaxed and focused, while Sara appeared tense and Warrick felt somewhere between.
Celebrities, important people, were a routine part of the Vegas landscape, and Warrick was a local boy, after all, and not easily impressed. He'd met the mayor before, at an LVMPD recognition dinner, but shaking the man's hand and exchanging smiles was a different deal than coming to the dignitary's office to serve him a search warrant on a possible murder charge.
Woo was right: they didn't have to wait long.
After the secretary spoke softly on the phone to his boss, he rose and opened the door and-in a show-bizzy manner, perhaps fitting for the mayor of Las Vegas-Mayor Darryl Harrison, in a crisply tailored tan suit with red tie, strode into the outer office, like a headliner bounding on stage.
Grissom and company got to their feet and the smiling politician came to them, and shook hands with each of them, making eye contact, but bestowing a general greeting, "Well, this is real pleasure. An honor. I'm so proud of what you're doing for our city."
Before the Candace Lewis case had put him under a dark cloud, Mayor Darryl Harrison had been one of the most popular, best-liked, most widely known mayors in the nation. Some day his party's nomination for governor would be (or anyway, would have been) his; and he had the sort of Clinton-esque charisma to make the White House a real possibility, in a foreseeable future.
You would never guess the strain he was under; his brown eyes had a sparkle, his capped white teeth gleamed in a smile as seemingly genuine as the choppers were not. The fortyish Harrison reminded Warrick of Dean Martin just after leaving Jerry Lewis and prior to his drinking reputation: darkly tan with curly black hair, dimpled chin, and just generally the kind of matinee idol good looks that lured female voters across party lines.
Now it was time for individual greetings.
Knowing to honor rank, he went first to Brass, saying, "Hello, Jim. Been too long."
"Yes, sir."
Harrison's knack of remembering the first name of almost everyone he met-a typical but nonetheless impressive politician's trick-played up a widely felt perception that this man cared about every single person in the city. Then, turning to Grissom, Harrison said, "Gil-it's been a long time."
"Yes, sir," Grissom said.
"I think the last time we spoke was after you put that evil 'Deuce' character, away."
"I believe so, Your Honor."
"And I meant to call about that torso case-what was that woman's name?"
"Lynn Pierce."
His features assumed a grave cast. "Terrible thing. Tragic family situation." Then he beamed at all of them, flicking from face to face, saying, "I don't know why I should be so damn friendly to you people-it's the great job you're doing putting the bad guys away that gives Brian Mobley a shot at unseating me!"
Smiles and nervous laughter ensued.
He turned to Warrick. "We've met before," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"Warrick Brown, isn't it?"
Surprised, Warrick smiled. "Why, yes, sir."
"You were commended for bravery, what-two years ago? And Ms. Sidle, we haven't met. But I've kept up with your impressive accomplishments."
Sara grinned. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I don't know what accomplishments those would be…."
Warrick noted the mayor didn't elaborate, and the CSI was getting the distinct impression the mayor had done some quick homework before their visit….
Grissom moved his head, in that little gesture that indicated he was about to cut through the b.s., and said politely, "Your Honor? We need to talk. Privately?"
Harrison put his arm around Grissom's shoulder and began to walk him toward the open door of the inner office. Warrick, catching Grissom's wide-eyed, almost horrified response to this physicality, smiled just a little; touchy-feely, Gris was not.
Harrison was saying, "I realize that. That's why I canceled all my appointments and blocked out fifteen minutes for you people…and my assistant will hold all calls."
"Fifteen minutes," Grissom said, moving his head again. "Very generous."
Harrison removed his arm from Grissom's shoulder, gestured graciously for the CSI to enter the office, which he did, and in fact held the door open for all of them, though it was Woo who finally shut the door behind the mayor.
The office, not unexpectedly, was spacious. The facing wall-behind a kidney-shaped desk that was itself no larger than a Caribbean island-consisted of tinted windows offering a hazy, filtered view out on the downtown activity. A large, round worktable sat off to the right side of the desk and, beyond that, a sofa hugged the wall. A quartet of chairs were arrayed facing the desk and Harrison waved a hand toward them as he circled his desk and sat down.
The CSIs and the detective exchanged various glances, then finally-Grissom going first-took the chairs.
"Coffee?" Harrison asked. "Soft drinks? Bottled water?"
Brass said, "No thank you."
Actually, Warrick could've used some water….
The mayor folded his hands, prayerfully, and his expression became business-like, almost somber. "Then what can I do for you, Jim?…Gil?"
Brass fielded the question: "I told your secretary…that is, Mr. Woo…that this concerned the Candace Lewis case."
"I am aware of that. And I'm of course aware that you've taken over the investigation, now that it's…" He swallowed, and Warrick wondered if this was acting or actual emotion. "…now that it's a murder case."
"That's right," Brass said, and slipped the search warrants out of his jacket and set them on the edge of the mayor's desk. The mayor, himself a former district attorney, looked at them with a steady gaze; he did not need to be told what the documents were. He leaned a bit on his elbows, his clasped fingers tented, providing a slight barrier between him and his guests, as he peered over his knuckles.
