Episode Three: Signorina

10:30 A.M. Monday, December 8: Las Vegas

Mercy carefully eased her car into an unoccupied parking slot, and shut the car down. She sighed, staring at the wheel for a moment, before raising her head to look up at the building in front of her.

The Las Vegas Crime Lab, she thought. It would be her base of operations for the meantime, at least until these murders were solved. Sliding her sunglasses over her face, she snatched up her bag, got out of her car, and headed for the front door.

A short man in his late fifties or so was standing there, a badge displayed prominently on his coat. She offered him a courteous smile. "Detective Jim Brass, I presume?"

The man returned her smile, and nodded. "And you would be the CSI that Wright send down here. You're...ah...Ms. di Salmileri, aren't you?"

"Yes, that would be me. But please, just call me Mercy." The two of them shook hands briefly, before Brass nodded towards the door. "So, shall we?"

Mercy smiled, and the two of them entered the door. The clean, almost astringent smell of cleansers hit Mercy's nose, mingled with the coolness of the air conditioning. She relaxed, realizing that she was in somewhat familiar territory.

"Welcome to the Las Vegas Crime Lab," Brass said as he waved his hand around. He gazed at her for a while, before he offered a small smile. "Nervous?"

Mercy shrugged. "A little. It's kind of like the lab at DC, but still, unfamiliar territory and all. Don't know the people I'll be working with. Who's the supervisor, by the way?"

"That would be Dr. Grissom."

Mercy blinked. "Dr. Gil Grissom? The Dr. Grissom?"

Brass smiled. "I see you've heard of him."

"More of his reputation as an entomologist. One of my professor friends has wanted to meet up with him and discuss the application of entomology in forensics."

"Really? Let me guess: Harvard?"

"University of Padua," Mercy replied with a shake of her head.

"Isn't that in Italy?"

"Yes, it is."

Brass didn't respond anymore, because now they were standing in front of an office door. Through the glass window of the door, Mercy could see a man who seemed to be in his late forties or early fifties sitting behind a desk, and peering intently at a spider inside a plastic case. She recognized the analytical, intelligent glint in the man's eye: it was one that she had seen often enough in Tony's eyes, and, if she were to really admit it to herself, men who had that spark in their eyes tended to attract her in more ways than one.

After all, that was why she was attracted to Tony in the first place.

Brass tapped on the doorframe, causing the man to look up from his spider. "Grissom, your guest has arrived."

Mercy smiled cordially as she stepped forward. "Dr. Grissom. It is an honor to meet you."

The man returned her smile, putting down the plastic case as he stood up. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss...?"

"Mercia di Salmileri. But please, just call me Mercy."

Grissom nodded. "I see. Mercy. Please, have a seat."

Mercy glanced at the chair his hand was directing her to, and she sat down on it. The moment Grissom was sitting down, she went straight to business. "My boss told me about the serial killings that were going on down here."

She noted the way Grissom's jaw clenched slightly when she spoke of the serial killings. As she had suspected, they weren't having an easy time at it. "We've had two killings thus far, both of them young women."

"I know. Anthony briefed me on what had happened so far." She paused a moment, and then continued. "What's your current status?"

"Well, we have two notes, and not much else," Grissom replied as he leaned back into his chair. "We recovered some fibers on Evelyn Tyler's - the second victim's - clothes: black wool, most likely from a sweater or knit fabric of some sort, but it's too common to point to someone in particular."

Mercy sighed. She had expected that. "Clean. Too clean. It's like Landowe all over again." She looked up at Grissom. "Dr. Grissom-"

"Please, just Grissom."

"Grissom, I hope you're prepared for a long and complicated investigation. While this is indeed a killer who is copying the style of someone else, there will almost certainly be a difference in the way this person executes each crime."

Grissom nodded. "Different people, different styles."

"Exactly," Mercy said with a nod. "But I am prepared to help as much as I can in this. I do not want innocent people getting hurt any more than you do. When he's finished arranging things, Anthony will be coming down here to help too."

"Now why would he do that?" Grissom asked, raising his eyebrow slightly.

