'Hey, Greg, you got my results?'  Catherine almost skipped into the lab; she was in much better spirits.  The prospect of seeing Grissom freed and given a full pardon had made her feel dizzy with anticipation.

            'Of course, dear Catherine.'  Greg answered in mock innocence, he too seemed happier and Catherine hoped that this was a sign that the results were good.  'They were top of the pile, naturally.'

            Catherine gave him a doubtful look as he rummaged through the papers on his desk until he found the appropriate sheet.

            'Aha!' he cried in triumph holding it aloft before noticing Catherine's outstretched hand and the impatient look on her face.  Handing it over with his usual grin, he could resist no longer.  'I've just cracked the case, haven't I?  Uhhu, who's da man?'

            'I'm sure you're referring to yourself, Greg,' Catherine smiled  'But do you happen to have my results?  As interesting as this is, I understood the victim died from a stab wound not an overdose of sodium chloride.'  She smiled sweetly at the young man.  Normally this would have annoyed her but at that moment nothing could dampen her spirits.

            'Ah' Again Greg rummaged on his desk and handed her another printout, smiling just as sweetly back at her.  'What does the General keep up his sleevies?'

            Scanning the page, Catherine immediately saw the logic behind the otherwise absurd question.  'His armies.'  She muttered  'It was army camouflage gear?'

            Greg nodded.  'Standard issue.  And who do you think was a private in the US Army?'

            'Dave Turner.'  Catherine didn't even need his remark of 'Got it in one' to know she was right.  She remembered reading his file when he was first suspected of the murder.  'Next stop Colorado Springs.' She turned to leave.

            'Um, Catherine, that's the air force.'

            'Whatever.'  The door was already closing behind her.

            'Damn!'  Greg cursed as the door clicked shut and, noticing the other lab techs giving him funny looks, he added, 'She got the last word!'

            Catherine looked up as the door in front of her opened.  'Mr. Turner?'

            The man gave a hesitant nod, he seemed anxious.

            'Catherine Willows, I'm working on your wife's case.  We spoke before.'

            Dave twitched nervously.  He completely ignored Catherine's outstretched hand, not taking his fearful eyes off her for one second.  A bemused expression crossed Catherine's face; the man had seemed much more confident on the phone.

            Catherine lowered her hand and turned imploringly to the older man standing behind her.  Brass shrugged and took her place on the doorstep.

            'Mr. Turner, we'd like to ask you a few questions.'

            Immediately Dave's expression brightened.  'Of course, come in.' He stood aside to give them room to enter.

            Dave showed them into a small, cosy front room and invited them to take a seat.  They sat in silence for several seconds.  Catherine studied Dave carefully; watching his behaviour, one false move and she would catch him out.

            Impatient to clear Grissom's name, Catherine spoke first.  'Mr. Turner, where were you on the night of your wife's murder?'

            'I told you before.'  Dave squeaked.

            Clearly he was unwilling to talk to her.  He looked like he was about to faint or throw up, or both.  Catherine turned and threw Brass a look, thus passing him the baton.

            'The thing is, Mr. Turner, your friend, a Mr. Brian, has had a memory lapse.  So where were you?'

            Again Dave looked instantly more at ease and he seemed more willing to talk.

            'Oh, I remember, I was with James the night before.  I was here, at home, all by myself; I'd hired a DVD and I was watching it.'

            'So no one can verify your whereabouts?'

            'No' His reply was abrupt, perhaps too quick.

            'And you weren't with your wife at any point during the evening?'

            Dave didn't even hesitate; he was responding much better to Brass' questioning and Catherine noticed that he seemed to have forgotten she was there.

            'We had supper together but she left soon after.  That was just before five.'

            'Did she say where she was going?'

'No, but she obviously went to the park with that man.  What was his name?'

            'Gil Grissom'

            'That's him.  I hope he gets life for what he did.'

