"Ms. Paruvski," Breeze began as she and Sasha sat across from Lady Heather in the interrogation room back at CSI HQ. Detective Kenyon Browning was standing in the dark corner with Cameron Howe, who was operating the camcorder. "I'd like to begin by thanking you for coming on such short notice."

"The pleasure is all mine," Lady Heather nodded slightly. She was no longer dressed in her dominatrix outfit, but she had changed before leaving her Domain in charge of her protégée, Lady Saskia. Instead of her corset and fishnets, she was wearing a flaming-red lamé sundress and matching spiked-heeled sandals.

"I'm sure," Breeze said wryly.

"Well," Lady Heather sat back. "What is it that you nee to talk to me about that is so important that you must drag me away from my Domain?"

"Don't worry, Lady Heather, we'll have you back to cracking whips in no time," Sasha said sarcastically. "We just have some evidence that points towards you as the could-be murderer of Gilbert Grissom."

Lady Heather's eyes shot fiery darts at Sasha, "Then by all means, Mister Zarek, enlighten me."

"That we will do."

Breeze began, "Ms. Paruvski, I assume that you are an avid gardener?"

A pause and then a nod from Lady Heather. "When I get the chance I do my own work. Most of the time I use my sprinkler system and pay my neighbor's son to take care of the weeding and so on."

"Your neighbor?" Breeze peered at Lady Heather over the legal pad she held to jot down notes.

"Her name is Carrie Leaping Water. She's a Paiute Indian, thirty-seven years old. Her son Matthew Lynx is seventeen, a sweet boy. Does my yard work. They live to my right, visit the reservation in Las Vegas once and a while. They're very quiet people, stay to themselves a lot. Nice people."

"Does Matthew Lynx have free access to your estate?"

"No. I let him in myself. My gates are always locked, as you observed."

"He has no other way to get in? No side entrances?"

Lady Heather shook her head. "No. I'm sure you saw the high wooden fencing around my garden, Miss Hamelin. No one would be able to climb it without breaking something on the jump down. Same goes for my iron gates. And to be honest, I haven't found a body yet and if I had, you can be sure I would call you straightaway."

Ignoring Lady Heather's dry attempt of humor, Breeze continued. "So the only way to get to the garden is through you?"

"Yes. Matthew Lynx buzzes at the gate. I let him in and once he closes the gate behind him, it locks automatically again. I lead him through the house and out to the garden," Lady Heather paused, stuck out her chin and crossed her legs. "In my line of work, safety goes hand-in-hand with pleasure. High walls are meant to keep good things in and bad things out."

"Getting back to the garden," Sasha said, sliding a few Polaroid snapshots across the table to Lady Heather. "You recognize these flowers ?"

Lady Heather picked up the Polaroid's carefully and scrutinized them, "Yes. These are nasturtiums. They tend to thrive in my garden, they spread like kudzu. They aren't very fragrant but I indulge in their color. Vibrant, aren't they?" she pointed at the photo with a long fingernail.

Breeze jumped in again, "Are you aware that nasturtiums are one of the few flowers that can be eaten? Along with violets, Johnny Jumpups, a few kinds of roses…"

Lady Heather waved a hand to discontinue Breeze, "Yes, yes."

"Have you ever eaten the nasturtiums?"

"Once, when I first began planting them. I never cared for the taste, really."

"Miss Hamelin found traces of strychnine on the leaves, petals and on the surface of the soil of these nasturtiums," Sasha explained after a beat, knowing for sure that it was strychnine—he and Breeze had them processed earlier in the evening.

"We already found strychnine coated on some of Grissom's herbal pills, but we still don't know who put it there. However isn't it odd," Breeze raised her pierced eyebrow, "that we find strychnine on the only plant in your garden that can be eaten?"

Sasha continued, "Not to mention several blossoms were missing from the stalk. From the photographs you can see they were ripped from the stems, not snipped, due to jagged edges. If they were snipped, especially with clippers, the edges would be smooth," His metallic gray eyes fixated on her.

Lady Heather peered at Sasha over the photograph, her nearly-black eyes shooting fiery darts at him. "You accuse me of murder? Mister Zarek, this seems dangerously unorthodox. Have I a motive?"

"Let's worry about motive later. Right now, we'll concentrate on how you got the strychnine."

"Mister Grissom gave it to me," Lady Heather answered blatantly.

"Mister Grissom gave it to you?"

"That is correct. I was sort of friendly with his maid, Solange? I'm somewhat eloquent in French so conversing with her was simple. When our conversations turned to gardening one day, I mentioned I had a jackrabbit problem. Or problème de lapin. They developed a taste for my nasturtiums.

"Solange told me her sister uses strychnine in her garden and it was a strong control agent against birds, insects and mammals. I expressed interest and Solange—vicariously through Mister Grissom—gave me some strychnine to try out."

So the strychnine is once again traced back to Solange, Breeze thoughts. "How long were you using strychnine in your garden?"

