A/N: Here we go with another chapter. I'm sorry to have left this one on a bit of a cliffhanger, but the next chapter will be up very soon. Enjoy everyone!
Chapter 8: The Interrogation, Part One
Brass and the other police officer had brought Chuck Newton down to the station. He sat in the interrogation room, still looking completely collected, as he faced the police captain, Sara, and Catherine. Grissom was also there, sitting back away from the action, just observing for now. He was fingering the edges of the thick file folder, which held most of the evidence and photos from the crime scenes.
Greg and Warrick had left Newton's house ahead of the others, taking all the new evidence back to the lab. They were putting the finishing touches on everything, rushing to complete all the processing.
After Grissom had been reminded of the sequin he had found in the victim's living room, he had asked Nick and Warrick if they had collected it on their sweep the other night. When Nick admitted that they had not recovered it, Grissom sent him back to the Miller house to check again. Comparing that sequin to the one he had found in Newton's van would unequivocally link their suspect to the location of the original murder—and Grissom's subsequent attack.
"So, you said you know…knew…Kimberly Miller," Brass was saying to Newton.
"I've already told you that, yes, I knew Kimberly." Earlier, Newton had had the nerve to feign shock and surprise when Brass had "informed" him that Kim was dead.
"And what was the nature of your relationship?"
A short huff of air was the only indication that Newton was growing impatient with the proceedings. "As I've said, Kim and I dated for a short while. We quickly realized we weren't compatible and we mutually ended it."
"And how long has it been since you've seen Ms. Miller?" Catherine inquired.
"As I believe I've already pointed out, I haven't seen Kim in a couple of weeks," he replied, repeating his earlier answers to similar questions.
"And when was the last time you were in her house?" Catherine asked.
"About the same time—two weeks ago or so."
"Were you at the housewarming party she gave?" Sara wanted to know.
Newton seemed surprised they knew about that. "Yes, I was there."
"Did you bring a gift?" the dark-haired CSI continued.
"Yes."
"What was it?"
There was a slight hesitation before his answer. "I bought Kim a nice serving tray."
"Was that all?"
He nodded.
Further questions were stopped by a loud knock on the door. As it opened a crack, Nick stuck his head in and signaled his colleagues to join him out in the corridor.
"Excuse us for a second," Brass said, as they all stepped toward the hall.
Grissom got up and walked out the door as casually as he could, trying not to show their suspect any sign of the pain and fatigue he was feeling.
"Officer…" Brass nodded at the cop who had been positioned right outside the interrogation room, and the uniformed man moved inside to stand in front of the door as Brass closed it behind him.
"Everything checked out," Nick began. Greg was out there with him, and they both held new photos, the results of the latest evidence processing, and one small paper bag. "The ashes from the fireplace came up as containing wood, common lacquer, a small trace of gold foil, and adhesive. Those are the same materials found in the original statue. We made comparisons using this duplicate we bought." He pulled the little brown artifact out of the bag to show them all. It was identical to the statue from the vic's mantle that Sara had unknowingly photographed.
Sara took it and looked at it curiously. Some small slivers and larger chunks were missing—used by Nick and Greg as test samples. She flipped it over and noticed a metallic gold sticker on the base of the idol that gave the name and address of the store it had been purchased from. So that's where the foil and adhesive residue come in, she realized. She placed it back into the paper sack and tuned in to what Greg was saying.
"The ski mask and gloves were ripe with DNA," the lab tech explained enthusiastically. "Inside of the mask—blood and epithelials from our guy. On the outside, a DNA contribution from you, Grissom. And the outer surfaces and palms of the gloves had your blood all over them," Greg finished, his excitement waning as he realized how callous he sounded—like he was glad Grissom had been injured.
"Thanks, Greg," Grissom said. "It's good. We need the evidence to put Newton away."
Greg smiled a little, relieved that he hadn't offended his supervisor. "Oh, and of course, Newton's DNA matches the blood Sara found on you in the hospital," he added quickly.
"And get this, boss," Nick said, picking up the narrative, "the fibers on the cowboy boots from the van match the vic's carpet, and the blood on the sole matches your DNA. Also, the bottom of the boot fits the shoeprint Sara found on your jacket exactly." He took a breath before finishing, "And the final nail in Chuck's coffin is that the sequin you found is a perfect ringer for the one from Kim Miller's living room floor. I went back and finally found it under a chair." He showed Grissom two enlarged images of identical blue sequins. "Suspect, victim, crime scene—two times over," he ended with a grin.