The voice seemed flat, now-that melodic friendliness gone. "Just tell me one thing, Jim. And I expect an honest answer."
"You'll get one."
"Is Mobley behind this?"
Sitting forward, Grissom, his voice quiet and authoritative, said, "This is my doing, sir. I requested these warrants."
"I see."
"I hope you do. If you do know anything about me, you'll know I've never been accused of doing Sheriff Mobley any favors, personal or otherwise."
"I have heard about…certain tensions."
"Yes, sir. But I will say, Brian has behaved himself professionally, thus far. Starting with recusing himself from this case."
Harrison's eyes narrowed. "That's not just lip service?"
"He seems sincere."
"This…Anthony, this political advisor of Mobley's. He's a bad apple. Did Brian really fire him?"
"He did."
"Do you know why?"
Grissom shrugged. "I presume he was dissatisfied with the man's services. Beyond that, you'd have to ask the sheriff."
The mayor nodded, as if to say, Fair enough.
"My question now is," Grissom said, in his oddly pixie-ish way, "are you prepared to be as professional and c
ooperative as Brian Mobley?"
A smirk dug a small cynical groove in the mayor's cheek. "Why-have you served him with a search warrant?"
Grissom smiled angelically. "Yes."
The mayor shifted in his seat. He laid his hands out on the table, palms down. "Well, of course, Gil-I'll do whatever I can to help you catch the madman who killed Candace."
That sounded a trifle rehearsed to Warrick.
But Grissom seemed prepared to accept the response at face value: "That's what we were hoping to hear, Mr. Mayor. To start with, I'd like you to go over those two warrants on your desk."
The warrants were just out of reach and Sara picked them up and handed them to the mayor; she smiled, a little embarrassed, and Harrison gave her a small meaningless smile in return, as he took the documents.
He withdrew reading glasses from his inside suitcoat pocket, put the glasses on as he picked the papers up. He read them, then looked from Brass to Grissom. "My house? Why my house?…Candace worked here, at the office."
"You can read the specifics in the warrant," Grissom said. "But know that the judge, who shared your concerns about the sheriff's intent, didn't grant these lightly…. And if you don't mind, I'd like to send Warrick and Sara over there, to your home, now."
Harrison sighed. The documents were on the desk before him. He raised a cautious finger. "A question, first."
"All right."
"Is the media going to hear about this?"
Grissom half-smiled. "You're the mayor of this city, and you weren't aware that we'd served the sheriff a warrant."
"True."
Then Harrison's eyes traveled from face to face, stopping on Grissom's. A small smile played on the mayor's lips. "Gil-Jim…any of you. Do you think your job will be harder, or easier, should Brian Mobley leave the sheriff's office and take this chair from me?"
Grissom said, "I haven't given that any thought, Mr. Mayor. It has nothing to do with how I approach my job."
"The sheriff has been a thorn in your side for some time, Dr. Grissom."
Grissom's shrug was barely perceptible. "Another politician will replace him. Meaning no disrespect, I will find a way to do my job, and do it well, despite the best efforts of any and all politicians."
Sara couldn't seem to suppress a smile, and Warrick didn't even try to. Brass looked grave, and Grissom just wore that damn innocent expression of his.
The mayor studied Grissom for a long time; then he laughed. "By God, you really mean it…. Might I call Mrs. Harrison, just give her a 'heads up,' you're coming?"
Grissom and Brass exchanged quick alarmed looks.
Brass fielded that one. "We'd prefer that you didn't, sir-the intent of a warrant isn't to give a 'heads up' to anybody, with the exception of the police…. I'm sure you understand."
Sighing wearily, Harrison nodded. "I do. I do. I just hate to put my wife…It's just…how do I say this delicately? Mistakes were made."
Grissom said, "We know. I have a lab report putting your DNA in Candace Lewis's bed."
Harrison whitened. "Oh Christ…. When can I expect the press to get their hands on that?"
Brass said, "Well, when we do find Candace's killer, a defense lawyer will likely use your relationship with her to muddy the waters, and try to help clear a client. Your Honor, you need to prepare yourself for the day when this comes out."
"I understand. I appreciate the counsel."
Grissom, champing at the bit, sat forward again. "Now about Warrick and Sara…"
Harrison waved a dismissive hand, like the pope granting a reluctant blessing. "Send them. There's nothing to find. All I ask is that they not intrude on my wife any more than necessary. Jeanne and I are trying to hold the marriage together-she knows about my…indiscretion; but having the media pummel her with it, 24-7, has become a little…wearing."
"She needn't be present," Sara said, "when we do the search."
"Thank you, Ms. Sidle." Harrison said. "She may not be home, at any rate. She's not been spending much time at the house…" His expression turned glum. "…particularly when I'm there."
Warrick asked, "It would be helpful if someone's there to let us in."
The mayor nodded. "I'll alert our maid."
Grissom said, "That's fine." He paused, and seemed to be making a decision. He was: "Mayor, you can let your wife know my people will be dropping by. But a mention of the search warrant would, frankly, be a breach, Your Honor."
