Chapter 10

I logged in the evidence and went around the labs, dropping off things to be processed – prints, swatches of Camille Vanasse's bed sheets, the brown powder from her side table. I stopped by the AV lab, but Archie had left for the day, so I took Vanasse's laptop back to evidence and logged it in too. Catherine was with me. We wanted to hit Grissom's office and give him the rundown before Catherine headed home, and I headed out to grab Brass and pull Fava in for more questions. Detective Sofia Curtis joined us in the hall.

"Got a minute?"

I let my eyes wander over her. Blonde, intelligent, she was all business. I'd liked her almost from the moment I met her, which was more than I could say for some other birds around here. Sara for instance… Sofia had come in an outsider, and had maybe begun to tread on some territory some of the others didn't want her treading over. At times I'd looked for a cat fight between her and Catherine, or her and Sara. That had passed though. Sofia had moved on to become a detective and she was a good one at that. I matched my stride to hers. "Got something for us?" I asked.

"Camille Vanasse's background."

I looked at Catherine. She was looking back at me. This was a story we wanted to hear. I followed the two girls as they veered into Grissom's office. They took the two seats across from Grissom's desk. I leaned against the doorframe and waited for Sofia to give us the skinny.

"Camille Vanasse is from a town in the south of France. The town's called Bandol. It's by the Mediterranean, in Provence," she began, glancing around at all of us.

So our dead canary was from the French Riviera? Catherine and I had known the little tidbit about France – the French passport had tipped us off. I'd been picturing something a little more Parisian though, Camille Vanasse bellowing out a ballad in a Paris café in her smoky French accent. Her dark olive complexion should have been the tip-off though, along with some of the stuff we'd found at her apartment.

I thought back to the photos of Camille Vanasse in her living room. A shot of her by the sea beneath a beach umbrella, another of her sipping wine at a small café. I wondered how a girl from the sea could leave that lifestyle to come live in the desert. Then again, Vegas had lured many young people with its glitz and glam.

I hooked one ankle over the other and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for our fabulous flattie to continue.

"She entered the country two years ago from France, started with a traveler's visa, but then got herself a work visa, and almost immediately went to work for Fava as a lounge singer. She'd been employed by Ric's ever since."

I watched from the doorway as Grissom nodded. "Did you get anything else?"

"Yeah." Sofia flipped through her file. "Camille Vanasse studied music at the Conservatoire de Nice. She was three years into her degree and a month away from beginning her forth year when she came over here. She also performed at the Festival Jazz des Cinq Continents in Marseille in 2003."

"Family?"

"She was an only child – no siblings. Both her parents are still living in Bandol. We haven't had any contact with them yet. Brass contacted French authorities and asked them to notify the family. "

Grissom was jerking a nod. I thought about Camille Vanasse's folks getting the next-of-kin notice from a couple of uniforms with no information. It was a hard way to get the rumble.

"Sofia," Catherine asked, "did Vanasse study the cello at the Nice Conservatory?"

From where I stood, I couldn't see Sofia's reaction. I envisioned her eyes widening at Catherine's Grissomesque move. "Yeah," Sofa drew out slowly, "and the piano."

Grissom looked at Catherine. She returned his look. "There was a cello at Vanasse's apartment. There was also a grand piano."

Grissom's brow furrowed. "A grand piano?"

I stepped into the room and stood just behind the two seated girls. "Yeah. White. Swanky." I made a clicking sound out of the side of my mouth to emphasize the swank. "Catherine and I figure she could have brought her cello with her when she relocated, but a grand piano?"

Grissom jerked another nod. "It's more likely she purchased it here," he said.

"How does a girl who'd dropped out of college, moved continents and got a job as a lounge singer in a small private club afford a grand piano?" Sofia asked.

"Somebody got it for her."

I looked at Grissom. "Right, the same person who furnished her apartment." I handed Grissom the card from my camera. He plugged it into his laptop and brought up the photo's I'd taken of Vanasse's apartment.

Sofia moved around the desk, leaned forward and studied the images. She whistled. "That's what the inside of her place looks like? I saw her address. Her building is a dive."

"It was probably all she could afford." I didn't figure Vanasse's salary for carrying her too far, not after she coughed up for the candy. I looked from Sofia to Grissom. "I'd lay odds on, Fava had someone clean it up and furnish it for her. He probably bought her the piano too. There was more to his relationship to Camille Vanasse than he copped to. She was dopey over him."

Catherine nodded. "The relationship may have been casual to him, but to Vanasse…she's got a picture of the two of them by her bed and another by her sofa. From her look, he was it."

