A/N: Thanks to KPrescott for the challenge.
"I'm Gil Grissom. This is Sara Sidle. We're from the crime lab. This is Jim Brass, homicide detective with the LAPD. Who are you?"
"I'm Tara Woods. What happened to Michael?"
"Michael?" Sara asked while taking pictures of the scene.
"Michael Coulter. He was a photographer. So are Dave, Nicole and I," Tara said.
"What were you doing in Vegas?" Brass asked as Sara slipped into the bathroom and Grissom started collecting evidence.
"It's an odd way to celebrate, I know, but we were gambling. It was a weeklong deal. I mean, you don't tell your friends that you went to Vegas to see the sights," Tara commented.
"Celebrating what?" Grissom asked.
"Michael and Nicole were up for an award. Nic took an impressive picture of two Masai children, and Michael took this sunrise picture in Egypt. Well, Nic ends up winning this award and Michael decides that we're going to Vegas."
"Hmm," Grissom said.
"I thought that maybe he was feeling sore, but he was doing really well in the casinos."
"Until last night." Brass said. "Did Michael tell you how much money he'd lost?"
"No, but you really can't keep that sort of thing a secret. You'll give it away eventually, no matter how hard you try to hide it. I knew he wasn't doing well, but I didn't know how much he'd lost."
"Then this will interest you. At the Beachcomber he lost five hundred dollars, at the Parisian he lost six hundred dollars, and at the Oasis Towers he lost seven hundred dollars."
Tara looked from Brass to Grissom to the open bathroom door where Sara was. "And he died because of that?"
"Do you know what seppuku is?" Grissom asked.
"Dave was telling us about it our first night here," Tara said. "You slice your gut open with a sword. It's a painful way to go. Of course you can have a friend cut your head off after you do the deed. Either way you get your honor back. He said that he learned about it from some Japanese girl he photographed last month."
Brass frowned. "Hold it. You're saying that Michael somehow thought that this loss of money meant a loss of honor? Gruesome."
Tara nodded. "And the way to regain your honor is to kill yourself."
"Grissom, there's nothing in here," Sara said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
"How long are you staying in Vegas?" Brass asked.
"As long as I can. I'd be more than willing to help."
"Good," Grissom said.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Dave Chapin looked at the three investigators. "You have to be kidding me, right?"
Sara shook her head. "We aren't kidding, Mr. Chapin."
"He's dead, huh?"
"Yes," Grissom said.
"How did it happen?"
"Does the word seppuku ring a bell?" Brass asked.
"Oh, God. I was talking about that earlier in the week. We were showing off some of our pictures, and Michael asked me about the picture I took near Kyoto. I found a young girl there who claimed she was descended from a samurai who committed seppuku, and she had a family tree or something like that to prove it. She told me all about the procedure, and I told them about it. Michael was impressed, I'll give him that much."
"Why were you in Vegas, besides gambling and reminiscing?" Sara asked.
"It was a photography award. Nicole's entry was a candid picture of two Masai children laughing, and Michael's entry was a sunrise photo. Nicole ended up winning, and we decided to celebrate by hitting some casinos. The first few days we were all doing well. We won some, we lost some, but all in all we were doing well. Then the last day Michael's luck just ran out. He starts cursing up a storm which is most unlike him."
"Did something else happen?" Grissom asked.
"We had just come back from the Oasis Towers when Michael asks me if I have a sword in my room. It should have told me something was wrong, but I didn't figure it out."
"I'm Gil Grissom. This is Sara Sidle. We're from the crime lab. This is Jim Brass, homicide detective with the LAPD. Who are you?"
"I'm Tara Woods. What happened to Michael?"
"Michael?" Sara asked while taking pictures of the scene.
"Michael Coulter. He was a photographer. So are Dave, Nicole and I," Tara said.
"What were you doing in Vegas?" Brass asked as Sara slipped into the bathroom and Grissom started collecting evidence.
"It's an odd way to celebrate, I know, but we were gambling. It was a weeklong deal. I mean, you don't tell your friends that you went to Vegas to see the sights," Tara commented.
"Celebrating what?" Grissom asked.
"Michael and Nicole were up for an award. Nic took an impressive picture of two Masai children, and Michael took this sunrise picture in Egypt. Well, Nic ends up winning this award and Michael decides that we're going to Vegas."
"Hmm," Grissom said.
"I thought that maybe he was feeling sore, but he was doing really well in the casinos."
"Until last night." Brass said. "Did Michael tell you how much money he'd lost?"
"No, but you really can't keep that sort of thing a secret. You'll give it away eventually, no matter how hard you try to hide it. I knew he wasn't doing well, but I didn't know how much he'd lost."
"Then this will interest you. At the Beachcomber he lost five hundred dollars, at the Parisian he lost six hundred dollars, and at the Oasis Towers he lost seven hundred dollars."
Tara looked from Brass to Grissom to the open bathroom door where Sara was. "And he died because of that?"
"Do you know what seppuku is?" Grissom asked.
"Dave was telling us about it our first night here," Tara said. "You slice your gut open with a sword. It's a painful way to go. Of course you can have a friend cut your head off after you do the deed. Either way you get your honor back. He said that he learned about it from some Japanese girl he photographed last month."
Brass frowned. "Hold it. You're saying that Michael somehow thought that this loss of money meant a loss of honor? Gruesome."
Tara nodded. "And the way to regain your honor is to kill yourself."
"Grissom, there's nothing in here," Sara said, a hint of disappointment in her voice.
"How long are you staying in Vegas?" Brass asked.
"As long as I can. I'd be more than willing to help."
"Good," Grissom said.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Dave Chapin looked at the three investigators. "You have to be kidding me, right?"
Sara shook her head. "We aren't kidding, Mr. Chapin."
"He's dead, huh?"
"Yes," Grissom said.
"How did it happen?"
"Does the word seppuku ring a bell?" Brass asked.
"Oh, God. I was talking about that earlier in the week. We were showing off some of our pictures, and Michael asked me about the picture I took near Kyoto. I found a young girl there who claimed she was descended from a samurai who committed seppuku, and she had a family tree or something like that to prove it. She told me all about the procedure, and I told them about it. Michael was impressed, I'll give him that much."
"Why were you in Vegas, besides gambling and reminiscing?" Sara asked.
"It was a photography award. Nicole's entry was a candid picture of two Masai children laughing, and Michael's entry was a sunrise photo. Nicole ended up winning, and we decided to celebrate by hitting some casinos. The first few days we were all doing well. We won some, we lost some, but all in all we were doing well. Then the last day Michael's luck just ran out. He starts cursing up a storm which is most unlike him."
"Did something else happen?" Grissom asked.
"We had just come back from the Oasis Towers when Michael asks me if I have a sword in my room. It should have told me something was wrong, but I didn't figure it out."