Brass approached the door to the lab and glanced inside. Grissom sat quietly, reviewing paperwork.
"Just the man I was looking for," Brass said. "Do you have a result on the knife yet?"
In the university library, Grissom had found a pocket knife carefully tucked behind some of the most complex volumes about ancient Greece. The knife had dried blood in the joint, and Greg was testing it against the victim's.
Grissom nodded. "Greg paged me a few minutes ago, but I don't know where he's gone off to."
As if on cue, Greg's laugh was heard from the hallway. "There he is," said Brass, sticking his head out the door. "Greg!" he called, motioning for the younger man to come.
Grissom joined Brass in the doorway and saw Darcie McCohen engaged in an animated conversation with Greg. "Well, well," muttered Brass, "Cute couple, no?" He smiled at Grissom, but Grisoom didn't return the gesture. He watched the couple with concern.
"Greg!"
The young man finally excused himself and walked to the lab, a little skip in his step. "Pretty girl," commented Brass.
"Smart, too," said Greg, smiling. "She's a bio major and she really knows her stuff. Slam dunk on the knife," he continued, handing a print-out to Brass. "Victim's blood."
"Great. Looks like we've got this guy," said Brass.
Grissom sat silently, fuming.
Warrick was just pouring himself a cup of entirely too strong coffee when Nick walked into the break room.
"Info on Joel Barnart's credit cards just came through," Nick announced. "And check this out: he bought a plane ticket to New York the morning after the murder."
"We've got him," smiled Warrick.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wilder," said Catherine, "I'm sorry to disturb you. I just have a quick question."
Grace's parents looked at each other and nodded.
"You told us you had no contact with your daughter except when she called you about three weeks before her death."
"That's right," said Mr. Wilder, looking confused.
"Mrs. Wilder?" Catherine turned towards her.
The woman nodded in agreement.
"Well," Catherine began, "your phone records say otherwise. Someone at your phone number called Grace a week after she called you."
"But… that's impossible!" murmured Mrs. Wilder. "We didn't…"
Catherine looked at Grace's younger sister. "Gertie?"
"Don't be absurd!" her father said.
Gertie looked at the ground, fidgeting.
"Mr. Wilder," Catherine explained calmly, "someone made a call from your home. If it wasn't you, and it wasn't your wife, that leaves your daughter."
"Well, Gertie?" demanded Mrs. Wilder.
Gertie shot a glance at her parents, then focused on Catherine and took a deep breath. "I called her. It was me."
"Gertie! Why would you –"
Catherine motioned for them to be quiet. "Let her explain."
"I just wanted to talk to her," Gertie said, "I mean, she is my sister! My parents told me she hated us and she ran away, but they never wanted to talk about it. And then she called! And I didn't even know it was my sister, you know? How terrible is that? Mom started yelling at her and I knew they wouldn't work anything out, but I just wanted… I wanted to know her. My big sister. What's wrong with that?" Gertie's eyes shone with tears.
"What did you talk about?" Catherine asked gently.
"Nothing. She wasn't home. I talked to her fiancé. He seemed really nice." She paused. "I didn't say who I was."
Catherine found Sara studying some printouts. "I just finished talking to the family," Catherine said. "I think we can rule them out. The daughter was the one who made the call; she wanted to get to know her sister. Her parents kept her pretty in the dark about it, so that's understandable. And I get the feeling that the parents were more embarrassed-angry than homicidal-angry."
Sara nodded her agreement. "And check this out – the other phone number from that area code, the one that called six times: it's registered to Samantha Kesler."
"Grace's ex."
"I got a hold of Barnart's parents," Brass said. "They haven't heard from him in a while, but that's not unusual. The college called about his disappearance and they were going to come to try and find him."
Nick nodded.
"Did you ask about New York?" said Warrick.
"Yeah," Brass answered. "His mom's sister lives there. NYPD is on the way to her place now."
Samantha Kesler was touching up her orange lipstick as Sara came in.
"What's this about?" she demanded.
"I'm sure the officers explained to you, Mrs. Kesler –"
"Miss."
"I'm sorry, Miss Kesler, that one of your acquaintances has been killed and we're hoping you could help our investigation."
"They told me. They just wouldn't tell me who's been killed."
"Grace Wilder."
There was a pause and Samantha tucked her hair behind an ear. "What, are you calling in her entire high school class? I haven't seen her since then."
Sara leaned forward. "You lived together for two years."
Samantha stiffened. "That doesn't mean I know anything about her murder."
Just then, Catherine came in, introduced herself, and offered the two women coffee. Samantha took a drink, then declared, "I haven't seen Grace in years. We weren't on speaking terms. I'm sorry to hear about her death, but I can't help you."
Sara and Catherine glanced at each other.
"May I go?" Samantha asked.
"Of course," said Catherine. "Thank you for your time."
"I can't believe people actually wear that shade of lipstick. It's terrifying," Catherine declared.
"Well, it sure looks like the lipstick found on Grace," said Sara, "although that won't prove anything."
"No," Catherine agreed, picking up Samantha's coffee cup with a gloved hand. "But her fingerprints might."