RILEY EYED PROFESSOR VANDERHOFF, sitting on the other side of the interview table. “Professor Vanderhoff, can you tell me where you were on the day Keenan Harribold was killed?”
Vanderhoff studied her for a moment before answering. “I spent most of it at the conference, though I took a nap in the evening.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Jet lag.”
“Not a very ex citing way to spend time in Vegas.”
Vanderhoff smiled. “I’m not really a very exciting person. But I did meet with Jake Soames and your boss later for drinks.”
“Did you know Keenan Harribold?”
“No. Unless he posted anonymously on one of the entomology boards I frequent-which I doubt-I’d never heard of h im until he was killed.”
“Have you ever heard of anyone else being killed in this manner?”
“Never. I’m not a criminologist, but I have to admit it’s a fascinating case.”
“So you’ve never consulted on a criminal case before?”
“No. I’m afraid my exposure to this world has been strictly through film and novels. I will say I’m something of a mystery buff, though.”
“Then you probably know why I’m asking you these questions.”
“Of course. Someone with my expertise would naturally be considered a suspect.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong. Unless someone’s trying to frame me, I don’t think I’m in any trouble-and so far, the only inconvenience has been being forced to sit and talk to an attractive woman.”
Riley didn’t sm ile. “I don’t think Keenan Harribold would agree.”
“I’m sorry. Have I offended you? I may be an academic, but I grew up in the slums of Johannesburg; my childhood took place under apartheid. I have seen much brutality in my life, and sometimes I feel somewhat desensitized. But a young man’s death is still a tragedy.”
Riley glanced down at her notes. “No, it’s fine. You didn’t know him, after all…”
In Interview Room Two, Roberto Quadros was on his feet and pointing an accusing finger at Nick Stokes. “This is an outrage!” Quadros exclaimed. “I am a respected researcher! Dr. Grissom will have your job when I tell him about this!”
Nick put his hands up in a slow-down-and-let’s-talk-about-this gesture. “Dr. Quadros, I’m sorry if you feel singled out. But we’re not targeting you; we’re talking to everyone and gathering data. You’re a man of science; you understand the principle of exclusion-this isn’t an accusation. It’s part of the process to eliminate you as a suspect.”
Quadros simmered for a moment, then took a deep breath and retook his seat. “Very well. But at the very least Dr. Grissom could have talked to me himself.”
I’m beginning to understand why he didn’t, Nick thought. “Grissom’s busy at the moment. Now, Dr. Quadros-you’re not staying at the same hotel the others are, correct?”
“No. They charge absurd rates. I found a much more reasonable establishment a few blocks away.”
You mean a run-down dump with no security cameras. “Right. And you were there all evening.”
“Yes. There were some fascinating presentations at the conference the next day, and I wanted to be fresh.”
“You know, some visitors to Vegas would take the opportunity to enjoy themselves. Go see the sights, take in a show-”
“I didn’t come here for the hedonism, Mr. Stokes. There’s plenty of that in Brazil, believe me. I came for the intellectual stimulation provided by an exchange of ideas between men and women like myself. The last thing I wanted was to be drawn into some sort of sordid affair involving dead bodies in seedy motel rooms!”
Funny. You seemed a lot more eager when you thought you were going to help break a big case. “I understand that. So nobody saw you during the evening-the desk clerk, maybe?”
“No. I had dinner early and retired early. Would you like to know what I had for supper, as well?”
“No, that won’t be necessary-”
“Perhaps you’d like a detailed itinerary of my trips to the bathroom? Or a list of the television channels I watched before turning in? I know-a record of my dreams! Perhaps I can persuade a talking dog or flying pig to provide me with an alibi!”
Nick sighed.
Jill Leilani worked at the Shoremont Hotel as a maid. Her supervisor pointed Catherine at floors nineteen through twenty-two; she found Leilani in the hall on the twentieth, trundling a cart loaded with laundry and cleaning supplies between rooms.
