Chapter 9 – The Lady is a Tramp
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Grissom asked as they pulled up outside Lady Heather's Domain. It was dusk, but not yet dark, so there would be little activity to divert Lady Heather's attention.
"No. But I'm going to do it anyway," Sara said, blowing out a deep breath. Grissom followed her to the back of her SUV, lifting her kit from the back, handing it to her before slamming the doors shut.
"Hey, just remember that I love you," he said, reaching out to take her free hand into his.
"I know. I'll try to keep that in mind," she said, a forced smile on her face. "Wish me luck."
"Should I have an ambulance standing by, just in case?" he teased.
"Should I take a gun, just in case?" she shot back.
"Not for you, but for her," Grissom chided her.
"She's the one with all the weapons, and she knows how to use them. So, I'd say she has the upper hand. We never studied defense against a Cat o' Nine Tails in my self-defense classes."
"Just say 'Stop'. That's all you need to do in there, if things get to be too much," he said, turning serious.
"You would know," Sara mumbled as she turned. She took two steps and stopped, dropping her head. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." She didn't turn to face him, both unwilling to show her feelings to him, and uncertain she wanted to see his.
"It's okay," he said evenly, knowing that he'd likely be feeling the effects of this encounter for a some time to come. "I'll be right here, if you need me."
"Thanks," she said, lifting her head to walk resolutely to the door, knocking firmly.
She was almost stunned when Heather opened the door, immediately fixing her with a green-eyed gaze that flickered briefly when she saw Grissom leaning against the side of the SUV, watching intently.
She's beautiful, in a dark, gothic sort of way. I didn't expect that. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that.
"Do come in," Heather said in her silkiest voice. As Sara passed by, Lady Heather looked up at Grissom, raising an eyebrow as she slowly closed the door.
"Ma'am, my name is Sara Sidle. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab," Sara said, clearing her throat twice, attempting to sound as professional and confident as possible.
"I'm Lady Heather, and this is my Domain," she said, opening her arms expansively.
"I understand that you received another package?"
"Yes, Ms. Sidle, I did."
"You can call me Sara."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'd rather not. You'll find that there's a certain formality in my domain. The use of one's first name denotes a certain level of intimacy," Lady Heather said, smiling knowingly at her.
Sara nodded slowly, like one who hears, and understands the words, but can't quite make sense of them.
"And how is Gil doing these days?"
"Fine," Sara said, biting back the sudden surge of anger. She hadn't been in the house two minutes and Lady Heather was already rubbing it in her face that she'd been intimate with Grissom, purposefully using his first name.
"Follow me, please. I'll show you to my office. Detective Brass and a nice young man from the Coroner's office are waiting for you."
"Thank you," Sara said, feeling self-conscious walking behind Lady Heather, who appeared to glide sensuously, despite her garb. Sara felt underdressed, gawky, and decidedly unfeminine compared to Heather.
"Sara," Brass nodded uncomfortably when she entered the room that looked to have been decorated by the Marquis de Sade.
She strove not to appear as lost as Alice in Wonderland, as she quickly glanced around the room.
"David," Sara smiled, glad that someone was there who was even more naïve than she was. He looked positively thunderstruck, despite all he'd seen in the past several years as Dr. Robbins's assistant.
"Uh, hi, Sara," David squeaked out.
"You guys ready?" Sara asked, her training taking over, giving her a surge of confidence. Both men nodded. She spread a plastic dropcloth on Lady Heather's desk, setting the package back down on it.
Taking a fresh scalpel from her kit, she sliced through the paper, careful to avoid the tape, which could have fingerprints or epithelials on it. She slowly pressed down the freed paper, exposing the box. It was fairly broad and wide, though not more than six inches deep.
Sara slit around the edge, again to preserve the taped area on top. She carefully lifted the cut-away section, placing it on the plastic. Inside there was a black trash sack with a twist-tie sealing it. Sara carefully undid the tie, setting it to the side as well.
Lady Heather watched in fascination as Sara meticulously peeled back one layer after next of the mystery. The younger woman's confidence in her work was a stark contrast to her earlier demeanor.
Was she uncomfortable with her femininity? Or with herself? Was this her weakness? Or was it Grissom that would be the key to her undoing?
Sara slowly rolled open the sack until the contents were visible. She took up her camera and made several photographs before moving aside to allow David access.
"She certainly looks dead to me," he said, noting the time on the form attached to his clipboard. If an actual time of death is unknown, the time that the body was declared dead is noted until a better estimate can be formed.
"I'll hold the bag for you," Sara offered, while David lifted the severed leg from the box. It was folded into a severe 'V' shape, still cold to the touch, though the outer portion was thawed. He slid it into the biohazards bag and sealed it.
