*************************************************************
The grubby-looking man in the interrogation room seemed a bit twitchy and apprehensive as he sat at the table, waiting for the two criminal investigators to come in to speak with him. He kept chewing on his fingernails and spitting out pieces, a habit that Brass detested with a passion, and after watching him do that for forty-five minutes, he could stand it no more.
"You mind keeping your nails on your person? I don't want remnants of you dirtying up my interrogation room after we haul your ass off to jail," he commented.
"Go to hell. I didn't do nothin''," Will Castor answered, spewing another nail into the air with defiance.
"Ah, but that's a double negative, sir, which means you did do something. Why don't you just make this job easier for us and confess. We got enough evidence to put you away for a long time. You sure you don't want us to get you a lawyer?"
"I don't need no lawyer, I didn't do nothin'." The former felon turned his head to the side and began staring at the wall, making it obvious that he was now going to ignore Detective Brass for the rest of the time.
"Oh, you're going to ignore me now? Aw, gee, you're breaking my heart all over the place." Just as the sarcastic words left his lips, Sara and Nick entered the room carrying a manila folder.
"Mr. Castor, I presume," Nick announced, making a grand entrance. "I'm Nick and this is Sara, and we have a few things we'd like to talk to you about."
"Well, you arrested me; where else am I gonna go, right?" he returned, holding up both hands bound by handcuffs.
"Mr. Castor, two women were murdered by gunshot tonight. Are you able to explain why your fingerprints were on the two thirty-two millimeter casings at those two different crime scenes?" Sara asked, opening up a folder to study the results of the ballistics report.
"How the hell should I know? I don't even own a gun."
"Well, you're not supposed to own a gun because you're not allowed as a convicted felon to be in possession of any kind of firearm. So, can you tell us why we found a thirty-two revolver buried in the ground behind your house?"
"I just moved in the place, the people who lived there before me probably put it there."
"I see," Sara said in a very patronizing tone of voice; her eyes fell back upon the report. "The people who lived there before just happened to own the very thirty-two millimeter gun that killed two innocent women tonight. Ballistics was able to prove that the bullets we found at the scenes came from the barrel of your gun. The thirty-two millimeter revolver that you stupidly left your fingerprints all over. Just tell us, Mr. Castor, who hired you to kill Maggie Peterson?"
"I don't know nobody named Maggie Peterson," he answered, stubbornly.
"Another double negative," Brass warned in a sing song voice.
Nick decided to intervene. "Mr. Castor, do you realize that we have enough evidence here to put you away for life or to get you the death penalty? Are you really that stupid that you're going to do the time for these murders and the person who put you up to it will get off scot-free? If you cooperate with us, I'm sure the district attorney will be appreciative." Will Castor's eyes moved back and forth between the two investigators.
"Get me a lawyer. I'm not answerin' no more questions."
Brass sighed in frustration. "O.k., that's it. Interview's over once he asks for counsel."
"We'll find out by some other means, Mr. Castor. Either way, you're going to be spending time in a very small cell for a very long time." Sara picked up the folder and followed Nick dejectedly out of the room. Catherine had been waiting outside for them with what seemed to be good news.
"Were we able to get the financial records?" Sara inquired. The team attempted to get a court order to obtain copies of the assets of Castor and the Petersons, since they suspected that Mrs. Peterson's husband might have been the one who hired Castor.
"Yes, we got them, and guess who made a really large withdrawal of five- thousand dollars just two weeks before his wife was killed?"
"Let me guess, Mr. Peterson?" Sara replied, with a very happy smile.
"You bet," Catherine answered. "And guess who deposited five-thousand dollars into his bank account that same week? I think this is enough to have Brass bring Mr. Peterson in for some questions."
"Well, there's a bit of a problem, ladies; those bank account records aren't really enough to show a connection between the two men," Nick surmised, reading the information over Catherine's shoulder. "Castor deposited the money as cash; there are no receipts or any paperwork that can prove he got the money from Peterson. I really wish Castor would just spill his guts, man. He needs to take Peterson down with him. "
"Well, once he confers with a lawyer, he or she might convince him to do that for a lesser sentence," Sara said. "Until then, we've got to find some association between these two men. Here's a question: how could Peterson have met Castor?"