Because he doesn't want me out of his sight for too long, Mercy thought, but of course did not say that. Instead, she replied: "He and I worked together to solve the case. There are things that he knows that even I can't explain to you, in spite of my involvement."

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. After a moment of silence, he looked up at Mercy, his eyes betraying his anxiety. "Is it really that bad?"

"I wish I could say that it isn't," Mercy said slowly, "but I can't lie about the situation. If this is indeed what I think it is, then it's only bound to get worse."

Grissom fell silent again, and this time Mercy sensed that he was thinking, trying to process her bad news. She couldn't blame him, really: he probably realized that he had to allow more murders to be committed before they caught the killer. It was something that Mercy had realized four killings into the case six months ago, and while she had rebelled at the idea, Tony had talked some sense into her and told her not to rush things.

In the meantime, she glanced around the office. Entomologist to the core, she thought with a small smile. Dr. Gil Grissom had quite an impressive collection of bugs, both dead and alive. Apart from the tarantula in its plastic case, she noted that there were three more tarantulas nearby in their own cases, along with a large collection of live beetles and - much to her dismay - cockroaches. She shuddered, feeling her skin crawl at seeing the icky things crawling around in a small aquarium.

"Let me guess: you don't like bugs either?"

Mercy snapped back to attention, and looked at Grissom, who was giving her a small half-smile. Obviously, he had noticed her staring at his roaches. "Ah...no, not really. Insects don't really bother me so much. But cockroaches - now those things are an entirely different cup of tea."

"But cockroaches are some of the most incredible survivors in the world. They have been around since before the time of the dinosaurs, and are able to survive nuclear fallout. I find their tenacity impressive."

"Yes, well, I curse that tenacity, especially when I find one of them on my kitchen floor, and no matter how much bug spray I use, they simply refuse to croak."

Grissom chuckled, and shook his head. He stood up, and walked around his table. "I think it would be a good idea if I introduced you to the rest of the team."

Mercy smiled. "I would like that very much."

"Are you really so desperate to get away from my cockroaches?"

"What if I said that was a yes?"

Grissom shrugged, though there was the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I can't blame you." He stepped up to the door, and held it open for her. "Ladies first."

Mercy smiled at him, and stepped out, waiting for him to close the door and walk ahead of her to lead the way.

"Have you seen that new model from Milan? Oh man, she was just hot!"

Catherine Willows looked up to watch as Greg Sanders, the lab technician, raved about something - or rather, someone - to his friend and Catherine's fellow CSI, Nick.

Nick was eyeing Greg with a look of skepticism. "Whom are you talking about, man?"

"Ciara, Ciara di Salmileri," Greg replied, and the grin on his face seemed almost a mile wide. "Saw her on TV last night. God, she's perfect - beautiful black hair, gorgeous brown eyes, sexy smile, and a pair of legs that just seem to go on for eternity!"

Warrick Brown, another CSI, spoke up then. "Hate to be a wet blanket Greg, she's way out of your league. I mean, a model?"

"And I hear she's dating Leonardo di Caprio," Sara piped up from where she was sitting across the table from Catherine.

Greg shrugged off their comments. "Hey, a man can dream can't he?"

"You know," Catherine began, "I don't really know what you guys see in models. What is it about them that just lures you in?"

Greg laughed. "Cath, Ciara di Salmileri isn't your ordinary model. She's actually-"

Just then, the door of the Break Room swung open, and Grissom walked in. But what Catherine found somewhat surprising was that there was someone walking behind him.

"People, there is someone I would like to introduce to you." Grissom stepped aside, allowing a woman to step into the room.

Catherine's powers of observation kicked into gear - which was not unusual, since she was a CSI. The woman was quite small, standing at around five-foot-four, and had a slim build. Her long black hair was tied back in a low ponytail near the base of her head, thus revealing the angles and lines of her face. Her eyes were dark brown, and quite large, giving the impression that she was younger than Catherine believed. The woman's clothes were simple, but they spoke of class: black slacks, a white sleeveless cotton-knit top, a white cardigan tied around her waist, and black low-heeled sandals. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and her only accessories were two diamond studs in her ears, a watch around her left wrist, and a medium-sized black leather bag.