"Are you done with me, with this?" he stammered.
"Yes, David. I'll see you back at the lab," Sara said, almost laughing to see him even more ill-at-ease than she was. She'd never seen him move as fast as he did leaving Lady Heather's Domain.
Sara resealed the trash bag to ensure that any blood or other fluids wouldn't escape before she could get it back to Greg. She carefully folded the plastic sheeting in on itself, taping it shut with red evidence tape, slipping the entirety into a large paper bag.
She made some quick entries on the crime scene log and signed the Chain of Custody form.
"Detective Brass, would you give this to Grissom?" she asked, pulling off her gloves and tossing them in the sack as well.
"Sure. Is he at the lab?"
"No. He's waiting for me outside," Sara said, hoping he wouldn't ask any more questions.
"Oh," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, Lady Heather, it's been interesting, as always."
"Come back anytime, Detective Brass. Allow me to show you to the door."
"Naw, that's okay. I should know my way out by now," he said, holding up his hand. Smiling briefly at Sara, he turned and followed David's path.
"Would you like me to show you around?" Lady Heather asked, noticing that Sara was glancing about the room.
"No, thank you."
"This one seemed to fascinate Mr. Grissom," Heather said, holding up a leather mask. "He asked to borrow it."
"He used it to demonstrate how an accidental murder was committed. I remember it well," Sara nodded.
"He would," Heather said, turning to face Sara. "Would you like to borrow it?"
"No, thanks," Sara said curtly.
"It's really not your style, is it? You're obviously not into appearances."
"I don't believe in hiding behind masks."
"We all have masks. Some people aren't cognizant of the fact, or aren't willing to admit it," Heather said lightly. "Who really is hiding? Those who openly admit their shortcomings or those who pretend they don't have any?"
"I really couldn't say."
"I could lend you some outfits that I happen to know Gil would appreciate," she said with a cat-like smile. "If you're willing to dress to please him."
"Lady Heather, I'm here on business. What I'd appreciate is if we could stay focused on that," Sara said.
"He initially considered what we do here aberrant, but he came to appreciate it in time," Heather said, goading Sara.
"I really didn't come here to discuss what Grissom did," Sara said sharply. She forced her hands to relax, realizing that she had balled them into tense fists, her short fingernails digging into her palms painfully.
"Why did you come here?" Heather asked her, taking a seat behind her desk, looking like anything but the astute businesswoman she was. She leaned seductively against the side of her chair, one leg splayed across the arm, peeking out from the gauze of her skirt.
"I came to process the scene, and to warn you," she answered, wondering if Lady Heather was trying to demonstrate how much sexier she was, or whether she was trying to seduce her.
"Warn me?" Heather repeated, lifting an eyebrow. She innocently picked up a leather riding crop from her desk, and began to lightly tap her leather boot with it, occasionally dragging it upward, pulling the fronds of the gauze skirt with it.
"The woman responsible for these body parts has fixated on Grissom. She's targeting every woman closely involved in his life for at least the past four years. That includes you, I'm told."
"And who told you that?" Heather asked, the smile never faltering, her emerald eyes seeming to mesmerize like a cobra's.
"Grissom did," Sara answered.
"Now that surprises me. He's normally more reticent than that, isn't he? Did it bother you when he told you? Does it bother you now?" Heather asked matter-of-factly, as if she were speaking of the weather instead of a sexual rendezvous.
"Yes," Sara answered honestly, her head and her voice wavering with the pent-up emotion.
"Why should just one night of unbridled passion, almost a year ago bother you?"
Even Sara's shoulders were shaking as she shrugged.
"I can smell his scent on you," she said as she passed by, stunning Sara into silence.
"Your lips are still a little swollen, aren't they? And the powder doesn't quite cover the beard burn on your face and neck." Heather walked to the window and parted the curtains. "He's waiting for you outside, pacing like he's worried about you being here. It's obvious that you are together." Sara was speechless for a moment, feeling exposed in a way she never had.
"Don't worry, Ms. Sidle. It might not be obvious to everyone. But this is my business," Heather chuckled.
"What did he ... um, did you ...?" Sara stammered, wanting to know what had happened, yet not wanting to know – the battle being waged in her throat.
"I guess you probably want to know exactly what Mr. Grissom experienced here. After all, you want to please him. You want to know if there's something more you could be doing to satisfy him. Am I right?"
Sara stared, feeling herself begin to tremble when she realized that Lady Heather actually intended to tell her. She couldn't fathom what her motive could be, but she doubted it was to be friendly or helpful.