"I understand." And made the call right in front of them, short and sweet, to a servant named Maria.
After the mayor hung up, Grissom gave Warrick and Sara a nod; Warrick already had a copy of the search warrant.
They were at the door when Brass called out, "Call Conroy," referring to Detective Erin Conroy, with whom the team had worked on several occasions. "Have her go with you."
"Got it," Warrick said, then they were out the door and gone.
Gil Grissom settled back in the chair and allowed Brass to do his job.
"Now that the kids are gone," Brass said with wry humor, "I have a few more questions…questions that need asking that I thought you might feel more comfortable answering with…a smaller audience."
"Go ahead, Jim," Harrison said, only a hint of caution in his voice.
"I have to ask-how did your DNA get in Candace Lewis's bed?"
"It got there," the mayor said, "just how you think it got there."
"Had the two of you had a falling out, before her disappearance?"
"No-we had a warm, friendly relationship. Neither one of us thought it would be…lasting. We were two professionals who spent a lot of time together. My marriage was rocky, she was unattached…. Such things happen among adults."
"So there was no talk of divorcing your wife and-"
"Jim, I told you-our relationship wasn't like that. It was mostly about…well, companionship, yes, sex, where I was concerned. I was sort of…mentoring Candy. Discussing ways she could get ahead." Grissom thought, I am so glad Jim is handling this….
"No talk of divorce at all? Could your wife have seen Candace as a…threat?"
Harrison shook his head. "Why do you keep harping on this…. My marital problems predated my relationship with Candy. And-" Finally it dawned on him; his eyes widened with alarm and he lurched forward. "You don't think Jeanne could have done this?…You've really taken a wrong turn, there."
"How so?"
"My wife may be quite capable of making my life a living Hell, but she would never physically hurt another person."
Grissom felt Mrs. Harrison an unlikely suspect, himself; he found it difficult to imagine a scenario that would include the mayor's wife killing the woman and someone else acquiring the corpse for recreational purposes.
Another ten minutes of questioning accomplished little else. As they left the mayor's office-little of the politician apparent in the shellshocked man now-Grissom hoped Warrick and Sara would have better luck at the mayor's home.
* * *
If Mayor Darryl Harrison's office was grand, his home was opulent. Situated on Lake Las Vegas, a gated community for the truly wealthy, the plush digs of Mayor and Mrs. Harrison were just down the road from the multimillion-dollar estate of pop singer Celine Dion.
Warrick had gotten Conroy's voice mail, leaving a message where he and Sara would be; as they parked in front of the mayor's palatial house, they still hadn't heard back from the detective. The one truism about Vegas was: traffic could be a problem, any day, any time of day.
The rambling castle-like brick structure would have looked out of place in any other part of the city; here it was just one more grandiose homemaker statement. Hell, for this area, Warrick thought, the place was downright downscale-there wasn't even a helipad! Five white pillars held up a widow's walk between the two main sections of the many-windowed house, which was seventy-five hundred square feet, easy. Four or five bedrooms, Warrick would bet, and more bathrooms than a small hotel.
They were just getting got out of the Tahoe
when Warrick's cell phone rang; it was Conroy: "You guys inside yet?"
"No," Warrick said. "Just pulled up."
"Be there in five."
"Don't mistake the driveway for the freeway."
"Try not."
Crime scene field kits in hand, Sara rang the bell with Warrick just behind her, bearing the warrant. The doorbell's echo sounded as if a cavern awaited beyond the white metal door.
When the attractive twenty-ish Hispanic maid, in light-blue uniform, answered the bell, the foyer glimpsed behind her was indeed cavernous, though few caves were outfitted with crystal chandeliers. The interior-or at least this expansive entryway-was the opposite of the exterior, where the brown brick was broken up by the white woodwork of windows; within the walls were white, trimmed in brown oak. Already Warrick sensed a chill, even clinical vibe suitable to a marriage in ongoing cold storage.
The day was just warm enough to make the air conditioning rolling out to them a refreshing greeting. The maid's response to them was cool in another way.
"You're the police?" she asked, her words lightly accented.
"We're part of the police," Sara said. "The ones Mayor Harrison called ahead about?"
"I would like to see your badges."
Warrick could not stop his brain from saying, Badges? We don't need no stinking…
But Sara was already indicating her I.D. on its necklace, saying, "Is this sufficient?"
The maid looked from one I.D. to the other and said, "I suppose so."
But she made no move to allow them entrance.
Warrick said, "You're Maria, right?" Just trying to warm her up.
The woman nodded. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail and her brown eyes were grave and unblinking-the effect was severe and uninviting.
Getting irritated, Warrick said to the woman blocking their way, "Do you need to see the warrant? Is Mrs. Harrison here?"
Maria was still searching for answers to those two simple questions when another car-one of the LVMPD's ubiquitous Tauruses, this one dark green-pulled up and parked behind the Tahoe. Conroy came clipping up the slight slope of grass, and-perhaps sensing that the CSIs were stalled at the door-she withdrew from her purse what Maria seemed to crave: a wallet with an actual police badge.
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