Grissom spoke again. "This is Mercia di Salmileri. She's the CSI from Washington who will be helping us solve the Poe Murders. Mercy, these are Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, and Catherine Willows. Nick and Sara are the ones who are currently involved in the case. And the kid in the lab coat is Greg Sanders. He's the lab technician here."

Mercia smiled, revealing even, white teeth as she inclined her head slightly in greeting. "A pleasure to meet all of you. And please, just call me Mercy."

There was silence for a while, and then Greg smiled broadly, and said, "I cannot believe this. Who would have ever thought that you would be a CSI?"

Catherine watched as an almost icy glint came over Mercy's countenance. "And what's so hard to believe about that?"

Greg raised his hands in surrender, though the smile never left his face. "I didn't mean to insult you or anything, but... Aren't you Mercia Stella Fiammeta di Salmileri?"

Catherine blinked as she looked at Mercy, whose jaw had dropped slightly as she stared at Greg. "How did you get my full name?" the younger woman asked, stunned.

"You're the older sister of Ciara Julia Celeste di Salmileri, right?"

"Yes. And how did you find that out?"

Nick blinked as he looked at Greg. "Wait: wasn't the name of that model you were raving about a while ago named Ciara di Salmileri?"

"Greg," Grissom began, his voice carrying a warning tone, "what are you trying to get at?"

Greg chuckled. "As I was going to say to Catherine a while ago before Gris arrived, Ciara di Salmileri wasn't just an ordinary model. I did some research on the Internet, and I found out that she is the younger sister of a Mercia Stella Fiammeta di Salmileri, who, by the way, carries the title of Countess di Salmileri in Italy." He glanced at Mercy, giving her what Catherine thought was supposed to be a charming smile. "My friends, we are in the presence of a member of the old Italian aristocracy."

Catherine turned to look at Mercy. Surely it couldn't be true. She could believe this whole business of Mercy being related to the model Greg was so fond of, in spite of the fact that Mercy didn't quite look like she could be related to a model, given her rather plain looks. But – a countess?

"Please tell me he's making all of this up," Sara said.

And then, much to her surprise, Mercy sighed wearily, and sank down into a chair. "He's not," she said softly. "I'd hoped to keep it quiet, or at least something that stayed behind in Italy, but I guess there's no use running from it." She sat up straighter. "Yes, I am the Countess di Salmileri, and Ciara Julia Celeste is my younger sister."

"Oh I knew it, this is so cool!" Greg enthused. He looked eagerly at Mercy. "So how are we supposed to address you? My Lady di Salmileri, or something?"

Mercy gave him a stern glance. "No one is going to call me My Lady, Countess, or even Signorina. The reason why I left Italy to study and work here in the United States was so I could get away from my life there. I only want to be treated normally, and the way things stood back home, I wouldn't ever get away from all the damn preening that I had to do as Countess, and from the irritating folks who didn't have anything better to do in their lives than gossip about who just had their boobs done or who made out with who in God knows where."

Catherine bowed her head to hide the smile on her face. This is surprising, she thought, somewhat amused, and somewhat relieved. There was no denying the heat in Mercy's voice when she spoke about her position in Italy. There was obviously vehemence there, an underlying irritation and annoyance at that sort of life, one that most people would kill to have. While the vehemence amused her, it also relaxed her. This was someone who would try to be normal at all costs, who would try to prove her worth not by pulling rank or reputation, but by doing her best.

An almost brittle silence settled in at that moment, which Grissom broke by clearing his throat. "I think it would be best if we got to work." He glanced at Mercy. "Mercy, Brass told me that you would be coming here with the documentation from the Landowe investigation?"

Mercy nodded, and stood up. "It's in my car, but I'll need some help bringing it in."

Grissom nodded. "Warrick, you go and help bring it in. Mercy, is there any specific equipment that we'll need?"

"No, nothing at the moment. We have a videotape of Landowe's confession, but Anthony will be the one to bring it." She quirked a small smile. "I think this is the best place to go through the documents. You'll want to get as comfortable as you can when you study the papers."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "That many?"