"Not very. I only stopped but two-and-a-half weeks ago. I used to get hummingbirds and butterflies in my garden, but after I used the strychnine, I got less and less until none at all. So I removed as much as I could. But when I noticed my nasturtiums were being eaten again, I concentrated solely on those."

"How did you remove the strychnine?"

"It's a fine white powder and I found it disintegrates in water. So I gently sprayed the flowers with water, but not before I scooped off what I could from the top of the dirt. It was a long process but in a way I had managed to somewhat flood out the strychnine without killing my flowers. So in answer to your question: very carefully."

"Is it completely removed?"

"I imagine some residue still lingers in places unseen to the naked eye. However, at least the hummingbirds and butterflies have returned."

"What are your flowers used for?" Breeze asked.

Lady Heather smirked, "Miss Hamelin, you do surprise me. For someone as young as yourself, your intelligence is extraordinary. But when you ask such questions such as these, I begin to doubt your astuteness."

"Just answer the question, please."

"What do you think flowers are used for, Miss Hamelin? Decoration. Atmosphere. Erotica. Definitely not cuisine or whatever matter you're suggesting. I suggest the jagged ends are the result of a jackrabbit or perhaps some other wild animal. But I can give you my solemn word—I did not kill Mister Grissom."

Breeze raised her pierced eyebrow behind her legal pad. Why does she keep calling him Mister Grissom? She was obviously fond of him, she calls herself his consort, so why the formality? Is she calling him Mister Grissom because we're calling him Mister Grissom? "Did Gil Grissom come into contact with the strychnine-affected flowers on the night he died?" she asked.

"No. I did indeed bring him fresh flowers, as I did about once a week or every two weeks. But I made sure that I rinsed them to rid them of the poison after I snipped them. I would fill my kitchen sink with water and let the flowers soak for twenty-four hours. Then, I would remove them from the sink, put them on a towel, drain the sink and then just use the sink hose to rinse the flowers off. It's quite simple," Lady Heather paused. "Last time I was over at his house, I brought him some Gerber daisies, beautiful daisies, bright orange and purple. I even threw in some blue daisies I'd made myself."

"How do you make blue daisies?"

Tossing her hair back, Lady Heather explained as if Breeze was an absolute dimwit and this was something everyone should know, "Dye the water blue with food coloring and then put the flowers in. They soak up the water and eventually turn blue. No harsh chemicals involved," she added pointedly. "I always managed to bring Mister Grissom some blue flowers, no matter what the flavor of the week—I always told him it was a color that suited him though he preferred the white flowers that brought bugs."

Still calling him Mister Grissom, eh? Breeze thought. Watch out Lady Heather. I'll be pulling out the big guns soon.

Sasha flipped through his own notes and once again took over the questioning. "Ms. Paruvski, was Mister Grissom acting strangely the last time you saw him?"

"Strangely?"

"Disoriented, listless, complaining of headaches?"

Lady Heather paused. "Slightly. We would be in the middle of something and he would take of his glasses like he did when he was going to kiss me. But instead he would just pinch here for a second," she pinched the bridge of her nose, "and then put his glasses back on. If he showed any signs of ailment, I'm sure he wouldn't have let me see. He didn't even like admitting to his hearing disorder in front of me. When I first asked him about it, he changed the subject. 'Are you loosing your hearing?' I asked. His reply was, 'I think I'm loosing my balance.' That was Mister Grissom's one flaw—he had, in a sense, too much pride."

"How long had he been doing this?" Sasha asked, mimicking the motion Lady Heather had done.

"I'm not sure. Mister Grissom had all sorts of these…odd actions he would do. I always secretly believed he had OCD—obsessive compulsive disorder. Quite possibly I'd only noticed the last time I saw him."

"Which was the night he died?"

"Yes."

"Speaking of death," Sasha opened an old file, "It seems as though CSI was involved with the deaths of three of your employees in two years, between late 2001 and early 2002. Just how many people die in your line of work?"

Lady Heather glared, "Death is always an extremely rare possibility. My employees are well-trained. But, unfortunately, like the few cases you have examined in the past, people do get carried away. Injuries have indeed been reported, however all parties sign waivers before having personal sessions in my domain. It states that we at Lady Heather's Domain are not responsible for any S-and-M-related injuries and accidents done out of free will. I could show you a copy. It's all legally binding. I had my lawyer look it over and everything."

"That won't be necessary."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Ms. Paruvski," Breeze sat erect and made straight eye contact with Lady Heather, "I noticed you, though you were his so-called 'companion', that you refer to Gil Grissom as 'Mister'. Why is that?"

Lady Heather crossed her legs, "Well, well, well. You are as intelligent as you seem, aren't you, Miss Hamelin? You're very good, very good at catching that. You see, he has always been Mister Grissom to me, and he never instructed that I call him otherwise, though it was obvious that the option to do so was open. I always referred to him as Mister Grissom, he always referred to me as Lady Heather. Personally, there is something…erotic about titles such as those. Don't you think so, Mister Zarek?"

Sasha gave Lady Heather a queer look, who returned it with a sly smile.

Breeze, on the other hand, was perplexed, "So you never called each other just Gil or just Heather?"