While Sara would admit to being a bit cynical, as befitted her profession, she didn't automatically assume the absolute worst of someone – but she was beginning to wonder if Lady Heather was being purposefully cruel.
"Do you want to know, Ms. Sidle?" Lady Heather asked, taking a step towards her.
Sara didn't speak, her mind irrationally wanting to know, but her heart begging her to make it stop.
Lady Heather moved closer again – not overtly threateningly, but not friendly either. Her proximity heightened Sara's tension with each step.
"Do you? You want to what we did all evening, when he was supposed to be here on a case? Well, we did spend a few minutes talking about it. But certainly not all night."
Sara's head began to twist back and forth, but the word 'no' didn't escape her constricted throat.
"Have you ever asked him? Gotten him to re-enact it for you, with you?" Lady Heather said, her voice taking on a hard, cruel edge.
"No," Sara squeaked out, but not strongly enough to deter Heather, who took yet another step towards her, the women almost eye-to-eye.
"I have it on videotape. Sometimes I watch it while I pleasure myself. Would you like to see it?" Lady Heather's eyes sparkled. She was clearly enjoying the torment.
"Stop!" Sara barked, whirling away from Lady Heather. She took deep breaths that shook as they entered and left her body. She was burning with the heat of anger, yet chilled to the bone.
"As you wish," Heather said, withdrawing to the window, glancing out at Grissom while Sara composed herself.
"If it makes you feel any better, I can assure you that Mr. Grissom had no interest in any of the more exotic offerings available in my Domain. While they interest him intellectually, his sexual tastes run a much more mundane course. I would assume that nothing happened here that you haven't already experienced, many times over."
Sara nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Have you ever been lonely, Ms. Sidle?" Heather asked, turning to her mantle of horrors, running a finger across black leather.
"Of course," she answered, regaining some control over her voice. Sara wondered if Heather was gearing up for another slap at Sara's raw emotions.
"Have you ever had something bad happen to you, something you couldn't control? Something that could change your entire life?"
"No," Sara answered too quickly, making it obvious that it was a subject she didn't wish to discuss.
Who are we talking about here? Me? You? Grissom? Who?
"Of course you have," Heather chided. "Now, what if you were upset about something that bad, and you were lonely, and the person you wanted to be with was with someone else?" Lady Heather said, turning to peer intently into Sara's eyes.
Sara stood motionless, her mind catching up to Heather's hypothetical scenario.
Me? Or Grissom?
"What if all of that was happening to you, if your world were collapsing around you, and then someone came along who offered you a moment of diversion? Just a little time to forget your problems. What would you do?"
"I, I don't know," Sara stammered.
"Of course you do. Haven't you ever allowed yourself a little diversion, an escape from the frustrations of not having the life you yearned for?"
"I suppose."
"Yes, I suppose you have. We all have," Lady Heather said. "That's really all he did."
"But why you?" Sara asked.
"Because I was the one who came along when he needed the diversion. Was there an alternative? Or was the alternative perhaps too caught up in her own diversion?"
"I ...," Sara started, but decided against trying to explain herself. When Grissom needed her, she wasn't available, and she had to admit that to herself, even if he had also shut her out.
"Perhaps you weren't there when he needed you, but I was. You shouldn't begrudge me for taking the opportunity you left on the table."
"I didn't know he needed me," Sara countered.
"You weren't paying attention. But no matter. All has been put to rights, hasn't it?" Lady Heather asked, leading Sara out of the office into the foyer.
"Yes," Sara answered. "Why would someone like you be interested in him?"
"He is an unusual man," Lady Heather said vaguely.
"There are a lot of unusual men in the world. All of the men who come here could be classified as 'unusual'. So why Grissom?"
"He was a gentleman, classically educated, shy yet confident. He has a gentle strength that I find ... found ... refreshing. And, he's not like my clients. This is a business, not a lifestyle."
"Oh, I guess ... I assumed ..." Sara said, both eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"Everyone does. And believe me, I have the skills of the trade. But I'd kill any man that laid a hand on me," Lady Heather said firmly.
"You and me both," Sara agreed, a slight smile pushing the corners of her lips up, but not a smile of friendship.
"Other than the adjustments we've made for our professions, you might find that you and I aren't so different as you would imagine," Lady Heather said. "Which is probably why Mr. Grissom was responsive in the first place, if the truth be told."
"We are completely different," Sara said heatedly.
"Those are externalities, Ms. Sidle. Form, not substance."
"I would never purposefully hurt someone. You would. You have. You just did," Sara said, the pain from their earlier conversation still flashing in her eyes.
"A hazard of the profession. Sometimes we become our jobs. Doesn't that ever happen to you?"
"Maybe. But I don't use it to emotionally torture people," Sara shot back.