            Catherine bit her tongue, now was not the time to act irrationally; she had to play it cool.  She saw Brass was looking at her as if to say the same.  She faked a small smile, which seemed to give him piece of mind, and then returned to observing Dave's behaviour.  She was starting to dislike the man; there was something about him that just didn't fit.

            'Have you ever met Mr. Grissom?'

            'Yes.  We went to the same high school.'

            Catherine sat up suddenly.  This was news to her, but then Grissom talked very little of his past and she had never pressed him about the subject.

            'We were never in the same class but I knew him; who didn't?  His reputation preceded him.  Bugboy, that's what they used to call him but he never seemed to mind, just carried on studying.  Shocked everybody when he aced science, I can tell you-'

            'Mr. Turner, we're not here to discuss Mr. Grissom, past or present.  Now, you were in the army, weren't you?

            'Briefly.  I didn't make it passed my first year.  They said I didn't have what it took to be a soldier.'

            Brass nodded sympathetically.  'Do you still have your camouflage gear?'

            'Sure, it's in the loft.'

            'Hmm, well we found this along with your wife's watch near where your wife was killed, in the remains of a fire.'  Brass held out a clear evidence bag containing the scrap of dirty green material that Catherine had found earlier.  'We matched it to the material used in producing army gear.'

            'There are plenty of people of people around here who were in the army, it could belong to any of them.'

            That was true of course, but Dave's voice sold him out.  He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as well as them.  Catherine saw that most of the colour had drained from his face and his eyes bore the lines of a fierce mental fight; perhaps a struggle between his conscience and his sense of self-preservation.  At any rate his conscience seemed to be winning through, maybe they could break him.

            'We are also in possession of a surveillance tape that places you in the same park as your wife shortly before her death.'

            Dave said nothing, his eyes were fearful once more.  He opened and closed his mouth several times but nothing came out, not a sound.

            'Why did you kill your wife, Mr. Turner?'  Catherine could remain silent no longer, besides she hated being ignored.

            Dave looked like he had noticed her for the first time.  The sudden introduction of another voice into the failing conversation made him jump and he knocked a stack of books over, sending them skimming across the varnished floor.  Hastily he bent to pick up the nearest one.

            'I … I didn't.  W-why would I?'  He stammered, avoiding eye contact.

            But Catherine wasn't looking at his face; she had noticed something when he had bent down.  The shirt he was wearing had ridden up just enough to reveal the lower half of his back and for the brief few seconds that it was visible Catherine had counted no less than six patches of discolouration.

            'Mr. Turner, how did you injure your back?'

            Dave made no attempt to speak.  Instead he stood stock still, staring at Catherine and clutching the book to his breast as though it was something precious.

            'Take off your shirt.'  Her voice was harsher than she had planned but she was growing tired of this man.

            Instantly Dave dropped the book and all but tore his shirt off.  Surprised, but none-the-less glad for his sudden compliance, Catherine walked towards him to get a better look.  It became clear why Dave had worn a long-sleeved shirt, fully buttoned, in the height of summer; the bruising Catherine had spied on his lower back was only the tip of the iceberg.  He was practically covered in all shapes and sizes of patches of varying shades of green, blue, purple, and brown.  His torso and arms were a multitude of colours while his face, neck and hands remained a healthy peach.  Catherine sensed foul play and instantly softened.

            'How d'you do that?'  Catherine had taken over the interview again and out of the corner of her eye she saw that Brass was clearly just as shocked as she was about the condition Dave was in.

            'I fell.'  Dave suggested.

            'Must have been some fall.'

            'Down the stairs.'

            'Uh hu, why didn't you bang your head?'

            'I was wearing a helmet.'

            'That was lucky.'  A first day rookie would have seen through his lies.

            Obviously Dave saw that he wasn't convincing her for he collapsed backwards into a chair and put his head in his hands.  He began to shake violently and Catherine looked uncertainly at Brass, unsure of what to do next.