Leilani was a thin, sallow-faced woman with nervous eyes. She wasn’t happy to see Catherine but didn’t seem surprised, either.
“Jill Leilani? I’m Catherine Willows with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. When was the last time you talked to Hal Kanamu?”
Leilani’s eyes roamed everywhere but Catherine’s line of sight. “I don’t know. Couple weeks ago, maybe longer. I don’t remember.”
“You two have a falling out or something?”
“No, I-I just don’t hang with him, is all. He don’t have time for his old friends ever since he hit it rich.”
“You’ve known him a long time, though, right? Back on the Big Island?”
“Yeah, I guess. We used to be tight.” Even when she talked, she barely opened her mouth.
“And high, too. Drug buddies, right? You even got busted together.”
“That was a long time ago. I’m clean.”
“No, you’re not. Your teeth are ro tting out of your head, your skin’s bad, and you’ve got the shakes. Know what I think happened? I think that when your pal Hal got his lucky break he threw one hell of a party, and you were one of the first people he invited. All the ice you could smoke, right? For a while, anyway. And by the time he decided the party was over and maybe he had better things to do than support his friends’ habits, the monkey on your back had turned into a three-hundred-pound gorilla.”
Leilani didn’t even try to deny it; the bitterness in her voice told Catherine she’d been carrying her anger around for a long time: “He didn’t even see what he was doing to me. He came here to get clean, you know? Get away from all his druggy friends in Honolulu. I thought, If he can do it, so can I. But when he got all that money… money’s the worst thing, you know? Should be a law, you can’t buy a lottery ticket if you’re using.”
“But he didn’t win the lottery.”
“Didn’t he? Winning that crazy-ass bet… Everybody thought he must have cheated somehow, but he swore up and down he didn’t. Said he had this dream, told him what to bet on. Even found a casino to take it-they weren’t too happy when he won.”
“And that’s when the party started.”
“Yeah. It was great, at first. Didn’t have to worry abo ut tomorrow, so we could party every day. And how much I was using, it kind of just crept up on me.”
Catherine nodded. She’d seen case studies on drug use that showed that same pattern-that even with addictive drugs like heroin or cocaine, users didn’t generally get into trouble until they had access to a large amount of the drug all at once, either from dealing or a sudden windfall of cash. Their drug intake climbed along with their tolerance, until the money was gone and they abruptly became aware of just how heavy-and expensive-their habit had become.
“So what happened?” asked Catherine. “Did he run out of cash?”
“No. I saw what was happening, knew it was gonna kill both of us sooner or later. Tried to talk him into quitting, but he didn’t want to hear it. He thought-” She stopped, shook her head. “He was getting kind of crazy. Thought that winning the bet was some kind of sign, that he was supposed to do something special with the money.”
“Like spend it all on meth?”
“No, but-the drugs were part of it. He thought they were making his thoughts more… I don’t know, cosmic or something.”
“Cosmic. What was he going to do, build a spaceship?”
“No, he was more interested in old gods and stuff. He was always talking about Pele and Kamahua and Lono-Hawaiian gods, you know? I just used to tune him out. Sounded too much like my grandmother.”
“Anybody else listen?”
“Sure. Lester and him would talk about that stuff for hours.”
“Lester Akiliano?”
“Yeah. They’ve known each other forever, though I don’t think Lester really cared about any of that mystical stuff-he was just there to get high. He woulda talked about senior citizens getting kinky if it meant a free hit.”
“How’d Lester feel about you trying to convince Kanamu to quit?”
“What do you think? Went off on me. Told me to stop being such a buzzkill-I didn’t stick around long after that. Wasn’t healthy, in too many ways.”
Catherine sensed there was more to her words than what she was saying. “Did Lester threaten you?”
“Nah, I’ve known Lester a long time-longer than Hal, even. But the guys he was hanging around with? Bad news.”
“What guys?”