"That's a great question, Sara. You and Nick work on that; I'm going to talk to Al about the autopsy on our suicide. Great job, guys." Catherine patted Sara on her upper arm and handed the financial records to Nick and started toward the morgue. Sara reopened the file so she could peruse the information awhile longer.
"Does it say where Mr. Peterson works?" Nick asked. Sara's eyes scanned the sheets of paper.
"Yes, he's a construction worker for Peyolis Building Company. I wonder if Mr. Castor works there as well." Sara raised an eyebrow and smirked at Nick. "Let's go find out."
********************************************************
"The elusive Catherine," Dr. Al Robbins had a pleased tone of voice as she entered the room. "I haven't seen you for quite awhile, how are you?"
"Hi, Al, I'm good, but I'll be great if you can tell me this is definitely our shooter," she answered, glancing at the body of Matthew Grant lying in front of him.
"Well, I can definitely tell you that this man did indeed commit suicide. Searing of the skin from hot gases leaving the barrel of the gun after it is fired is usually the most indicative evidence of a suicide. The size and placement of the wound on his right temple, including the soot marking, is consistent with having a barrel held right against the skin before it was fired and I found traces of gunpowder on his hands. The angle of the exit wound shows that the gun was held horizontally at the temple and shot in a straight line out the other side. You found the gun on the scene?"
"Yes, on the floor near his right foot. It was a nine millimeter revolver which did show only his fingerprints and ballistics is trying to verify that it matches the nine millimeter fragments found at the restaurant, but my guess is it's most likely a match. This is just a case of a mentally ill person who wasn't getting the right treatment and took out his frustration in the worst way possible. All those innocent people," Catherine sighed and dropped her shoulders.
"Yes, such a disgrace. What did you find out about Teri's killer? Was it Mr. Grant, also?"
"No, she was killed with a thirty-two; Warrick was right about the second shooter. Teri was killed because of mistaken identity. Maggie Peterson, the hotel victim, well, we think her husband hired someone to kill her and he killed Teri first by accident. Brass arrested the guy who was previously incarcerated for 'murder for hire'. Sara and Nick had a warrant to check out his place and they found the gun, so we got him. Now we're just trying to get enough evidence to implicate the husband."
"I hope they both go away for a long time, but even if they're away for life, somehow it still doesn't feel like enough justice for Teri's death."
Catherine touched Robbins' arm compassionately. "I know. I found out her funeral is going to be on Wednesday; I thought you would want to know that, too."
************************************
"I'll be damned," Nick said, incredulously, holding a phone receiver against his ear. "Well, thank you, ma'am. Thank you very much." He hung up the phone in the meeting room and looked into Sara's eyes.
"Yep, they both worked for Peyolis Building Company, which explains how they knew each other. Now how do we prove that the money Peterson took out of the bank is the same money that Castor deposited into his bank account?" Nick shuffled around all the papers from the files, racking his brain for a solution.
"I can answer that one," Brass announced, from the doorway. He had a very happy expression upon his face. "Mr. Castor has become surprisingly cooperative and is, shall we say, singing like a canary after talking to his lawyer. The district attorney has promised to take the death penalty off the table in exchange for his testimony. He has implicated Mr. Peterson as having solicited him to kill his wife. Castor says he had a few beers that night and when he got to Mirabella's, he killed Teri thinking she was Maggie. Then, when he realized he had screwed up, he killed Maggie Peterson in the Luxor parking lot. The district attorney is asking for life in prison for Castor and possibly the death penalty for Peterson. I'm just glad that Peterson is not going to get away with this after all."
"Oh, that is just so great," Sara said, looking relieved and laughing. "I'm glad all this hard work counted for something. It's a great feeling of accomplishment." She wondered to herself who would be the one to notify Grissom of the good news.
