Chapter Six
Sara

Benjamin Caruk is a boy trapped in a man's body. He is twenty-four years old but his brain never progressed beyond the mental capacity of an eight year old. He has no knowledge of who the real Piper is, but has perfect knowledge of who he thinks Piper is.

"Tell us exactly what happened tonight, Ben," I say clasping my hands in front of me. "Tell me how you met Piper."

"I was eating with my best friend Tom at the church." He keeps his eyes away from mine. "I had vegetable soup, three slices of bread, and chocolate milk. Do you like chocolate milk?"

I can't believe I actually had my weapon ready to fire. "It's my favorite kind of milk."

He finally looks up and smiles. "You're a lot nicer than that man. I didn't like his cuffs."

"I'm sorry about that. But we weren't sure who you were," I reply. "A young woman was killed tonight, Ben. We need to know as much as we can about your friend Piper."

"He's not really my friend," he says as he leans over the table. "Is he the real perp?"

I smile at his innocence. "We just need to talk to him. So, if he wasn't your friend why did you get in his car?"

"The bus comes every night at six o'clock," he says carefully. "That's why you cannot be Late; Always On Time."

"You missed the bus."

He sighs and puts his head down. "I didn't mean to. Do you have to tell Mrs. Ellis about this? If she finds out she'll take away my Independence. Mrs. Ellis lets me ride the bus all by myself. I do other important chores at the House, too. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I cook breakfast."

"That is a lot of responsibility. She must trust you a great deal."

"I am very Trust-Worthy," he says proudly.

"Is that why Piper gave you that package? Because he knew you would get it to us right away?"

"Yeah probably."

I frown. "You've never met Piper before tonight?"

"No." He looks down at his hands. "When can I go home?"

"Soon," I say. "What did he say about the box?"

"He told me not to look inside. It wasn't for me."

"Can you remember what kind of car he drove?"

"Big."

"Was it a truck?"

"No, a car. It was shaped like my shoe boxes."

"Do you remember the color?"

"Um..." He bites his lip and shakes his head. "It was getting dark."

"It's okay," I say softly. "Was there a woman in the car when Piper picked you up?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Just me and him."

"Okay, can I ask you just one more question?" He nods. "Why did you say Piper lives in the mountains?"

"He told me."

I let the words sink in but nothing seems to make sense. Like all this questioning only confused things. "Well, thank you for all your help. If you can think of anything else that might help us, tell Mrs. Ellis. We really need to talk to Piper."

"Maybe I'll see him again and can tell him."

"Leave that to us, okay?"

"Okay."

The officer begins to lead him outside to his guardian when he suddenly stops at the doorway. "Sara, if you are looking for Piper, maybe you should call him. I'm sure he has a telephone."

I grin. "I'll give it some thought."

He departs with a satisfactory grin just as Grissom walks in. "Sounds like Piper is the one we want to question," he says.

"Yeah, if we can find him and his mountain in the Yellow Pages then the case is solved," I reply with defeat. "Our killer just doesn't seem like someone who would be overly nice to someone like Ben."

"Does your picture of the killer not fit that of our witness's?"

I say nothing. Maybe I painted this awful picture of a monster that beats, rapes, and murders women when in reality he is still a man like so many other, except for being capable of those atrocious acts. And isn't that always the case? No one can pick out a monster from a crowd of men if he too wears a mask.

"I agree that something isn't right though."

I look up at him.

"Why would he get into the car of a man he didn't know?"

"He missed his only ride home. He was afraid he'd get in trouble."

"Would you get into a car if you were stranded along the highway?"

"I'm an adult. I know what people are capable of, Grissom."

His eyes meet mine and for a minute it feels like he can see through me. Brass saunters in to break up our standoff.

"I sent Ben to our artist. Maybe we can get a good sketch of Piper."

"Good idea," Grissom says.

"What's on your docket for the rest of the night?"

"We saved the best for last," he replies, sweeping out the door.