I jerked a nod in agreement. "Probably hurt his pride, a girl who's madly in love with him sleeping with another man, not to mention that man being his old chum, Harry Montoya. I'd lay a dime on that information being enough to make him go off the track. He could try to play it down, but fact is, he wasn't on the level about his relationship to Vanasse. Vanasse might not have been the only woman in his life, or his bed, but she wasn't just some dame. He furnished her place, bought her extravagent gifts, took her out to the occasional meal to keep her happy… He had her on a string. Probably makes a bird feel pretty good, an exotic beauty like that carrying a torch - until she gets tired of being one kitten in a litter and decides to cozy up with the closest available cat. Fava had a woman daffy over him and she still slept with another man. A bird like that, I'd say that's motive."

Grissom's eyes were ranking over me. He shook his head. "We need evidence."

"I know that, but I want to bring him back in. He's got some questions to answer. Let Brass put the screws on him, see if he'll spill. If not, we can hit him with hand size."

"We have to be careful about tipping our mitt, Greg. Harry Montoya and Lauren Perske had hand spans that could fit as well."

"What about the others?" Catherine asked.

Grissom shook his head. "Johnny Mathers and Adele Williams' hand spans were too small, and Calvin Hellman's hand span was too large." I had figured it was. "Like Greg said, Hellman's hands were massive. The measurement came in at just under twenty-six centimeters." He looked at me. "That leaves us with three people to take a closer look at, Greg, all with motive." And none who'd been on the level, his look told me. "And we still can't discount the others, not without knowing what caused our vic's heart failure. We'll pull Fava back in later. Brass already called it a night. When he gets back on, he can pick up Fava for more questions. Maybe we'll have some more results by then."

Calling it a night was probably a good idea. I was anxious to sit down across from Fava, but if I wanted to make him sing, I'd need a clear head. At the moment, I was exhausted…and hungry. I couldn't remember eating anything since I'd come in. Grub sounded like a swell idea. "Breakfast?" I asked.

Catherine stood up. "Sorry, Greg, plans with Lindsay, remember? I'm already late."

Right. I'd forgotten. "Grissom? Sofia?"

Grissom shook his head. "Another time."

Sofia moved back around the desk. "Sorry, Greg, I have to head over to PD."

I nodded. It was dial for grub for me. "Ciao," I said as I gave a wave and strolled out of the office.

Sara and Nick were both in the locker room. Sara was putting on her jacket. Nick was tying up one of his shoes. "Hey Greggo," Nick greeted.

"You guys on your way out?"

"Yeah."

"Feel up to the hash house?"

"Franks?" Nick asked.

I nodded.

Sara looked at me and shook her head. She closed her locker. "Raincheck?"

"Plans?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She grinned, and let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Right." She slipped over to the entrance of the locker room and turned around. "Same plan as every day – home. Then it's breakfast, bath and bed. I'm not up to a greasy spoon today. I'll see you guys later."

I let my eyes follow her exit. We could do a little more upscale if ever the mood hit.

"Well, I'm in."

I looked at Nick. He swung his foot off the bench and stood up. "Anyone else coming?"

I shook my head. Opening my locker, I changed jackets and shoes. Then, I headed to Franks.

The place was a grease joint, but we'd been going there so long, we'd become sort of immune to its faults. At least I'd thought I'd become immune. I sat across from Nick, staring at the piece of meat on my fork. "Does this look appetizing to you?"

Nick was scarfing down his own food. He paused in his eating and looked up. "Looks the same as it always has, Greggo. You just know Sara's at home eating better and you're thinking maybe she had a point."

At that moment I was thinking that maybe he had one.

"Why do we come here?"

"Hey now, I asked that a couple of months ago and you said it was tradition."

I looked at him. I had said that. I'd felt it at the time too, Franks being where they all took me to celebrate move from the lab to the field, the place I'd been going with them ever since. I figured it was the lack of food all shift that left me wanting more than greasy bacon and runny eggs.

"It is tradition."

Nick looked at me and shook his head. He took a bit of his syrup soaked pancake and swallowed. "So, how's the case coming?"

"Moving along slowly. How's yours?"

He took another bite and swallowed. "Got a solve. Found the john our vic had tried rolling. He left everything behind. Wasn't hard to get a confession once we'd grilled him a little."

I nodded and took a bite of my eggs, looking down at the pool of yoke on my plate.

"Hey Greg, you ask Grissom about that nightclub?"

"No dice," I said.

He frowned, in a way that hinted at him thinking about something. I copped it to him wanting to believe in a bit of gossip about our boss. There was a part of me that didn't want to let it go, either, but I didn't figure Grissom for any kind of a liar. There may have been some big time cats sitting down at the table at Ric's, but Grissom wasn't one of them. Fava was. So was Montoya. So were a number of birds who may have flown the coop the night Camille Vanasse expired. Grissom hadn't sat down at that table, but the characters who had were probably far more interesting.