********************************************************
The grubby-looking man in the interrogation room seemed a bit twitchy and apprehensive as he sat at the table, waiting for the two criminal investigators to come in to speak with him. He kept chewing on his fingernails and spitting out pieces, a habit that Brass detested with a passion, and after watching him do that for forty-five minutes, he could stand it no more.
"You mind keeping your nails on your person? I don't want remnants of you dirtying up my interrogation room after we haul your ass off to jail," he commented.
"Go to hell. I didn't do nothin''," Will Castor answered, spewing another nail into the air with defiance.
"Ah, but that's a double negative, sir, which means you did do something. Why don't you just make this job easier for us and confess. We got enough evidence to put you away for a long time. You sure you don't want us to get you a lawyer?"
"I don't need no lawyer, I didn't do nothin'." The former felon turned his head to the side and began staring at the wall, making it obvious that he was now going to ignore Detective Brass for the rest of the time.
"Oh, you're going to ignore me now? Aw, gee, you're breaking my heart all over the place." Just as the sarcastic words left his lips, Sara and Nick entered the room carrying a manila folder.
"Mr. Castor, I presume," Nick announced, making a grand entrance. "I'm Nick and this is Sara, and we have a few things we'd like to talk to you about."
"Well, you arrested me; where else am I gonna go, right?" he returned, holding up both hands bound by handcuffs.
"Mr. Castor, two women were murdered by gunshot tonight. Are you able to explain why your fingerprints were on the two thirty-two millimeter casings at those two different crime scenes?" Sara asked, opening up a folder to study the results of the ballistics report.
"How the hell should I know? I don't even own a gun."
"Well, you're not supposed to own a gun because you're not allowed as a convicted felon to be in possession of any kind of firearm. So, can you tell us why we found a thirty-two revolver buried in the ground behind your house?"
"I just moved in the place, the people who lived there before me probably put it there."
"I see," Sara said in a very patronizing tone of voice; her eyes fell back upon the report. "The people who lived there before just happened to own the very thirty-two millimeter gun that killed two innocent women tonight. Ballistics was able to prove that the bullets we found at the scenes came from the barrel of your gun. The thirty-two millimeter revolver that you stupidly left your fingerprints all over. Just tell us, Mr. Castor, who hired you to kill Maggie Peterson?"
"I don't know nobody named Maggie Peterson," he answered, stubbornly.
"Another double negative," Brass warned in a sing song voice.
Nick decided to intervene. "Mr. Castor, do you realize that we have enough evidence here to put you away for life or to get you the death penalty? Are you really that stupid that you're going to do the time for these murders and the person who put you up to it will get off scot-free? If you cooperate with us, I'm sure the district attorney will be appreciative." Will Castor's eyes moved back and forth between the two investigators.
"Get me a lawyer. I'm not answerin' no more questions."
Brass sighed in frustration. "O.k., that's it. Interview's over once he asks for counsel."
"We'll find out by some other means, Mr. Castor. Either way, you're going to be spending time in a very small cell for a very long time." Sara picked up the folder and followed Nick dejectedly out of the room. Catherine had been waiting outside for them with what seemed to be good news.
"Were we able to get the financial records?" Sara inquired. The team attempted to get a court order to obtain copies of the assets of Castor and the Petersons, since they suspected that Mrs. Peterson's husband might have been the one who hired Castor.
"Yes, we got them, and guess who made a really large withdrawal of five- thousand dollars just two weeks before his wife was killed?"
"Let me guess, Mr. Peterson?" Sara replied, with a very happy smile.
"You bet," Catherine answered. "And guess who deposited five-thousand dollars into his bank account that same week? I think this is enough to have Brass bring Mr. Peterson in for some questions."
"Well, there's a bit of a problem, ladies; those bank account records aren't really enough to show a connection between the two men," Nick surmised, reading the information over Catherine's shoulder. "Castor deposited the money as cash; there are no receipts or any paperwork that can prove he got the money from Peterson. I really wish Castor would just spill his guts, man. He needs to take Peterson down with him. "
"Well, once he confers with a lawyer, he or she might convince him to do that for a lesser sentence," Sara said. "Until then, we've got to find some association between these two men. Here's a question: how could Peterson have met Castor?"