"Great job, Nicky!" Grissom told him, a small smile crossing his lips and lighting his tired eyes. He glanced at Brass and the women. "Let's go back in there and hear what he has to say."
"Yeah, I've always liked fairy tales," Brass quipped.
Once inside, they took their places, standing and sitting around the table, surrounding their suspect.
"I thought you'd forgotten about me," Newton tossed off nonchalantly.
"Fat chance," Brass threw back.
Catherine got right down to business. "Do you recognize this piece of art, Mr. Newton?" she held up the close-up photo of the wooden statue.
"No, I don't."
"What about the real thing?" Sara asked, pulling the idol out of the bag. "Does this ring a bell?"
The suspect's eyes widened, just a touch, when he saw the actual artifact in front of him. Then he shook his head. "Still no."
"Really?" Sara said, annoyance rising at the edges of her tone. "Because we recovered a receipt from your credit card showing a purchase of this exact statue three weeks ago."
For the first time since the whole LVPD entourage had appeared on his doorstep, Newton didn't have a quick, glib response.
"Well?" Brass pushed.
"My card…uh…"
"This is your signature, isn't it, Mr. Newton?" He slid the photo of the credit card receipt toward the other man.
Newton threw his hands into the air. "All right! I bought it—I bought one of those carvings at the Bishop Gallery."
"Good," Brass replied. "Now we're getting somewhere. And where is this carving now?"
"I gave it to my mother. As a gift," he added, his voice rushing out.
Brass just looked at him for a second, and then he said, "Oh, come on now, Chuckie. We know that isn't true."
"We found remnants of the carving in the ashes of your fireplace," Sara put in matter-of-factly. "You burned it."
Newton didn't deny it.
"Why'd you burn it, Chuck?" she asked.
When no answer was forthcoming, Sara forced Newton's hand, "Let me tell you why we think you burned it. You had given it to Kim Miller as a gift. After you killed her the other night, you came back to get the statue because you knew we could trace it to you. All we had to do was turn it over and we would know exactly where you purchased it."
"I told you, I haven't seen Kim in two weeks."
Catherine reworked Sara's logic in her head, and thought of a different possible motivation for Newton's actions. "Or maybe you took back the statue for another reason," she began. "Was it a messy breakup, Chuck? Did Kim reject you? Is that why you were angry enough to strangle her to death the other night? And then did you go back and collect your precious statue because Kim didn't deserve to have it? It was expensive, Chuck, we know that. So maybe you took it back because you hated her, and burned it so you wouldn't have to remember how she treated you?"
Catherine could tell she had hit a nerve with Chuck. He was breathing rapidly now, fiery color rising to his cheeks.
"I told you, Kim and I broke up and it was mutual," he choked out, his jaw clenching.
Grissom stood, placing his hands on the table and slowly leaning in toward the suspect, as he finally spoke, "Right, Chuck, you and Kimberly broke up—amicably—and you haven't seen her in two weeks. What about me? Have you seen me before tonight?"
"Never," Newton whispered menacingly.
"Really? That's odd, because as you can see I had a little run-in with a suspect the other night. It was dark, but I could see that he was wearing gloves and a ski mask. Just like these…" He pulled out the photos of Newton's apparel.
"Yes, those are mine. But I told you earlier, Mr. Grissom, I haven't gone skiing in a year or so."
"That may be true, Mr. Newton, but you were wearing these items two nights ago when you strangled Kimberly and then came back and attacked me."
Before the now-agitated Newton could reply, Catherine stepped in to explain Grissom's accusation, "We found your skin cells inside the ski mask, and Grissom's blood all over the gloves."
"Wouldn't you expect to find my skin cells inside a mask I already admitted belongs to me?" Newton wondered, sounding very satisfied with himself, purposely disregarding her comment about the blood.
"Yes we would," Catherine patronized, "but we wouldn't expect Grissom's cells on the outside of the ski mask." Off the suspect's shocked look, she continued, "They were transferred from his knuckles when Grissom hit you and gave you that bruise on your jaw. Also transferred was a thread we found on Grissom's hand that matches the exact knit of your ski mask. And let's not forget your boots, which match other evidence from the crime scene."
Newton quickly realized that denying his assault on Grissom would no longer do any good. The evidence had given him away. "Yes, it was me—I attacked him," he admitted to Catherine. Then he trained steely eyes on Grissom's face. "He was in my way when I went to Kim's to get the statue. So was that other policeman outside. After what she had said to me, I didn't want Kim to have that statue anymore. I was going to sneak in and steal it like a burglar, so Kim wouldn't know it was me. That's why I wore the ski mask."