“Oh, no. I don’t wanna talk about them. Go talk to Lester, see for yourself. Just don’t say I pointed you his way, okay? He needs to get to rehab, but he doesn’t need to know I sent him there.”
“You look like you could use some time there yourself.”
Leilani gave her a wan smile. “Nah, kicking meth’s easy. I do it every day, you know? Sometimes more than once…”
Lester Akiliano liked to drink in a bar called the Cross-Eyed Jack, a place that might have been glamorous when mobsters ruled the Strip but was now a dusty mausoleum of peeling chrome, scarred tables, and torn carpet. Lester himself was at the bar, nursing a longneck beer and watching women’s basketball on the TV. The bartender squinted at Catherine warily when she came in, as if he were highly allergic to the natural light that spilled through the doorway behind her and was trying to remember where he put his epinephrine.
“Lester Akiliano?” she asked. “Catherine Willows, Las Vegas Crime Lab. I’d like to talk to you about Hal Kanamu.”
Lester was a bulky Hawaiian with shoulder-length, straight black hair and a scraggly black goatee that looked like it was trying to escape his face. He wore a shirt of bright yellow silk missing the top two buttons, with irregular stains spreading from the armpits. He took a long swallow of his beer before responding. “What you want from me, huh? I don’t know nothing except Hal’s dead.”
She took a seat next to him. “Well, that’s the thing, Lester. Kind of my job to find out how that happened.”
“Don’t look at me. I wasn’t there.”
“And where would that be?”
“Out in the desert. That’s wh ere you found him, right? That’s what I heard.” He took another drink. “No place for a kanaka to die, I’ll tell you that. Too far from the ocean. Too damn far from home.”
Catherine studied him for a second. “You knew him a long time, right?”
“Forever. He was a good friend. Maybe a little crazy, but he always had your back.”
“Liked to have a good time, right?”
“You better believe it. I can’t remember how many times we couldn’t remember.”
“Got to catch up with you sometime.”
“Maybe so. Maybe so.” He finished his beer, signaled for another. The bartender ignored him. “But that’s life, right? You have fun while you can.”
“When was the last time you saw Hal?”
“Oh, must have been three, four days ago. We used to hang out every day, but-”
“Hey, Les. Who’s your friend?”
Three men stalked out of the bar’s gloomy recesses, two of them holding pool cues. The speaker was a muscular man in a sleeveless shirt, every visible inch of his arms covered in tattoos. His head was shaved, his face wide but uneven; the right side of his jaw bulged like he was storing nuts for the winter. His friends were taller than he was but not as wide, and despite the dimness of the bar they both wore sunglasses.
“Hey, Boz. She’s no one,” Lester muttered.
“I’m Catherine Willows,” she said. “ Las Vegas Police. And you are?”
“Didn’t you hear Les? I’m Boz.” He grinned, exposing receding gums. “You here for the wake? We’re honoring our poor dead friend, Hal.”
“So am I-I’m investigating his death.” She eyed the three men coolly. “When was the last time you saw your good friend Hal?”
Boz shrugged. “I don’t know-couple days ago, maybe. Hal was always on the go, you know? Lot of energy.” He fished a cough drop out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth, wincing as he did so. His breath smelled like rotten fish in mint sauce.
“I’ll bet.”
“Anyway, we’re just gonna go back to our wake, okay? Respect for the dead and all that.”
“Uh-huh. I’m going to need to see some ID, Boz.” She nodded at his two friends. “You too. Come on, guys, dig out those wallets.”
Catherine kept her own hand near her gun. She knew tweakers when she saw them, and anyone high on crank was a dangerous and unpredictable commodity. An armed meth head was one bad impulse away from murder.
Nobody produced a gun, though-just identification and dirty looks. She took them, jotted down their names, and gave them back. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Boz’s smile had been replaced by a look of wary confusion. “What for? Are you arresting us, or what?”
