Riddle Me
Grissom and Lorne stood on the spot in the lobby where Lorne had agreed to meet Andreas. Grissom had just gotten off his cell phone, warning Captain Brass that Oswald was probably going to rob Caesars tonight. Lorne had not really listened. He finally had on his own clothes, which meant a conservative (for Lorne), shiny blue suit. Now he looked at his Rolodex. "He's way late," he said.
"Is he usually?" asked Grissom, putting away his cell phone.
"I don't know. I just met him."
"Which way did he go?"
Lorne showed Grissom through the concourse. "I don't see how we can find him," Lorne said. "Like looking for a needle in a haystack, not to coin a phrase."
"Just a moment," said Grissom. He went up to a well-coifed, middle-aged man in a sport coat, whom Lorne took to be a tourist. "Hello, Mike," said Grissom. "I want you to meet a friend of mine, Lorne. We're looking for a friend of his who might have come this way an hour or so ago. Lorne, why don't you describe Andreas to Mike?"
"Well, he's tall, thin, but with wide shoulders. He's casually dressed in a brown leather vest, has long, dark brown hair..."
"And piercing dark eyes," Mike stated.
"You remember him?"
"Mike doesn't miss much," said Grissom with a little smile.
"I couldn't forget," continued Mike. "I thought to myself, 'That egg is a smooth operator with the ladies', if you know what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
"Why that fella came in here alone, but he went in that gift shop there and came out ten minutes later with a beautiful brunette on his arm. And they were pretty hot 'n' heavy."
"Where'd they go?" asked Grissom.
"Over toward the casino," replied Mike.
"Notice anything else?" asked Lorne uneasily.
"Like what?"
"Anything."
"Well, your friend don't carry a billfold," said Mike.
"So?" asked Lorne.
"It's just a professional observation," explained Mike.
"I don't understand," said Lorne. "What profession is that?"
Mike paid Lorne a side-long glance before turning to Grissom. "Your friend ain't too swift on the uptake, is he?"
Grissom explained, "Mike is one of our city's strolling ombudsmen who make sure people don't lose all of their money gambling."
"Hey, Mr. Grissom, I like that one," Mike chuckled. He eyed Lorne for a brief moment before turning earnestly to Grissom. "So, do I get a reward for helping you out?"
"In a way, Mike, yes. I'm going to tell you something, but I want you to keep it under your hat."
"Sure thing."
"Something could be going down here tonight. I can't tell you what. If it happens you'll hear all about it tomorrow." Grissom glanced at Lorne before continuing. "Within the hour, this place will probably be crawling with police, both plainclothes and uniformed. You probably don't want to be here for that."
"Geez, thanks for the tip. I think I'll bid you gentlemen good evening and be on my way. Wasn't that good a night anyway." The pickpocket briskly walked away.
"Gil, should we be checking to see if we still have our personal effects?"
"Don't bother. Mike is the last of a dying breed. He would never take from someone who had seen his face."
For a moment, Lorne wondered whether that was supposed to be virtuous or merely canny, but he had something else on his mind. "Gil, I've got to tell you something that I'm sure you're going to hate to hear as much as I'm going to hate telling you. Andreas is a, uh, well, he's a kind of alien, too." He saw Grissom raise an eyebrow. "Andreas isn't like me."
"You mean, he isn't here for the music?"
"You could say that."
"Spit it out Lorne, I won't bite."
"Well, it's funny you should use that particular expression, because, you see, Andreas does bite. He bites people. In fact, you could say that Andreas comes from a whole species of Hannibal Lectors."
Grissom's eyes went wide. "You mean a serial killer is loose in this hotel? That brunette could be his next victim—or his most recent. I wish you'd mentioned this to me before."
"Well, I guess I was hoping that he would control his impulses since he said he was here to look for Oswald."
"Looks like he got side tracked. Come on."
"Where to?"
"To follow the only lead we have."
As they approach the casino the constant sound of bells going off became deafening. Grissom had to shout into the ear of a liveried casino employee in order to be heard. He showed the man his badge at the same time.
"No," the man said, "I haven't seen a tall man with long dark hair in here today. To tell the truth, I thought somebody must've called you here because of the commotion on the upper tier about twenty minutes ago."
"Commotion?" Grissom said. "Can somebody show me where?"
"Sure, come with me." The man, an off-duty black jack dealer named Phil, led them up a staircase. The noise of the casino diminished a little as they moved past shops in the direction of the hotel lobby. They did not go far before the tremendous crack on the balcony became obvious.
"This just happened twenty minutes ago?" asked Grissom. "It must have made a tremendous noise."
"Loud enough to distract the people down below, and that's hard to do."
"Did you see anyone come down afterward?" Grissom asked.
"Not me."
"One more thing. You said you didn't see anyone who fit that description today. See anybody like that before today?"
"Come to think of it, there was somebody in here yesterday who did fit that description, and, you know, he might have even come up here. I remember seeing him on the staircase we just climbed."
"Thanks for your help, Phil. Take my card, and please don't hesitate to call me anytime if you remember anything or see anything else suspicious. It doesn't have to be related to this or even make any sense."
After Phil left them, Grissom took in the scene. He got down on the floor to examine the apron in front of the shop door. He inspected the crack in the balcony. Using his own stride, he measured the distance from it to the potted plant. He studied scuffmarks on the floor. Finally, he hunkered down at a spot in the middle of the walkway, took out a glassine baggy and a small paper envelope. Using the envelope as a scoop, he scraped up a small amount of something dark from the floor and deposited it in the baggy. He carefully sealed the baggy and pocketed it.
When Grissom briefly looked at Lorne, the Pylean saw a deeply furrowed brow above an equally deep frown; but Lorne realized that Grissom was far from unhappy. This was a man who lived to solve puzzles, and this was a monumental riddle for him. Lorne was not sure what had happened, but he believed it would crack Grissom's weltanschauung wide open—if he ever figured it out.
In the next moment, Grissom went for the potted plant. He climbed onto the rim of the pot so he could reach its thicket of leaves near the top. He seemed to be feeling for something.
"What's up with the palm tree?" asked Lorne.
"Actually," said Grissom, grunting as he tugged at something with his one hand as he hugged the trunk with his other, "it's not a palm tree. It's a cycad—a Cycas revoluta, to be exact. Some people call it a Sago Palm, but it isn't related to the palm at all." When he climbed down he was holding the sharpened wooden dart that had flown wildly from Justine's crossbow.
Lorne let out an involuntary gasp as he realized the significance. "Oh, my Gosh, Gil. I think I know what might have happened." Lorne looked at Grissom expecting him to ask a question, but the criminalist only cocked his head attentively. "I think Oswald must have killed Andreas with a crossbow—with a wooden dart. That's one of the few ways that, uh, people from Andreas' planet can be killed."
"With a sharp wooden dart?"
"Yes."
"But not beheading."
"Well, actually, that would work on Andreas. Just not on me."