"Miss Hamelin," Lady Heather re-crossed her legs and leaned on the table, "I've made a career out of dominance. In my eyes, a name without a title is a sign of a weakness and the dominance belongs to the partner with one. A title in front of a name establishes supremacy, it establishes reverence. Since Mister Grissom and I saw each other as neither equals nor rivals, we established the dominance on both sides of the coin."

"Interesting point of view," Breeze nodded to herself.

"I don't see it as simply a 'point of view', but as a philosophy. When you become an expert on dominance such as I, then you see it more as a creed."

"Ms. Paruvski, have you ever had…had…" Breeze felt herself turning red ever so slightly. This was never a subject she felt completely at ease discussing. She knew this was more of Sara's area of expertise in the crime lab. "With Mister Grissom, have you ever had…"

Lady Heather raised an eyebrow, somewhat ridiculing Breeze's trademark expression of surprise, shock or confusion. "Had sexual intercourse? With Mister Grissom? I'm sorry, Miss Hamelin but no."

"No?"

"No. There was heavy petting, but never did we go to the extremes. I think it was my career, you see, that made him nervous."

"We found your hairs in his bed," Breeze said. "Any idea of how they got there?"

"Yes, several, but would they be right?"

"Only one way to find out."

"I can assure you, Miss Hamelin," Lady Heather replied firmly, "never have I lain beside Mister Grissom. I have opened up many things for him—my schedule, my mind, my heart—but rest assured my legs remained no part of it."

"We'll see about that," Breeze's expression remained stiff. "Recognize these?" Breeze opened a folder and produced the pair of Lady Heather's thong panties sealed in a plastic bag, the ones Sasha had found. "The DNA on them say they're yours and they were found in Mister Grissom's apartment. In his bedroom to be exact. Again, have any ideas?"

"Again, yes, but this one I know I am right for sure," Lady Heather picked up the plastic bag. "I've been looking for these."

"Finders keepers."

"I know what you're getting at, Miss Hamelin. You really are trying to accuse me of something. I've been accused before; mistakes were made; I've been clean since. Why start now with the murder of my companion?"

"Well, tell us how the panties got in Mister Grissom's bedroom."

"I slept over. On the couch. One night we had some wine and we watched a movie. An Alfred Hitchcock, I think. I fell asleep and I woke up the next morning. Turns out the night before, Mister Grissom had simply covered me with a blanket and then went into his own room. He did not want to wake me up, which was a good idea, because I'm groggy and grumpy when I'm awoken prematurely. When I roused, there was a note on the coffee table that said that he'd been called to cover a class at the university and he wouldn't be back till late. I needed to get back to the Domain so I went down to my car, got a change of clothes, took the liberty of using his shower…I must have been in a hurry and forgotten my extra pair."

Sasha cleared his throat. "Thank you for cooperating, Ms. Paruvski," he said, standing. Breeze and Lady Heather followed suit and the two CSI's shook hands with the dominatrix.

"You're very welcome," Lady Heather replied softly.

Breeze walked Lady Heather out.

"Lady Heather, could you tell me something, please?"

"What?" Lady Heather stopped walking and turned to face the young CSI.

"Does…does this mean anything to you?" Breeze held out the plastic bag containing the opal ring. She had grabbed it before walking out of the examination room. Breeze handed Lady Heather the plastic bag, who knew enough not to open it.

"It looks like a promise ring."

"Promise ring?"

"It's like a high school boy giving his sweetheart his class ring or the equivalent of a girl receiving her boyfriend's college fraternity pin. Worn on the third finger of the left hand, like a wedding ring. This is a nice one. What's the stone, a quartz?"

"Opal," Breeze corrected.

"Ah. The opal. Traditionally the October birthstone."

"Yes."

"Is that an inscription?" Lady Heather squinted as she read it.

"Does it mean anything to you?" Breeze asked hopefully.

Lady Heather sighed. "Sadly, no. My birthday is in April."

"I meant the inscription."

"Hm. 'I'll Wait For You…If You Wait For Me'…well, this is a promise ring," Lady Heather concluded.

"We found it in Grissom's home."

"Well," Lady Heather handed the bag back to Breeze, "then the ring obviously isn't for me."

The two women walked a bit more down the CSI HQ hallway in silence until they reached the front door.

"How old are you, Miss Hamelin?" Lady Heather asked.

"Me? Twenty-six," Breeze answered, her head down. She was always a little ashamed of being so young. She always seemed to be the youngest or the 'baby' of everything, including her family—she was the 'baby' of four children at home in Oregon.

"Twenty-six? Just a baby"—here Breeze winced ever so slightly—"Why do you bother your young and lovely self with such a stressful job?"

"I don't see it as stress," Breeze answered curtly. "I see it as a release."

Lady Heather gave a small smile, "Good. That's good. Your job should bring you pleasure. Mine certainly does."

"I'm sure."

"If you ever want to leave forensics, Miss Hamelin," Lady Heather said before she stepped out the door of the bureau, "my door is always open."