"Yes, that many."

Catherine groaned softly as she turned around, grabbing a nearby empty mug and proceeding to fill it with coffee. It looked like this was going to take quite a while.

Warrick watched as Mercy walked slightly in front of him, slightly beside him, her strides purposeful and graceful in their own way. It wasn't the walk of a woman who sashayed down catwalks, but that of a woman who was used to getting where she had to go and doing what she had to do - whether she liked it or not.

He smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly so as not to attract any attention from her. What he found out a while ago was still quite shocking, and he was trying to get used to the idea that they were dealing with an authentic Italian countess.

He cleared that thought out of his head right that instant. Authentic, as if she was an antique of some sort. There had to be something wrong with that particular way of thinking.

"Here we are," she said softly as they stopped beside a rather plain-looking white BMW.

Warrick blinked. He had expected a snazzy Italian roadster, not a BMW. "This your car?"

Mercy looked up to smile at him. "Yeah." She raised an eyebrow at him. "What, were you expecting something a little flashier?"

"Well...yeah. I mean, you know, you being a countess and all, I half-expected a stretch limo waiting out here. Or a Ferrari."

Fortunately, Mercy laughed as she slid her key into the trunk's lock. "I left the stretch limo back in Italy, and as for the Ferrari...I have a red one back in Washington, and a Jaguar too, but I don't like using them except when I'm on leave. This one I borrowed from a friend of my brother." She turned the key, and lifted the trunk lid, revealing four boxes in the trunk itself.

"You have a brother?" Warrick asked as he picked up two boxes, while Mercy took the other two.

"Yeah. Half-brother, if we wanted to be accurate, and older than me." As she spoke, she put down the two other boxes on the pavement at her feet, and closed the trunk. After she did so, she hefted the boxes into her arms again, and the two of them made their way back to where Grissom and the others were.

Warrick nodded, pushing the doors open for the two of them when they got there. "Really? How much older?"

"Hmmm..." Mercy paused, and then replied, "Around twenty years older than me, I think."

Warrick nearly dropped the boxes he was carrying. "That old! Meaning no offense Mercy, but at that age he's old enough to be your dad."

"My father was pretty old when I was born, so I don't think it's a surprise," Mercy replied, a small smile quirking on her lips. "Papa was forty-three when I was born, and forty-six when my sister came along. He died a couple years ago, at sixty. Smoking finally did him in."

Warrick nodded, knowing what that meant. "Sorry about your dad."

Mercy shrugged, showing that it was okay. Warrick moved on to the next obvious question. "How'd you find out that you had a half-brother?"

"It was because of Papa's will," Mercy began. "He split the inheritance three ways. Until that time I didn't know that I had an older sibling, until Alec came along at the request of the lawyer. To cut a long story short, him and I became pretty close, and have been so ever since. We're sharing the house I'm staying at while I'm here in Las Vegas."

"So you mean he's with you right now?"

"Yup. Thinks it's his sworn duty as an older brother never to let me out of his sight or something. Jeez, as if I didn't get by without him for nearly twenty years. Must be his British upbringing..."

Warrick raised an eyebrow at that. British? He was about to ask about that, but then they got back to the Break Room, where the others were waiting, and he had to put the question on hold for the meantime.

5:49 P.M. Monday, December 8: Las Vegas

Grissom sighed as he looked at the evidence and documentation that Mercy had brought with her, and compared it to what they had by way of evidence: nothing more than two scraps of paper that could tell them almost nothing about the killer.

Or couldn't they?

He glanced up at Mercy, noticing that she was studying the notes intently. "Have you got any ideas?"

Mercy was silent for a while, and when she spoke, her voice was hushed. "Well, for one thing, our copycat planned the murders very, very carefully, but didn't really care about the presentation of his or her clues."

Catherine looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"Here." Mercy reached into the box labeled "Evidence," and pulled out a small bundle of paper scraps. "These are the paper clues Landowe placed on the crime scenes." She leafed through them a moment, and after a moment, plucked one out of the bunch, and placed it next to the paper containing the quote from "The Cask of Amontillado."