“Not yet, Boz.” She smiled. “But I’d really like to get to know you-and your friends-better. Thing is, I’d prefer to do it at my place…”
Bosley “Boz” Melnyk, Catherine discovered, was no stranger to the system. In fact, she was pretty sure Boz and the system were about ready to pick out drapes together.
His earliest arrests had been for shoplifting. He’d graduated from that to B and Es, with the occasional car theft thrown in. He’d been busted several times for possession of narcotics, been to rehab twice, and barely skated on a dealing charge the last time he’d been arrested. It was a pretty typical career arc for a petty criminal, one she’d seen too many times before; start small, work your way up, learn just enough from your mistakes to avoid serious jail time. The type of crime escalated, not from any sense of ambition but through the same kind of process that told a shark to keep moving or die. Boz was still moving.
His friends were another matter. Diego Molinez was an unrepentant thug, one who’d spent nearly half his thirty-six years in custody; he’d done time for aggravated assault, possession of an unregistered firearm, and narcotics trafficking. Aaron Tyford had been arrested on both narcotics possession and conspiracy to commit murder, but the charges had been dropped due to insuffici ent evidence.
The file on the Tyford case told an interesting story. Tyford had apparently been a dealer for a local gang and during the course of his business had learned the location of the drug lab used to manufacture product for sale. Deciding that wholesale prices just weren’t low enough, Tyford had tried to rob his own supplier; unfortunately for him, he’d learned the hard way that volatile chemicals and gunfire just don’t mix. While the resulting explosion had destroyed his reason for the robbery, it had also wiped out any evidence tying him to the lab itself.
She could see why a small-timer like Boz would attach himself to Hal Kanamu; he was more remora than shark, hanging around in the hopes of feeding off any scraps. But Tyford and Molinez were another breed entirely, more predator than scavenger. The only reason they’d spend time with someone like Boz would be because they saw an opportunity waiting to be exploited.
An opportunity like a newly rich, just-fallen-off-the-wagon ex-busboy.
Grissom performed the search on Khem Charong’s hotel room himself.
It wasn’t out of a sense of guilt or because he didn’t trust anyone else to do so. He was simply curious.
Charong’s room was as neat as his person. Four well-tailored suits hung in the closet, clean and pressed. Toiletries were lined up in the bathroom, as orderly as soldiers waiting for inspection.
He found no stashes of pornography, no sex toys, no indications that Charong was anything but what he seemed: a scientist visiting another country for a conference. Grissom even used a gas sniffer to scan the room for traces of hydrogen cyanide, but nothing showed up.
Everything seemed normal-except Grissom couldn’t find a laptop.
It was probably the most ubiquitous tool today’s scientist owned, and Charong didn’t seem to have one. After a moment, Grissom called down to the front desk, identified himself, and asked if Charong had left it with hotel staff for safekeeping. He had not.
He went over the room again. Nothing inside the mattress, the air vent, the back of the toilet. Grissom sat on the edge of the bed and thought.
After a moment, he called down to the front desk again. “Yes, I was wondering if you had a lost and found. You do? I’m looking for a laptop. Turned in within the last day, encrypted. There won’t be anything on it to identify the owner. You do? I’d appreciate it if you could send it up-I’ll be able to prove ownership when he shows it to me.”
He didn’t have long to wait. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door; Grissom opened it to find a bellman standing there with a silver laptop under one arm.
“Please set it down on the desk,” said Grissom.
The bellman did so. “I’m, uh, under instructions to have you enter the password,” the bellman said. He looked like he was still in high school himself. He opened the laptop and hit the power button. “Just to, you know, confirm that it’s yours.”
“It’s not,” said Grissom. “But now that it’s in the room, it’s the property of the Las Vegas Police Department.” He pulled out the search warrant and handed it over.
The bellman took the form and studied it. “Okay,” he said. “Does this mean I don’t get a tip?”
Nick strode into the AV lab. “That the laptop Grissom brought in?” asked Nick.
