Chapter 8: Palimpsest

Sara found her way to the documents room, where a woman with beige brown hair and skin of nearly the same shade was concentrating on a computer screen. "What are you working on?" she asked.

The woman looked up. "Sara Sidle," she said in greeting. "I'm Natalia Boa Vista, the CSI who processed you."

"Nice to meet you." Sara shook the other woman's hand, even though the sound of Natalia's first name sent an icy chill through her veins. "Lieutenant Caine brought me in to help with the case."

"So I heard." With the introduction out of the way, Boa Vista answered her question. "Jane Doe had some undigested food in her vomit, indicating she ate right before being drugged and beaten. I figured if I can figure out what she ate I might be able to find where she ate. I'm trying to match the ingredients to known...pastries."

Sara smiled at the explanation. "Too bad there's no pastry data base. Mind if I take a look?"

"Sure." Boa Vista handed her a printout of the components of the food in question. "The lab also determined the coffee she drank was spiked with GHB, and it was mixed with chocolate, so I'm guessing she'd just been at a coffee shop."

"There was a glass of water at the crime scene that also contained GHB. No wonder it almost killed her."

"The guy must've been really worried about her waking up."

Sara nodded as she read off the list of ingredients. "Sugar, cocoa, cream, eggs, butter, coconut...walnuts, vanilla, custard powder...I know what this is."

Boa Vista turned to her, waiting eagerly.

"Nanaimo bar."

"A what?"

"It's a Canadian dessert. I wonder if there are any coffee shops in the area that sell it." In response to Boa Vista's raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "I had a roommate in college from British Columbia," she explained.


"How is it coming, Mr. Wolfe?" Horatio asked, entering a room where Ryan had just finished reassembling as much of the shot-out window as he could.

"So far, all the evidence is backing up Sara's account."

"I had no doubt."

"Did you find anything at the motel?"

"As a matter of fact, we did: a bag of weapons for Calleigh to process and a rather intriguing message."

"Who was the message to?"

"Judging by its contents, I'm guessing our dead man. The note is being processed for fingerprints as we speak."

Natalia and Sara walked in a moment later. "Horatio, you're back. We've identified Jane Doe's last meal as mocha and a Nanaimo bar. We called around and found three coffee shops within a few miles of the crimescene that carry Nanaimo bars. Sara and I were just going to go check them out."

Horatio smiled. "Good. But why don't you take Mr. Wolfe with you instead."

"Okay," she said. After a moment of reflection, she decided Horatio wanted to keep Sara out of the field, since technically she was only a consultant on the case.

"Miss Sidle, will you come with me, please?"

"Sure," she responded. She wasn't happy about not being able to follow her lead, but she was happy that Horatio wanted her with him. More happy than she would admit even to herself.


"Horatio was flirting with her?" Natalia asked incredulously.

"I swear. He was practically ogling her."

She laughed. "I wish I'd seen that."

They parked outside the ironically named Snow Mountain Coffeehouse, which was owned by Jon and Lucy Chan, immigrants from Vancouver, British Columbia.

The place was nearly empty when they walked in. A young man with spiked black hair and small light brown eyes smiled at them from behind the counter. "Hi. What can I get for you?"

"We're from Miami-Dade PD," Ryan said. "We're just wondering if you've ever seen this girl in here." He handed him a photo of Jane Doe.

He took the picture. His lip parted with a dismayed frown and his eyes shook. "Yeah," he said after a moment of silent shock. "She stops in here almost every day. She has a half-hour wait between buses on her way to work. The bus stop's right across the street."

Natalia's shoulders relaxed with her relief. "What's her name?"

"I don't...I never asked her. You know, you don't really ask a customer's name, especially after you get to know them. You just chat."

"Do you know where she lives? Where she works?"

"I know she's a mechanic," he said. "I thought that was really cool, and it was really funny that she fixed cars for a living but she took a bus to work. I don't know where, though."

"When's the last time you saw her?" Ryan inquired.

He thought for a moment. "The day before yesterday, I think. She was one of the first customers of the day. She said her mocha tasted salty, but no one else complained."

Natalia looked up quickly. "Salty?"

"Yeah. Salty."

"GHB tastes salty," Ryan mumbled.

Natalia nodded, then she addressed the barista again. "Do you remember anyone else in here when she was here?"

"There was a guy with a shaved head. He looked like he was about thirty. He might have been Cuban. He got here first thing in the morning, and then just stayed. Also...he'd been getting refills of drip coffee for about an hour, but then when this girl ordered a medium mocha latte, he told me to make two."

"Did he talk to her at all?" Ryan inquired.

"Yeah. She sat down by the window, where she usually sits. He walked over to her and told her she had pretty hair. I was a little weirded out by that, and I think she was, too, even though I'm sure she was used to that kind of thing. She really does have gorgeous hair."

"Did he put his cup down on the table, next to hers?"

