This was excitement, Sara reflected. Forget roller coasters, nothing could
compare to the rush of flashing lights, crime scene tape, that feeling of
utter joy that came with the possibility of another puzzle. She turned off
the Tahoe, the engine grumbling to silence, and she hopped out, grabbing an
evidence kit on her way.
Grissom was not far behind her, and she waited a few seconds for him to catch up before they walked up to Jim Brass, who was talking with a younger cop. "Hey, Brass," Sara said. "What do we got?"
"Virtually identical to the one a few hours ago, coroner says the two were killed around the same time. . .GSW to the forehead, looks like a suicide, but the trajectory is off. No gunshot residue on the hands. Get this: the victim's been identified as Marshall Williams."
"That's the previous vic's husband!" Sara exclaimed. "Weird."
"Yeah," Grissom agreed. "Anything else?"
"There's a tape recorder by the body," Brass told the pair. "I was thinking another Millander, but it doesn't match up."
"Have you listened to it?" Grissom asked.
The detective shook his head. "Thought I'd leave that to you."
"Hey, Ga-ary!" A female's sing-song, taunting voice opened the tape. "Gary B-A-R-N-E-S, Barnes! Hey, baby! I heard about your S.S. gig, just wanted you to know: This is the Fish. Bye!" The tape clicked off.
"You want to tell me what 'This is the fish' means, Gary?" Sara asked. She was sitting across from a shackled Gary Barnes, who stared stoically at his last victim.
"I ain't seen the Braves play a game all year," he drawled, sighing. "Nevada is the shit, and I don't mean that in a good way. No one lets me watch baseball. How ya doin', Sara Sidle? Looking good, 'cept. . .well, your mark's fading. Want me to fix it for you, make it nice and vivid?" Barnes traced his left cheek.
"Gary, fuck off," she said cheerfully, hiding what she truly felt. Barnes was a master of the mind game; if she gave him anything, he'd take it and run with it.
"You got hitched!" he said excitedly, eyeing her wedding ring. "Let me guess, your mentor, boss-man. . .Isn't he a bit old for you?"
Grissom chose that moment to walk into the interrogation room.
"And here's our bride-groom now! Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you Gil Grissom!"
The scientist raised an eyebrow with disdain. "He giving you anything?" Grissom asked.
Sara shook her head. "Nada," she said, directing her comment and a scowl to Barnes. "What does 'This is the fish' mean, Barnes? It's not this difficult."
The prisoner merely smiled lazily, not answering.
Grissom jumped in with, "Gary, you son of a bitch, I already know what half of it means, I know where it was recorded and when, I know who asked that woman to record the message, I know why. You want me to tell you, or are you going to open up?"
"Bring it on, hubby," Barnes dared. "I bet that's what the missus here says. 'Oh, Grissom, baby, sweetie!' Vomit."
Sara's fists clenched as she fought back the urge to break Barnes' nose again. Her husband, ever calm and unemotional, chose to hide his anger and tell Barnes all he knew. "It was recorded in a soundproof room, maybe a bathroom, in Laughlin. That woman, on the tape? That was the girl you killed in Las Vegas three years ago. . .I'm sure you remember her, the last one you killed here. . ." Grissom shrugged. "I have to hand it to you, Gary, not a lot of guys like you plan this much. Taping something three years in advance? 'S.S?' You already had Sara here picked out, weeks before you actually got to her. The only thing I can think is that you knew one of these days you were going to end up in prison, so you have a friend out there with this tape and a plan. . .you've been waiting for this moment for three years. Incredible. One question, though. How'd you get her to read it so calmly? Didn't she know she was going to die?"
"Only Sara knew she was going to die," Barnes drawled. "Didn't you? Sidle, you knew that every time I came down there, you were getting closer."
"Shut up, Gary."
The prisoner shrugged his orange-clad shoulders. "Fine. You want to know what the fish is? Watch your back."
Grissom was not far behind her, and she waited a few seconds for him to catch up before they walked up to Jim Brass, who was talking with a younger cop. "Hey, Brass," Sara said. "What do we got?"
"Virtually identical to the one a few hours ago, coroner says the two were killed around the same time. . .GSW to the forehead, looks like a suicide, but the trajectory is off. No gunshot residue on the hands. Get this: the victim's been identified as Marshall Williams."
"That's the previous vic's husband!" Sara exclaimed. "Weird."
"Yeah," Grissom agreed. "Anything else?"
"There's a tape recorder by the body," Brass told the pair. "I was thinking another Millander, but it doesn't match up."
"Have you listened to it?" Grissom asked.
The detective shook his head. "Thought I'd leave that to you."
"Hey, Ga-ary!" A female's sing-song, taunting voice opened the tape. "Gary B-A-R-N-E-S, Barnes! Hey, baby! I heard about your S.S. gig, just wanted you to know: This is the Fish. Bye!" The tape clicked off.
"You want to tell me what 'This is the fish' means, Gary?" Sara asked. She was sitting across from a shackled Gary Barnes, who stared stoically at his last victim.
"I ain't seen the Braves play a game all year," he drawled, sighing. "Nevada is the shit, and I don't mean that in a good way. No one lets me watch baseball. How ya doin', Sara Sidle? Looking good, 'cept. . .well, your mark's fading. Want me to fix it for you, make it nice and vivid?" Barnes traced his left cheek.
"Gary, fuck off," she said cheerfully, hiding what she truly felt. Barnes was a master of the mind game; if she gave him anything, he'd take it and run with it.
"You got hitched!" he said excitedly, eyeing her wedding ring. "Let me guess, your mentor, boss-man. . .Isn't he a bit old for you?"
Grissom chose that moment to walk into the interrogation room.
"And here's our bride-groom now! Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you Gil Grissom!"
The scientist raised an eyebrow with disdain. "He giving you anything?" Grissom asked.
Sara shook her head. "Nada," she said, directing her comment and a scowl to Barnes. "What does 'This is the fish' mean, Barnes? It's not this difficult."
The prisoner merely smiled lazily, not answering.
Grissom jumped in with, "Gary, you son of a bitch, I already know what half of it means, I know where it was recorded and when, I know who asked that woman to record the message, I know why. You want me to tell you, or are you going to open up?"
"Bring it on, hubby," Barnes dared. "I bet that's what the missus here says. 'Oh, Grissom, baby, sweetie!' Vomit."
Sara's fists clenched as she fought back the urge to break Barnes' nose again. Her husband, ever calm and unemotional, chose to hide his anger and tell Barnes all he knew. "It was recorded in a soundproof room, maybe a bathroom, in Laughlin. That woman, on the tape? That was the girl you killed in Las Vegas three years ago. . .I'm sure you remember her, the last one you killed here. . ." Grissom shrugged. "I have to hand it to you, Gary, not a lot of guys like you plan this much. Taping something three years in advance? 'S.S?' You already had Sara here picked out, weeks before you actually got to her. The only thing I can think is that you knew one of these days you were going to end up in prison, so you have a friend out there with this tape and a plan. . .you've been waiting for this moment for three years. Incredible. One question, though. How'd you get her to read it so calmly? Didn't she know she was going to die?"
"Only Sara knew she was going to die," Barnes drawled. "Didn't you? Sidle, you knew that every time I came down there, you were getting closer."
"Shut up, Gary."
The prisoner shrugged his orange-clad shoulders. "Fine. You want to know what the fish is? Watch your back."