“Yeah,” said Archie. “It’s encrypted, but I think I can get in. Might take me a while, though.”
“You hear how Charong hid it? Turned it in to the lost and found. All he had to do to get it back was prove it was his.”
“Easy to do when you know the password. But how do you explain turning in a laptop and then asking for it back?”
“Easy-you never deal with the same person twice. Turn it in to someone at the front desk, get a bellman to bring it up to your room when you want it back. It’s how Grissom recovered it.”
Archie grinned. “That’s pretty slick, actually. Long as nobody rips it off in the meantime, it’s in limbo-hidden in plain sight. How’d Gri ssom figure it out?”
Nick gave him a look. “He’s Grissom.”
“Yeah, sorry. Dumb question.”
“So, how long you think it’ll take?”
Archie frowned. “I don’t know-as long as it takes. Decrypting isn’t straightforward science, you know. Every box is different. Might get lucky with a password cracker, might have to look a lot deeper. Why? Is this guy gonna disappear or something?”
Nick shook his head. “Hard to say. We’ve got him locked up but… I guess I just really want to put this one away.”
“Not to worry, kemo sabe. I’m on it.”
Normally, that would have been enough for Nick; Archie was one of the best, and if it were possible to pull anything off the laptop Archie would. Nick was pretty sure what he’d find, too: the kind of pictures that would put Khem Charong away for a long, long time.
But that wouldn’t necessarily prove he’d killed Keenan Harribold.
It was a strange case, and not just because of the millipedes. While Nick could accept that someone would be twisted enough to kill a high school boy with bugs, Harribold’s body had shown no signs of sexual assault. Khem Charong, based on his past history, wouldn’t have left the boy untouched. And why go to the trouble of implicating a rival school after killing s omeone in a distinctive way that practically screamed Arrest me! I’m an entomologist!
It didn’t make any sense.
“Hey, Boz,” said Catherine. “Nice to see you again.”
Boz didn’t seem quite as happy. He slouched in his chair on the other side of the interview table like a sullen adolescent in the principal’s office. Catherine tried not to take it personally; maybe his sore tooth was just making him moody.
“So,” she said. “Hal Kanamu. Tell me about you and him.”
“I don’t have to be here, you know. I came in as a favor.”
“And we appreciate it. Of course, your friends Aaron and Diego might not.”
“They’re not friends. I was just shooting some pool with them.”
“They were friends of Hal’s, though, weren’t they? That’s what you told me.”
He looked away. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess they were.”
“And you were the one who introduced them, right? Hal was handing out the party favors and you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Bad move, Boz. Guys like that aren’t satisfied with a little free fun. They always want more.”
“Is that what this is about? Look, those guys are into their own thing. I don’t-I’m not down with that. If they had anything to do with Hal getting killed, I don’t know anything about it.”
And even if you did you wouldn’t talk, right? she thought. I mean, you may not be the brightest bulb on the tree, but you’re not that stupid. One body dumped in the desert may be murder, but a second is just cleaning up loose ends.
“Looks like you’ve got an infected tooth,” said Catherine. “Must be painful.”
“Taking antibiotics for it. Doc says I’ve got an abscess.”
“That’s not all you’ve got, Boz. You own a leaky pen or just eat a lot of blueberries?”
“What?”
“Your fingertips are stained blue. I noticed the last time I talked to you.”
“So what? It was a leaky pen, like you said.”
“I don’t think so, Boz. Hey, you want to see something really cool?”
He watched her warily as she dug out a pocket mirror and handed it to him. “Here.”
“What’s this for?”
She got up from the table and walked over to the door. “I asked to use this room just for this,” she said. She turned out the lights.
“What-what am I supposed to do now?”
“Just wait a second, let your eyes adjust.”
Catherine could hear him breathing in the darkness. He sounded nervous.
“Okay,” she said. “Now hold the mirror up to your mouth. And smile.”
