Warrick knew the story of Chloe Haydn and had seen her face on video tape, but had never met her. He could see know how Grissom had been caught between a rock and a hard place by sending Warrick to interview Chloe. Grissom himself could not go—it would reek of nepotism. Sara knew Chloe, had met and interacted her so having to investigate her like this would not be fair to either party. Nick and Catherine already had a heavy workload with the path of Mason Ziegler, so Warrick was the odd man out.
Warrick was careful not to let Brass know about Chloe being Grissom's niece, but then again wasn't sure if he already knew. They drove to the Rhapsody Hotel in silence.
"Room twenty-two," Brass said as they entered the hotel. "She's here with her boyfriend and four-year-old son."
"I don't understand why she would feel the need to rob a convenience store," Warrick said, shaking his head.
"Well, no one's proved anything yet."
"Grissom and Catherine haven't said anything about what Adrian Lowe and Marquita Dali have said."
"I guess they want to get every side first, then see what's what," Brass shrugged.
"Maybe. I hope so. But Chloe's fingerprints were on the gun. She was at Stop-n-Go, I saw her on the video tape, I had it confirmed. There's a few shots of Chloe entering and then leaving the convenience store. She was wearing a sweatshirt and spandex bike shorts, how the hell could she have hidden a gun in there?"
"Maybe the gun wasn't hers. Did she shoot anyone?"
"Don't think so. She may be an accomplice. Hopefully we'll find GSR."
"Or," Brass raised an eyebrow, "the missing cash."
Warrick saw very little of Gil Grissom in Chloe Haydn when she answered the door of the hotel room. She was blonde, hazel-eyed and tiny, but shared Grissom's look of utter confusion, especially when she saw Warrick and Brass standing in the hall. She wore jeans with a rip at the knee and a shirt that read United States of Whatever written in what looked like magazine cutout letters. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying.
"Chloe Haydn Jackson?" Brass inquired.
"No Jackson, just Haydn," Chloe correct politely.
"My apologies. I'm Captain Jim Brass from the Las Vegas Police Department."
"Hello, Captain."
"And this is Warrick Brown from Criminalistics."
"Hello, Mr. Brown."
"May we enter the room, Ms. Haydn?" Warrick asked.
"Yes, of course," Chloe stepped aside and let Brass and Warrick through.
Her son was sprawled on one of the beds in front of the television, surrounded by crayons, coloring books, toy cars and action figures. He looked almost nothing like his mother with dark brown hair and long features with big eyes.
"Who's here, Mommy?" he asked fearfully when he saw Warrick and Brass.
"They're people here to talk," Chloe said, going over to the boy. She stood him up on the bed. "Mr. Brown, Captain Brass, this is my son Shane."
Brass smiled and Warrick gave a small wave. Shane slid off the bed and approached Warrick, non-plussed.
"You don't have what he has," Shane protested to Warrick, pointing to Brass.
"That's right," Warrick knelt. "Because I'm not a policeman."
"Are you like my granduncle?" he asked excitedly. "Are you a scientist?"
"Huh?" Warrick's smile grew wider, pretending not to know who his granduncle was.
"Shane," Chloe whispered harshly, as if warning him, taking her son by the shoulder.
"It's okay," Warrick told her.
"I don't want him to bother you."
"He's not bothering me. I like kids."
"So are you a scientist?" Shane repeated.
"Yeah, I am. How'd you know that?"
"You're wearing a vest like my granduncle. Mommy says it's 'cause I'm…what'd you say, Mommy? A tissue?"
Warrick chuckled as Chloe mumbled, "Astute, honey."
Brass smiled broadly. Shane approached him next. "I like your stuff," he said, pointing at the accessories that festooned Brass: gun in holster, badge on lapel, walkie-talkie on belt.
"Thanks, little man," Brass chuckled.
"Can I see your badge?"
"Sure, kid," Brass unhooked his badge and held it in his hand to show to Shane.
"Can I touch it?"
"Knock yourself out."
Shane took the badge from Brass and examined it closely. "It doesn't look like mine at home, Mommy. Why can't mine be like this one?"
"Shane," Chloe said again, in a less harsh but still a reprimanding tone.
Warrick stood. "Ms. Haydn, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room and not take anything with you. Captain Brass needs to ask you a few questions."
"About what?"
"There was a robbery at a convenience store called Stop-n-Go. We have reason to believe you played a part in it."
"I…That's…I couldn't have," Chloe frowned. She took the badge from Shane—who was vociferous in his protest about his mommy giving it back now—and handed it back to Brass as she covered Shane's mouth with her hand.
"Your fingerprints were found at the scene, on an eighty-forty Mini Cougar F Beretta. It's a gun."
"I know what that is."
"Do you?"
"Yeah. A girl can't know about guns?"
"Ms. Haydn?" Brass said. He gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"
Chloe shot a sharp look at Warrick and exited the room, holding Shane by the hand. Warrick shook his head and sighed. Then he opened his field kit and got to work.