            'I had to,' Dave sobbed through his fingers 'I couldn't take it anymore.'

            'Had to do what?'  Catherine knew the answer but it was necessary to make him confess.

            'I killed her!'  He shouted, looking up  'She crossed the line once too often and I had to put a stop to it.'

            Suddenly it all made sense; the murder, his bruises, why he was afraid of her but not Brass.  His own wife had beaten him!  Catherine knew where she stood with wife beaters but she wasn't so clear about husband beaters, it was rare but she had heard of it before. 

            He could have suffered in silence for years, restrained by the wrath of an abusive wife.  In this case the murderer was the true victim.

            'What did she do?'  Catherine's voice was so soft and full of genuine sympathy that she could actually see his defences crumple.

            Dave took a deep breath to steady his nerves before he began his story, relieved to finally be able to get it off his chest:

            'I met Anna when I was sixteen.  She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen and she was so friendly towards me, I couldn't help but instantly fall for her.  But then I discovered that she already had a boyfriend and, of all the people it could have been, it was Bugboy Grissom.

            'I didn't like the way he treated her, if I hadn't known better I would have thought he was forgetful.  He hardly ever turned up for their dates and when he did he looked as if it was the last place he wanted to be.  Eventually they split up and I was there as a shoulder to cry on.

            'When I was eighteen I left school and joined the army.  It pained me to leave Anna but it had been a life long dream.  Anyway it didn't work out, they said I wasn't made of the right stuff, and I was discharged the following year.  So, making the best of a bad situation, I proposed to Anna and we were married within six months.

            'The first few years were wedded bliss, I couldn't have asked for a more caring wife than Anna.  Then she changed for no apparent reason and things went from good to bad.  She started small; throwing plates, first at walls then at me.  When we lost Daniel, our son, to drugs she got worse, blamed me for it all.

            'Gradually she graduated from threats and verbal abuse to actual physical abuse.  She would lash out for no reason but afterwards she'd be so kind and sorry that I always forgave her instantly.  But the affair was the last straw-'

            'Affair?'  Catherine was finding it easier and easier to empathise with him.

            Dave nodded.  'We only moved here two months ago; I thought a change of location would calm her down but it only made things worse.  She found out that Bugboy lived in the area and contacted him.  They started meeting each other and I wouldn't have minded but she tried to keep it from me so she could only have been up to no good.

            'I wasn't going to stand for that.  She may have beaten and belittled me but she had never lied nor hidden anything from me before.

            'I decided to follow them with, I am sorry to say, the intent to kill one or both, either way Anna had to go.  The whole charade had opened my eyes; I saw what kind of a person she really was and I just couldn't live with her any longer.

'My job as park warden allowed me to find the best possible spot where I knew I would be hidden from the cameras.  I waited for her there and when she came she didn't even see I was there which just made me more determined than ever.  I led her into the bushes for cover and attacked; I wanted her to see my face, to know that it was me, that I had finally gotten back at her.

'I took her purse and jewellery, to make it look like a simple mugging, and burnt them along with the clothes I was wearing.  I thought it would take at least a day to identify her and by that time I could have filed a missing persons report and look like a concerned husband.  I thought my motive would hold because James is a bit forgetful and I had actually been with him the night before.

'What's going to happen to me?  Will I have to go to jail?'

'Oh, I should think so.'  Brass stood up and removed his handcuffs from his belt.  'What's more you owe her boss, now what was it?  Ah yes, Bugboy Grissom, an apology.'

Dave turned to Catherine, wide eyed.  'Your boss?'

Catherine nodded and smiled at Dave's shock.

'I had no idea.  I didn't mean anything by it, I just couldn't live with her any longer.'

He seemed desperate to convince her and Catherine supposed that he was a genuinely nice guy, he had just been mistreated.  Still, that didn't make him any less of a murderer. 

'Yeah, well you should have got a divorce.'