I do not own 'Chuck.'

I do not own 'CSI'.

Also, to be safe, here are a few other "C" items I do not own:

"CHIPS"

"Clarissa Explains it All"

"Charlie's Angels" – the 70's TV show. As for the movie… (checks)… nope, don't own that either

The Burt Reynolds classic "Cop and a Half"

The Barry Manilow tune "Copacabana"

A recording of "C is for Cookie" performed by Charlotte Church, Coolio, the Counting Crows and Charisma Carter (though I really hope this exists)

Chapter 3

"Let's start with the big guy first."

Nick couldn't argue with Brass's suggestion. Wendy had already confirmed that the partial print found on the knife belonged to Barnes, making him the chief suspect. Plus, from what he'd seen, getting the older man to break didn't seem like much of a challenge, provided that he didn't ask for an attorney.

Barnes eased those fears as soon as he was brought into the interrogation room. "Lawyers are for sissies," he commented. "Bring it on, pigs."

Brass didn't seem offended at all. "I admire your willingness to cooperate, Jeff. Hopefully, we can get all of this unpleasantness taken care of quickly."

"Oh I can handle unpleasant. I've been called 'Mr. Unpleasant' many times."

"I can believe that. Now, how about you tell me what happened this morning."

Barnes thought for a moment. "Well, I woke up early. About 10 or so. I had my usual Cheerios and beer breakfast. Then Lester and I jammed for a bit. You know, to get ready for the battle."

"Right. That's very interesting. But I'm thinking more about what happened with the co-manager, George."

"Oh, that guy? He came and said we were being too loud. Can you believe that? I mean, I get him asking us to play louder so he could hear us, but why would he want us quieter?"

"That was pretty rude of him. I guess what you did makes complete sense, then."

"Well, I figured I had to do something."

"Well, you certainly did that." Brass leaned forward, anticipating the confession, while Nick continued to watch the interview progress.

"Still, it was a waste."

"Oh yeah, how so?"

"I could have drank that beer."

"Beer?" Brass paused, confused.

"Yeah, the bottle I threw at him."

"Oh, the beer bottle. And then?"

"It missed. I figured he'd come back to kick us out. But he never showed. At least I don't remember…"

Nick could see that Brass was beginning to feel frustrated, so he spoke up. "And what about the knife?"

"Knife?"

"Your knife. We have it, and know it belongs to you."

"You found my knife? I was wondering where that went. Thought I left it in the car or something."

Nick could see that this wasn't getting anywhere. A change in approach was needed. "What about what happened at the Green Pines?"

"The who?"

"The Green Pines Motor Lodge. You stayed there two nights ago. Before you had to leave because of the fire."

"There was a fire? Cool. Sorry I missed it."

"Missed it. Are you sure?"

"Well, my short-term memory is kind of shot. Plus I think I was kind of drunk."

Unlike his bandmate, Patel didn't seem particularly eager to be helpful. "So are you supposed to be good cop and bad cop?" he asked, after being motioned to the seat at the interrogation room table. "Or maybe just old cop, and … overly good-looking cop?"

"Don't be silly," Brass replied. "Stokes isn't that old. So how about you tell us about George."

"George? George…Harrison? George Hamilton?"

"George, the body in your hotel room." After the failure with Barnes, Brass seemed more impatient with Patel.

"Wait, what? Are you trying to pin something on us? Because I don't know any George."

"Really, because he seems to know your buddy's knife."

Patel laughed nervously. "Now, wait. Why would Jeffrey kill somebody?"

"Why don't you tell us? Maybe he recognized you as the Buy More bombers. Said he'd turn you in, so you decided to make sure that didn't happen."

Patel looked excited for a moment. "Recognized us? Really, we're that famous?"

"Now that you're murderers as well as bombers? Absolutely."

The color drained from Patel's face. "Now just a minute here. I didn't…"

"That's right." Nick recognized the determination on Brass's face. "You didn't. So why go down for this along with Barnes? I mean, after all, he's just the backup, and you're the lead singer right."

"Well that's true, but I don't think I could go a capella…"

Brass waved this off. "Oh he's replaceable. But I can tell that you are the real strength of the band."

"Really? Wait," Patel's brow furrowed. "How could you tell? You stopped us before we could start playing."

Brass look stumped, so Nick jumped in. "Working in Vegas, we get to see a lot of concerts, so it's become kind of second nature to us. We can recognize talent without even hearing it."

"Oh," Patel looked mollified.

"But maybe now nobody is going to hear that talent," Brass jumped in again. "Just because you decided to be noble, and protected a murderer. "No fame, no fortune, just a tiny cell shared with the man who took it all away from you."

Patel's eyes narrowed. "You know, that would be a waste."

Brass pressed on. "Besides, if you cooperate and tell us what happened, maybe you'll be a hero, and become really famous. Why, I'll bet the motel fire was all Jeffrey too."

Patel nodded with some enthusiasm. "Well, actually…"

A pounding on the window interrupted any further confession.

"Who did they say they were?"

"CIA." Nick's boss, Catherine Willows, replied to Nick's question. As soon as they had left the interrogation room, a frustrated Captain Brass had headed off to meet the mysterious arrivals.

"CIA? What would they want with these two?"

"Apparently they're suspected of being agents of a foreign government."

"Seriously?" Nick couldn't believe that. "And you actually got the CIA to admit that much?"

"The little one was actually quite talkative. The older one didn't seem too happy about that. They must be new partners or something."

They both turned as Captain Brass returned to the hallway. "It looks like they check out. I managed to get a hold of an assistant to a General Beckman, and she confirmed it. They want our dynamic duo."

"That's it?" Nick asked. "We just give them up?"

"Well, they are murder suspects. That gives us some leeway if we want to start a jurisdiction battle. It would have helped if we could have gotten a confession. I thought I was about the break the short one, but now…"

Catherine turned to Nick. "What about the evidence? Is there enough to be able to hold them?"

"Maybe," he responded. "We've got the knife, plus the evidence we found at the Green Pines. Still' there are a couple of inconsistencies I want to check on."

"Well keep looking into it. We've got maybe a day left, so be quick. And let me know what you find."

"You know, historically a lot of our great artists haven't been the most upstanding citizens. Wagner was an anti-Semite. Mozart was a womanizer. Elvis liked those fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches."

Nick hadn't come to the lab for that particular bit of information. "That's great, but I'm here about the cloth, Hodges. Were you able to identify the substance on it?" After a pause, "And do you really want to compare those two yahoos to Mozart and Elvis?"

"Hey, music is a subjective experience. I'm just saying you have to give certain allowances for an artistic temperament."

"Murder is a bit too much for me to allow, Hodges. The cloth?"

Hodges sighed, then handed Nick a printout. "Benzalkonium chloride, chlorophenol, and Isopropyl alcohol."

"Household cleaner?"

"With a pine-fresh scent. And for what it's worth, the proportions of the active ingredients is only found in industrial-grade cleaner."

Nick stared at the sheet for a moment, then grabbed his phone. "Greg?"

"Hey Nick."

"Greg. Do you remember if the trash had been emptied in the hotel the day before the murder?"

"Yeah, it was. Why?"

"Well, I think our band may be innocent after all."