"So, Ms Haydn," Brass took out his notepad and a pen. "You're a gal who knows about guns?"
"Yeah," Chloe said, nodding non-chalantly. "My father was a firm believer in having girls as well as boys be knowledgeable in the field of firearms." She leaned against the silk wall. Shane wandered up and down the hallway and she kept a close eye on him. "He started training me when I was seven."
"Do you own any guns?" Brass asked.
"Yes. I do."
"You do?"
"Well, technically, I don't own them. They're all registered to my father. George Haydn. He passed away this past winter. He left all his guns to me. I have all the permits back home. We have four rifles, two pistols and three shotguns. Shane George Jackson!" she said harshly. "Don't you dare knock on that door!"
Shane sheepishly pulled his fist back from midair and stuffed it into the pocket of his khaki slacks. "Wasn't gonna," he mumbled.
"Where are the guns kept?" Brass asked.
"In a locked cabinet in the basement. Impossible for a four year old to break into," Chloe added. "Shane. I am warning you. Put your hand on the door and my hand will be on your backside."
"Does anyone go into the gun closet?"
"Not since my father died. Before that, it was open almost every day. He and I would do a little target practice in our backyard."
"How much do you know about guns?"
"I know what I should. How to clean, assemble, disassemble. Basic knowledge. I know about a lot of guns, which is why I know what a Beretta is. However, I'm more comfortable with rifles, that's what I learned on and what I'm comfortable with. I wasn't trained—my father insisted he teach me everything instead of taking me to a range. I've won a few competitions in riflery in the past—I was county champ when I was fourteen."
"Pretty impressive. When was the last time you actually fired a weapon?"
"It's been a good six years."
"Six?"
"There was a girl I knew in Arizona who was killed six years ago, by a stray bullet outside her house."
"Did you feel responsible?"
"No," Chloe said, horrified. "Annelise Parkinson lived across town, nowhere near where I had been shooting. I just got so nervous I put down my rifle and haven't picked it up since."
"Okay. What can you tell us about the Stop-n-Go robbery?"
Chloe told her story. She had been jogging, needed some "feminine products", and went inside. While she was shopping, she heard gunshots and ducked down. As she hit, she heard several more shots, a lot of screaming and shouting and then she saw something fly through the air. The gun ended up in front of her and she grabbed it for protection. She didn't fire. She didn't see much of anything. When everything was quiet, Chloe dropped the gun and left the store, not looking around her. She just ran.
"I was terrified. I wasn't thinking. I know I should have called someone but…I was just terrified. I just wanted to be back here, safe with my son."
Brass pursed his lips as he wrote down what Chloe told him. He had a feeling he believed what she was saying.
Warrick was having no luck in Chloe's hotel room. So far there was nothing. No GSR, no cash, no blood…yet.
Clothing was sparse, naturally, which made his job easier. Jeans and t-shirts were many, and he bagged the shorts and sweatshirt he'd seen Chloe wearing in the surveillance video. He shifted through the contents of a shoebox lying on the dresser containing several pieces of jewelry and a diary. Then Warrick poked into the closet and found two pairs of sneakers. They were both feminine styles—not to mention one was trimmed in pink—and he became confused. Didn't Brass say Chloe was here with her boyfriend, too? So far he'd only seen things of Chloe's and Shane's.
Keeping this in mind, he picked up the pink-trimmed sneakers. They were really more of a running/athletic shoe, with the soles well-faded, like they'd been worn a lot. Then he examined them more closely and found small stains. Blood stains. The sneakers were splattered with them, plus a few large streaks on the outer sides.
"Just like my grandmother said, pink and red clash," he muttered to himself as he swabbed them. He tested them quickly with the phenolphthalein which revealed the blood on the shoes matched Adrian Lowe's. He bagged the shoes quickly.
Warrick didn't find a gun or even gunshot residue, which supported the theory that Chloe neither owned nor shot the Beretta. When he entered the bathroom, there was nothing suspicious, considering the fact it was a hotel bathroom and it was cleaned daily. Simple toiletries were scattered here and there: razors, deodorant, soap, etc.
He ducked into the cabinet beneath the sink, found the usual—extra towels, extra washcloths, extra toilet paper. All the way in the corner was an open box of tampons, with a white envelope sticking up out of it. Knitting his brow, he plucked the envelope from the box. It felt thick. Crouching on the bathroom floor, Warrick flipped open the flap of the envelope.
"Whoa," his eyes widened as he counted the singles, fives, tens and twenties. It was about five hundred dollars. The stolen money from Stop-n-Go totaled about two hundred. "God-damn."
Warrick knew he was holding Chloe's fate in his fingers. Along with this and the blood on her shoe, it's very possible she could be an accomplice.
"Man oh man. Grissom's niece just went from witness to suspect."