"Why'd you wait so long to take it back, Mr. Newton?" Grissom asked, his voice level. "You and Kim had broken up two weeks earlier. Why did you go into her house on that particular night?"
"It was the first time I had a chance."
"I see," Grissom commented. "And how were you going to get inside? If the house hadn't been open, how would you have snuck inside?"
"I had a key," Charles admitted. "When Kim and I were dating, I 'borrowed' her keys once and had a copy made."
"So you're saying," Grissom began, "that you didn't let yourself into Kimberly Miller's house two nights ago with your 'borrowed' key, go up to her bedroom, confront her, and strangle her?"
The suspect nodded once, without hesitation.
Grissom narrowed his eyes, but projected composure as he pulled a blank sheet of paper out of the case folder. "Would you put your hand on this piece of paper, please? Palm down, fingers spread."
Newton glanced around at them, confused, but followed Grissom's directions.
"Thank you," the CSI supervisor said. "Sara, would you…?"
"Yeah." She pulled a felt-tipped pen out of her pocket and traced around Newton's hand and fingers.
The suspect was still staring, perplexed.
"You can lift your hand up now," Sara told him. She pulled out a tape measure, placing the end on the tip of the outline of Newton's thumb, and extending it straight across the page until it reached the tip of his pinky. "Twenty centimeters," she noted.
"Twenty," Grissom repeated hoarsely, sounding weaker with each word, his throat beginning to burn again. "That's interesting. Do you know why, Mr. Newton?" He paused, but didn't expect an answer to his obviously rhetorical query. "See these hand prints you left on my throat?" He leaned closer and angled his neck so Newton could see the dark purple bruises clearly. "We measured them, and the span of the finger impressions is twenty centimeters. We also measured the bruises on Kimberly Miller's neck, and you know what?"
Newton's eyes widened again, but this time fear was apparent on his face.
"That's right," Grissom continued, "the marks on her neck also spanned twenty centimeters. And we found thread from your ski mask on her body. You were up there the other night. You let yourself into her house, you snuck upstairs in the dark, and you killed her."
The suspect remained silent, but his face formed into a frigid façade as he kept glaring at Grissom.
"Tell me something, Chuck," Grissom said. He had attempted to keep his composure as well as his voice, but both had suddenly eluded him. His voice had completely broken; all that remained now was a scratchy timbre—low and dangerous. "Did Kim see you coming, or did you go after her from behind, like you did with me?"
Sara couldn't believe how drained Grissom had become since the beginning of the interrogation; this whole thing was wearing on him terribly. His voice was down to a rough whisper and he seemed to be struggling to remain upright. As she studied him worriedly, she thought she saw his arms tremble slightly as he leaned even closer to Newton. She started to move nearer to him, but then Newton finally spoke up and everyone's attention turned to the suspect.
"I killed her," he said, sounding cold and distant. "She didn't even know I was there. It was almost too easy…" He trailed off, and then when he spoke again, his voice sounded different—satisfied, almost happy. A perverted grin came to his face as he replayed the events in his mind. His eyes seemed to come alive with red-tinged fire. "I walked right in, and she didn't hear. She was facing the other way, and I grabbed her neck. I loved how it felt when she stiffened in fear. But I had to be looking in her eyes when I did it. I even lifted the ski mask for a few seconds so she could see my face. She needed to know it was me, and that she got what she deserved."
The others in the room continued to stare at him, the anger on their faces slowly being replaced by disgust and disbelief.
"When we started out, we both knew we were perfect for each other. We were meant to be together…forever. I loved Kim and she loved me." His tone and expression abruptly changed, contorting into a combustive combination of hate and fury. "But then she broke it off. She said it didn't 'feel right.' Can you believe that? I tried to talk to her, to convince her she was wrong, but she stopped taking my calls, wouldn't answer her door. So then I realized there was only one thing to do, and I did it. Afterwards, I just walked right out of there." He paused and took a breath. "Later, I remembered the statue. It was the only thing I had given her that she still had. I couldn't let her keep it, so I took it back." His jaw clenched, and his aura became one of pure rage; all semblance of normalcy crumbled away from him like a cracked wall of decaying stone.
"And then you showed up," he hissed at Grissom. "I wouldn't let you or the cops get their hands on my statue, so I knocked out the guy on the stoop, and then had my little encounter with you." Newton suddenly stood and faced down his main inquisitor, his eyes burning into Grissom's. "I should have killed you, too," he spat. "You were just in my way."
To Be Continued…