Catherine knew when he did so-because she could see the faint, greenish-white glow that came from his open mouth.
“Oh my God,” s aid Boz. He sounded sick-but then, he was.
She turned the lights back on. He looked as bad as he sounded. “What’s wrong with me? Do I… do I have radiation poisoning?”
“Nope. You have a condition known as phossy jaw. Pretty rare these days, but it used to be an occupational hazard for match makers. I don’t mean people who play Cupid-I mean actual, honest-to-God people who made matches.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me explain it to you. Those stains on your fingers are from iodine. The abscess in your mouth is from exposure to white phosphorous-it gets in the maxillary bone and basically causes it to rot, which is why your breath smells so bad. White phosphorous used to be used in the production of matches, until it was replaced by red phosphorous-it’s a lot less toxic. Unfortunately, red phosphorous is a lot harder to obtain these days, isn’t it? You found a source of iodine but had to settle for white phosphorous instead of red.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do, Boz. You work in a meth lab. Consider yourself lucky-phosphorous poisoning does more than make your teeth glow in the dark. Not only will it kill you through organ fa ilure, it’ll drive you insane.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“You’ll get one. But you should see a doctor first.”
Archie looked up from his keyboard when Nick walked in. “Okay,” said Archie. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
Nick pulled up a stool and sat down. “Hit me.”
Archie tapped a key on the laptop he’d been working on. “I’ve decrypted the files on the laptop. It’s exactly what we suspected-kiddie porn, some of it starring Charong himself. He’s definitely going away.”
“And the bad news?”
“Keenan Harribold doesn’t make an appearance. There’s no kinky stuff featuring bugs. And the latest opus I found was time-stamped-check it out.” He tapped a few keys and pointed to the bottom of the screen.
Nick flinched and looked away. “How long is this file?”
“Two hours. I don’t know where it was shot, but it falls right in the middle of the TOD for Harribold.”
“Sick bastard,” Nick said grimly. “But it gives him an alibi.”
“Only for murder,” said Archie. “He’s still going to prison.”
Nick shook his head. “No matter how much time he does, it won’t be enough. Thanks, Archie. I guess.”
“You’re kidding,” said Grissom, peering over the top of his glasses. “Phossy jaw?”
Catherine nodded. “Yeah. Everything old is new again-I’m expecting an outbreak of smallpox at any moment. Figured you’d get a kick out of it.” She paused. “How’s the Harribold case going?”
“Not so good. Archie just eliminated our prime suspect.”
“One down, I guess.”
“I suppose. Is your glow-in-the-dark suspect cooperating?”
She shrugged. “He lawyered up. One of the symptoms of phosphorous poisoning is mental instability, so I don’t want to push him too hard-anything he says now might get thrown out later.”
“Does he seem irrational?”
“No, but who knows what he’ll be like after the lawyer finishes talking to him-he might start speaking in tongues and wearing his underpants on his head. I don’t think he’s my killer, anyway.”
“You have a working hypothesis?”
“Still putting it together, but it looks like Kanamu’s big gambling win threw him in the deep end of the drug pool. I think he just started hanging around with guys a lot heavier than he was used to and got in over his head.”
“So how does a killing over drugs produce a vic with wax in his lungs?”
“You ’ve been talking to the doc?”
“He mentioned a few details over tea.”
“That would be the part I’m still putting together…”
The sign over the door read PET CAVE in large, friendly letters. An old-fashioned bell tinkled when Grissom pulled open the door and stepped inside.
The store was large and clean, one wall lined with large aquariums and terrariums on four rows of shelves stretching from the midpoint toward the back. Two big pens dominated either side of the cashier’s island, right in the middle: one held puppies, the other kittens.
“Mr. Grissom!” The man who bustled up to him was shaped like a pear, dressed in an old-fashioned white lab coat with SOUTHFORD stenciled over the breast pocket. He had a wide smile on his wide face and a comb-over of hair dyed so black it looked like strands of black thread. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s Hank?”