"That's the difference between your job and mine, not necessarily the difference between you and me. We both get a little too involved with our work."
"If you say so," Sara said, glad to be approaching the door that was the portal to sanity.
"Give Mr. Grissom my regards, Ms. Sidle," Heather said, opening the heavy wooden door.
"Of course," Sara said, walking quickly across the street to the SUV. Grissom opened the back and took the kit from her, setting it next to the evidence bag that Brass had delivered.
Heather watched from the door as Grissom put a hand on Sara's arm, stroking it as he looked at her, concerned, asking her if she were all right. She smiled uncomfortably at him and nodded, though not convincingly.
He led her to the passenger side, opening the door and helping her in, standing there a moment before he walked around to the driver's side, never once looking towards the Domain.
So that's the one, the one you were thinking about. I could see it in your eyes, that there was another. But you didn't think it would ever happen, did you? You never thought the day would come when your life would change.
I had thought maybe I could hold your interest for a while. I knew you could hold mine. Your gentleness is your strength; you use it to dominate as skillfully as others use a whip. How I have longed to find a man like you!
Intelligent, well-read, passionate yet reserved, like a thoroughbred under the bridle, reined in until his neck is bowed. Do you know how much I wanted to see you unbridled? What I would have given to have been the woman to set you free!
I would never have chosen her, if asked to name a woman who would captivate you. She is too young, too naïve, too earthy and unrefined, compared to you. And yet, when she stood in my office, with a fire in her eyes, but holding herself back, I knew. I knew that in all the ways that count, she's just like you.
If you reject yourself, you'll reject her. If you hate yourself, you'll hate her. If you're angry with yourself, you'll be angry with her. But when you accept yourself, love yourself, you'll accept and love her. You've obviously done some soul-searching these past months, Mr. Grissom.
I'm happy that you found yourself, and in so doing, found that you were loved. I would have wished it could have been with me, but I'm happy for you nonetheless.
Lady Heather smiled a farewell at them both, unseen but offered anyway. She closed the door, sliding the deadbolt into place. It was almost time for all the needy boys to come to her Domain. She lightly patted the garter at the top of her thigh, satisfied that the .22 caliber Derringer was still in place.
Let this Angel of Death invade my Domain! I'll show her that there are far worse things in this life than death. For every moment of pain she inflicts, I'll gladly repay her. I have toys that grown men whimper at the sight of, tools that no client dares to allow me to use, even if they are in control.
The difference will be that, for you, there will be no safety word, no 'Stop'.
The doorbell rang and Heather peeked through the hole, recognizing a prominent local politician, who was looking furtively around, concerned he'd be seen there.
"How nice to see you again," she purred as she opened the door, showing him in. His Master for the evening shouted at him from the top of the stairs, cracking a short whip to punctuate his orders. The politician cowered and scurried up the stairs, wailing his apologies.
He was struck sharply across the back as soon as he was within reach, and shoved into an open room, the door slamming. Heather smiled at the sounds of another satisfied customer.
Another day, another $5,000.
* * * * *
The Angel of Death watched curiously as her deluded love walked frantically around the SUV.
Why didn't he go inside? Had she treated him so harshly on his last visit that he feared to face the whip-whore again?
Or was it more sinister than that? Had the scrawny whore prevented him from going in? Were those two trollops working together to destroy her innocent Gil?
She nodded her head slowly as she considered the implications. It made sense. She knew the brunette bitch was trouble from the day she arrived in Las Vegas. The Angel of Death shuddered dramatically. She still had nightmares from that experience.
She had been watching her sweet Gil work, watching with pride as he snapped the photos of the dummies that had been thrown from the roof. Her heart nearly burst when the crowd showed its approval of his work, breaking into applause. She had been clapping the loudest.
"Yes, yes," he said, waving to her briefly. She'd blushed extensively afterwards. Gil didn't like to be bothered at work, but he was so hard to resist.
Then the whore showed up. She crossed under the police tape, acting as if she had the right to walk up to him directly. Then she had the gall to mock him publicly.
Her Gil kept his composure, though. "I don't even have to turn around." He knew who was taunting him – she hadn't been able to distract him, even though the slut tried.
"God, Sara." She could recall the frustration in his voice. Clearly the bag-of-bones harridan was getting to him, but he kept a professional air about him the whole time.
Yes, she had recognized the bitch was trouble from the beginning. How many times had she gone to watch her beloved work, only to find the whore throwing herself at him? She tried to get her fired, by reporting her lewd behavior towards him in public, but that had only been briefly mentioned during the movie star's trial.
Well, Gil, you'll soon have the proof of her indiscretions. That should get you to think with your correct head.
TO BE CONTINUED ...