Brass turns to me. "Ah, the package. Let me know how that goes."

I nod and drag myself after Grissom.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

While we were interviewing our witness, Greg was processing the outside of the mysterious present.

"No prints other than your delivery boy's. The tape is standard packaging tape. The box is also very standard -cardboard. Total processing time took all of ten minutes, and it was a waste of my expertise." He nods. "Thought you should know."

"You have to start somewhere, Greg," Grissom replies, putting on a pair of latex gloves.

I give Greg a pity glance as Grissom examines the box. It seems to take all my strength to keep from swaying with exhaustion as precious time ticks away.

"Shall we break this baby open or are we going to stare at it all day?"

Grissom straightens his shoulders. "Box cutter."

He's handed the cutter and the opening begins. As soon as the small package is open, three eager pairs of eyes peer inside.

There's nothing.

Not a damn thing.

"You sure this is the right one?"

"Yes," Grissom snaps at him.

"What are you guys looking at?" Catherine suddenly leans in between Grissom and Greg's shoulder. "Ah, nothing. Figures."

Grissom nods thoughtfully. "Of course. We have nothing."

I exchange a second glance with my co-workers. Then it clicks with an annoying sound. We have nothing and our killer knows it. He even sent us an eyewitness and there is still nothing to push us in the direction he is hiding.

Feeling quite removed from myself, I snap my gloves off. "I'll be with the body."

No one says a word as I exit the DNA lab and head for the morgue.

"I think you know what I'm writing in the autopsy report," Doc says turning away from me as I step through the swinging double doors.

"She told us absolutely nothing?" I ask him.

"Sometimes, nothing really is nothing."

The sentence strikes an already tender nerve. I can't believe it's gotten to him too. There is something we are missing and I'm determined to find it.

"Did you get an I.D. off her prints?"

"Yes. Detective Brass just faxed me the woman's driver's license."

I take the paper. "Trisha Morgan, 37, 366 Dale Drive. Does she have family in the area?"

"One of her sisters is coming in later."

I make a mental note to speak with her to find out what kind of person she was and her previous whereabouts before she died. It's a short but trying task. A loud sigh I didn't know I had in me exits from my mouth.

"Is everything all right?"

"Huh? Oh, tired, I guess."

"I know a good remedy for insomnia," he begins. "It involves a pinch of wintergreen, a jot of olive oil, and a dash of sugar in a warm cup of green tea."

I grimace and swallow hard. My stomach squirms demanding anything except that concoction.

"Or I could just recommend a good sleeping drug when that doesn't work."

I force a smile. "It doesn't sound like you put much faith into your potion either."

He grins madly at me.

"I never knew you were even dabbling in home remedies," I say with a frown.

"I received a new book on the subject and haven't been able to put it down," he explains. "Unfortunately, David isn't all too eager to serve as the guinea pig."

"I wonder why," I say, allowing a small wry smile to grace my lips. "Have a good night, Doc."

He nods. "If you change your mind for either antidote I'll be around."

Outside the morgue, I wander down the hallway with no expedience. I really didn't sleep well last night, just a few hours at the most. In fact, I haven't had a shift end when I didn't feel obligated to spend my off hours reworking all angles of this case. It hasn't shone any new light on things but I can't help it. Like I can't help thinking about my current standings with Grissom every night. One makes the other harder and the day seem longer. Both make me restless.

A hand lands on my shoulder.

I throw my arm up and turn. "David! Don't do that!"

"Sorry." He blushes. "I just wanted to give you something before you left." He hands me a tiny piece of torn transparent plastic now stained pink with blood.

"Where did you find it?"

"I pulled it from one of the dead girl's knife wounds when I was preparing her for autopsy," he says.

"It was actually inside the wound?" I flip the evidence bag over in my hand.

"Yes. I thought it was debris at first." He pushes his glasses further up his nose. "What do you think it means?"

"I don't know," I reply. "But at least it's something."