“He’s fine. Putting on a little weight.”
Southford grinned and patted his own belly. “Well, it happens to all of us as we age, doesn’t it? I’ve got some good special diet stuff, perfect for a dog Hank’s size and age. I’ll throw in a sampler with your regular order of crickets, no charge-if he likes it, come back and I’ll give you a ten percent discount. Fifteen if you buy in bul k.”
“That’s very generous. Thank you.”
“How’s Sara?”
“She’s… away on a trip.”
“Oh? Not gone for too long, I hope.”
“No. No, I… I hope not.”
“Well, at least you have Hank to keep you company.”
“That’s true.” Grissom paused. “He misses her.”
Southford’s smile was gentle. “I’m sure she’ll be very glad to see him again. You know, I still remember the very first time you brought her here…”
So did Grissom.
The bell over the door tinkled.
“So this is it,” said Sara. “Not exactly what I imagined.”
Grissom walked in behind her. “Oh? What did you expect?”
“Something more… cave-like. Something more like your office.”
“My office is not a cave.”
“Oh, please. You could have bats roosting on the ceiling and no one would even notice. Except maybe Hodges-and he’d probably just compliment you on your excellent guano-collection technique… Oh! Puppies!”
Grissom smiled. Sara was already kneeling by the pen, sticking her fingers through the mesh and letting them lick her fingers. “They’re so adorable…”
“Yes,” Grissom said softly. “Adorable.”
“-that all, Mr. Grissom?” said Southford.
“Hmm? I’m sorry, Dale. Woolgathering… Actually, I was hoping to tal k to you about one of your customers-a teenage boy named Lucas Yannick?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Grissom.” Southford frowned. “My customer records are highly confidential. I’m afraid you’ll need a court order to get access to them.”
There was a moment of silence.
Southford burst into a fit of giggles. Grissom sighed, but he did so with a smile on his face.
“Sorry,” said Southford. “I couldn’t resist-I miss working at the lab sometimes. Sure, I know the kid you’re talking about-let me just pull up his file.”
He went behind the cashier’s counter and tapped a few keys on the keyboard. “Here you go-Lucas Yannick. He’s got a Chilean rose-haired tarantula, a striped scorpion, and a praying mantis. Comes in here to buy bug chow.”
Grissom knew “bug chow” meant feeder crickets; spiders and scorpions preferred their food to still be kicking. “Did he ever order anything else? Millipedes, for instance?”
“No, nothing like that. Seemed interested in a snake the last time he was here, though-could be he’s decided to move up, evolutionarily speaking.”
“Thanks, Dale. I’ll pick up that dog food later, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Say hello to Sara for me, will you? When she gets back.”
Grissom glanced down at where t wo puppies were wrestling happily. “I’ll do that,” he said.
Diego Molinez stared levelly across the interview table at Catherine. There was no overt hostility in his face, just the blank hardness of someone used to prison.
“Consorting with known felons is a violation of your parole,” said Catherine. “I could have you sent back to a cell right now.”
Diego didn’t respond. Then again, she hadn’t really asked him a question.
“Tell me what I need to know and that doesn’t have to happen,” she continued. “Security footage at the Braun Suites shows you, Lester Akiliano, and Aaron Tyford visiting Hal Kanamu. Hal knew how to party, didn’t he?”
“So?”
“So sometimes a party can get out of hand. Maybe somebody says the wrong thing. Things get out of control-”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“No? Tell me how it was, then.”
“We respected each other. That’s all.”
Catherine studied him for a minute. If there was one principle Grissom had drilled into her, it was that the evidence never lied-but people did. Even so, people were always part of the equation, and Catherine’s ability to read people was finely tuned. Respect was one of those key words in Diego’s world, not one he used lightly. If he was going to lie to her, she didn’t th ink he would do it using that particular term.
He was telling the truth. And she knew what that meant.