Immediately, Grissom noticed the difference. He frowned. "The font on the paper we found is different from the one that came from Washington."

Mercy nodded, and a small smile appeared on her face, obviously pleased. "Right. The ones Landowe made were typed using Dauphin, a script-style font. The ones you found are typed in Times New Roman. Now, using Dauphin to type with indicates a leaning towards the aesthetic, and having the time to plan everything properly. On the other hand, using Times New Roman - which is a default typing font - indicates that the notes you found were typed in a rush, and with hardly any consideration for aesthetics save that they be readable.

"And the way the paper's cut to size is different too." She touched the edge of the paper that came from Washington. "This one was cut cleanly and precisely, using a pair of good quality scissors or cutter. They're also almost perfectly straight: measure them with a T-square and I bet that they'd line up pretty well.

"But the ones you found are different." She touched the edge of the paper they had found at Nancy di Gallo's feet. "It looks torn instead of cut, as if someone didn't bother with scissors or a cutter anymore, and just used a ruler to help in tearing out the excess. And I'm pretty sure that if we lined this up with a T-square, it'd be nowhere near precise."

Grissom saw Warrick's frown. "But what does that tell us? That the copycat's not as obssesive-compulsive as the orignal killer?"

"Precisely," Mercy said as she leaned back, biting the inside of her lip as she stared at the paper scraps. "Our current murderer isn't doing this because he or she wants to make a statement. That was Landowe's purpose: to make a statement."

"Because of that," Grissom continued, as he picked up on Mercy's thoughts, "every single detail of the murders was plotted out very carefully, bordering on obsessive-compulsive, as Warrick said. But that's quite typical of artists; they tend not to be satisfied with anything that's less than perfect."

"But the papers we found are definitely less than perfect," Sarah murmured. She squinted at the evidence momentarily. "Maybe they were in a rush?"

Grissom shook his head. "No, I do not think so. He or she had enough time to plan the murders, so there would have to have been enough time to cut the papers properly too. It does mean that he or she has another purpose for killing, and it's not to make a statement of any sort."

Catherine puffed out a breath of air, and offered a small smile. "Well, at least that eliminates one possible motive."

Mercy frowned, and shook her head as she closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose as if to fight off an oncoming headache. "Your murderer may have adopted the same M.O. as Landowe, but the motive is completely different. It's a little scary."

"Why do you say that?" Nick asked as he picked up the scrap of paper that had been found with Evelyn Tyler.

"I can more or less predict this person's next move if he or she were in some way like Landowe. The thing is, it isn't that way at all."

Grissom kept his eyes focused on the tabletop in front of them, that was now littered with sheets of paper containing various information that was related to the case. He had held some vague sense of hope that Mercy would be able to approach this case confidently, since she had handled the original in Washington, but has he had foreseen that was a little too much to hope for.

He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. "Well, I guess there isn't much for us to do right now. Mercy, would it be alright with you if we kept the evidence from the Landowe case here in the lab?"

Mercy shrugged. "Sure, fine by me. Better here than at home." Her cell phone rang, and she grimaced. She moved away from the group, and answered the call. After a few minutes, she came back, a tired look on her face. "That was my brother. He wants me to come back already and rest my jetlag off. Is it okay if I go now?"

"It's alright," Grissom said. She did look quite fatigued now, and it would probably be a good idea to send her home so she could rest. "You'll come by tomorrow again?"

"Yeah, of course." She helped them pack up the stuff that they had pulled out of the boxes she had brought, and then she headed to the door. She paused beside it a moment, and smiled at them all. "It was nice meeting you people. And…please, keep the whole Countess thing under wraps, okay?"

Grissom nodded. "We'll keep it quiet."

Mercy smiled gratefully. "Thanks. See you tomorrow." She opened the door, and slid out of it, walking down the hall towards the exit.

"Phew! That's done," Nick said as he patted the box in front of him. "Nothing till tomorrow."

Grissom shook his head, and reached into his pocket. "Actually, we're not quite done yet. I have a couple of assignments to hand out."

Everyone groaned, but nevertheless listened to him as he announced who would take what.

"Nick, Warrick, I want you to handle this one..."