"I didn't notice. Probably. First, though, another thing I thought was weird...he put sugar in his mocha. I almost threw up just thinking about it. Who does that?"

"Are you sure it was sugar?" Ryan asked.

"Well...he was over there by the sugar packets, and he stirred something into the coffee. He had his back to me, but then I saw him throw away one of the pink sugar packets."

"Has that garbage been thrown out since then?" he asked quickly.

The young barista shakily shook his head. "I don't think so. We usually throw the garbage out twice a week, and I just put in a new garbage bag before opening that morning."

"We'll need to take the garbage as evidence."

"Sure. Anything else I can help with?"

"Yeah," Natalia said. "Did he follow her out?"

"He left a couple of minutes before she did."

"What time was that?"

"Uh...a little before 8:15; that's when the girl catches her bus." He hesitated, then asked, "Is she going to be alright?"

Natalia knew she shouldn't discuss the case, but she could tell how worried the young man was. "We don't know yet."

Ryan took the nearly full black garbage bag as he walked out of the cafe.

"Are we going to print all the sugar packets in there?"

"Maybe not," he said. "Just the one that isn't open. He probably grabbed a sugar packet for show, mixed in the GHB, then tossed the package without opening it."

"He doesn't fit the description of John Doe, though."

"I know." He frowned thoughtfully. "Something weird is going on here."


"This is way cooler than our AV Lab!" Sara exclaimed at the sight of the Miami Crime Lab's computer system.

"You don't even want to think about the price tag," the audio-visual tech told her.

"I think I already did."

"You said you found something?" Horatio asked.

"John Doe's cellphone was prepaid and untraceable. It didn't have any names in it, but a couple of numbers kept coming up. One of them was the home phone of Arsenio Petersen. The other one was another nameless cell."

"So Arsenio was lying when he said he didn't know the victim."

"That's what it looks like," she confirmed.

"No surprise there. Thank you."

"Anytime. I'm still trying to recover some deleted data. I'll call you if I dig anything up."


"Two!" Calleigh shouted before firing two shots.

"Impressive."

She turned to see Sara Sidle standing next to Horatio. "Thanks," she said to Sara. "I hear you haven't been doing too badly, yourself."

Sara wasn't sure how to respond to the Southerner's praise. Horatio noticed and spoke first. "Have you found anything from the guns?"

"They were reported stolen from a gun show seven years ago, along with two other firearms. One of those other guns was confiscated from an attempted gas station robbery two years ago. The robber, George Merlo, pled guilty and is serving out his time in the state pen. He said in his confession that he bought the gun in a back-alley deal. I'm going to question him first thing in the morning, see if he connects to any of the players in the case, but it will probably be another dead end."

"Calleigh, you know that a dead end is only a dead end until you find a door. Is there anything else?"

"Maybe. Can I talk to you in private for a moment?"

"Of course. Miss Sidle, could you wait outside please."

Sara nodded and walked to the door. She figured they would be talking about her.

Calleigh waited until Sara was out of earshot. "How's Miss Sidle working out?" she inquired.

Horatio blinked. "Fine. She's a good investigator."

"She seems reliable to you?"

"Very. Do you have reason to think otherwise?"

"I pulled her records, just to be on the safe side. Did you hear about the CSI in Las Vegas who was abducted by a serial killer last year?"

"Of course."

"Well, Miss Sidle had a medical leave of absence around that same time."

"And you think she is that CSI."

"She left her crime lab suddenly a few months ago. There must have been a reason."

He nodded. "I checked her record before asking for her help, and came to the same conclusion. I appreciate your misgivings, but I haven't seen any indication that her judgment is impaired."

"Just keep an eye on her."

"I am," he assured her.


Horatio and Sara went to the Questioned Documents Lab, where the QD tech was examining the note under a microscope, with Eric hovering nearby.

"Miss Sidle, this is Eric Delko and Cynthia Wells."

"Hi," she said.

"Hey." Eric shook her hand, then turned toward Horatio. "There were two sets of prints on the paper, not counting the footprint. I'm guessing the note was shoved under the door and John Doe stepped on it when he walked in. Neither set of prints got a hit on AFIS."

"Did we get anything else off the note?"

"Did we ever," Cynthia said. "You know how writing on the top sheet will leave impressions on several pages under it? There were no impressions like that. None. But there were smudges left from pencil marks. Something was actually written on this paper and erased before the death threat. Looks like the killer's a cheapskate."

"Were you able to reconstruct it?" Sara asked.

"Yes. An address. 'Cinder. 4506 Coquina Street, Room 38, 6 p.m. Sunday.'"

"That tells us a lot," Sara sighed.

"Coquina Street, that's right in the middle of the Golden Triangle," Horatio mused.

"The what?"

"Only the most dangerous corner of Miami," Eric explained. "Gangs and gangsters own the place."

"And that," said Horatio, "is our next stop."