"That's a great question, Sara. You and Nick work on that; I'm going to talk to Al about the autopsy on our suicide. Great job, guys." Catherine patted Sara on her upper arm and handed the financial records to Nick and started toward the morgue. Sara reopened the file so she could peruse the information awhile longer.
"Does it say where Mr. Peterson works?" Nick asked. Sara's eyes scanned the sheets of paper.
"Yes, he's a construction worker for Peyolis Building Company. I wonder if Mr. Castor works there as well." Sara raised an eyebrow and smirked at Nick. "Let's go find out."
********************************************************
"The elusive Catherine," Dr. Al Robbins had a pleased tone of voice as she entered the room. "I haven't seen you for quite awhile, how are you?"
"Hi, Al, I'm good, but I'll be great if you can tell me this is definitely our shooter," she answered, glancing at the body of Matthew Grant lying in front of him.
"Well, I can definitely tell you that this man did indeed commit suicide. Searing of the skin from hot gases leaving the barrel of the gun after it is fired is usually the most indicative evidence of a suicide. The size and placement of the wound on his right temple, including the soot marking, is consistent with having a barrel held right against the skin before it was fired and I found traces of gunpowder on his hands. The angle of the exit wound shows that the gun was held horizontally at the temple and shot in a straight line out the other side. You found the gun on the scene?"
"Yes, on the floor near his right foot. It was a nine millimeter revolver which did show only his fingerprints and ballistics is trying to verify that it matches the nine millimeter fragments found at the restaurant, but my guess is it's most likely a match. This is just a case of a mentally ill person who wasn't getting the right treatment and took out his frustration in the worst way possible. All those innocent people," Catherine sighed and dropped her shoulders.
"Yes, such a disgrace. What did you find out about Teri's killer? Was it Mr. Grant, also?"
"No, she was killed with a thirty-two; Warrick was right about the second shooter. Teri was killed because of mistaken identity. Maggie Peterson, the hotel victim, well, we think her husband hired someone to kill her and he killed Teri first by accident. Brass arrested the guy who was previously incarcerated for 'murder for hire'. Sara and Nick had a warrant to check out his place and they found the gun, so we got him. Now we're just trying to get enough evidence to implicate the husband."
"I hope they both go away for a long time, but even if they're away for life, somehow it still doesn't feel like enough justice for Teri's death."
Catherine touched Robbins' arm compassionately. "I know. I found out her funeral is going to be on Wednesday; I thought you would want to know that, too."
************************************
"I'll be damned," Nick said, incredulously, holding a phone receiver against his ear. "Well, thank you, ma'am. Thank you very much." He hung up the phone in the meeting room and looked into Sara's eyes.
"Yep, they both worked for Peyolis Building Company, which explains how they knew each other. Now how do we prove that the money Peterson took out of the bank is the same money that Castor deposited into his bank account?" Nick shuffled around all the papers from the files, racking his brain for a solution.
"I can answer that one," Brass announced, from the doorway. He had a very happy expression upon his face. "Mr. Castor has become surprisingly cooperative and is, shall we say, singing like a canary after talking to his lawyer. The district attorney has promised to take the death penalty off the table in exchange for his testimony. He has implicated Mr. Peterson as having solicited him to kill his wife. Castor says he had a few beers that night and when he got to Mirabella's, he killed Teri thinking she was Maggie. Then, when he realized he had screwed up, he killed Maggie Peterson in the Luxor parking lot. The district attorney is asking for life in prison for Castor and possibly the death penalty for Peterson. I'm just glad that Peterson is not going to get away with this after all."
"Oh, that is just so great," Sara said, looking relieved and laughing. "I'm glad all this hard work counted for something. It's a great feeling of accomplishment." She wondered to herself who would be the one to notify Grissom of the good news.
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