The convoy of Tahoe's pulled into the neighborhood, three trucks, each carrying two CSI's. Nick and Sara, Warrick and Catherine, Greg and Grissom. Each driver found a parking space amid the police cars, ambulance, coroners van and the curious neighbors that lined the street. Climbing out, they all walked to the back of their particular truck, and unloaded the kits, cameras and equipment. Grissom climbed out of the black Tahoe and headed straight for Brass, who'd watched their arrival next to the street side mailbox. He shook his head and smiled slightly to himself, they looked like an army preparing for battle, Grissom the general, taking to the battlefield before his troupes. Which, he supposed, they were.

"You sure it's the same guy?" Grissom asked, still three feet away from Brass.

The captain looked at him as if he'd grown horns, and waggled his finger. "Come with me."

"Who found her?" Grissom asked Brass's back as they walked up the driveway toward the door.

"Husband, he came home from his kids school play and found her. He says he didn't touch anything but her, to check to see if she was dead, and the phone when he called 911." Brass answered the question he knew Gil was about to ask.

"His wife didn't go to the school play?"

"Victim is his second wife, kids are from his first marriage."

The other CSI's had arrived, loaded down with their equipment, and together they made their way into the house.

Thick white carpet padded their entrance. Grissom took a moment to acclimate himself, then began handing out assignments. "Greg, outside parameter, Nick, kitchen and living room. Warrick, dust for prints. Sara and Catherine, you're with me." Each criminalist headed to their assignment, adding to Brass's mental picture of an army.

Sara took in the living room as they passed through it. An uncomfortable looking sofa and love seat in alternating dark and light blue stripes dominated the room. An upright piano stood in one corner, sheet music at the ready. A large and ornately carved cabinet housed a television and electronic equipment. A set of shelves near the stairs displayed a collection of what Sara guessed were antique teacups.

On one wall of the stairwell hung school pictures of two kids, one boy one girl. Climbing the stairs, they all studied the pictures that ascended the steps. Each step a new picture. They watched the children grow older as they went up the stairs.

The master bedroom was off to the right at the landing. Sara, walking in the room last, her attention on the large chest of drawers that sat right inside the door, almost bumped into Catherine who had stopped in her tracks. Looking over Catherine's shoulder, Sara saw the reason she had stopped short. The victim lay flat on her back at the foot of the bed. Knees were bent, angled to the left. Her hands were lying near her ears, palms up, and strands of dark honey colored hair intertwined within her fingers that were frozen claw like. A clock radio lay upside down above her head, it's cord trailing down through her hair and wrapped around her throat, twice.

Brass turned to Grissom, and in his trademark sarcastic tone asked, "So, do you think it's the same guy?"

"What do they have in common?" Grissom asked.

Catherine sighed deeply and folded her arms across her chest. They'd laid out the photo's of both crime scenes on Grissom's desk, Jan Taylor, their first victim on the left; Eleanor Candlestein, their latest victim, on the right. Her eyes flicked back and forth searching for anything. "They're both red heads."

"Un huh. What else?"

"Weapon of opportunity. Beside lamb, bedside clock, both with in a few feet of the victim."

"Why strangulation? Wouldn't it have been easier to bring a gun with him and shoot the women after he raped them?"

Catherine shrugged off a shiver. "Strangulation is personal. Maybe a gun isn't part of what ever story he's using to get into these women's home."

"Or he's partial to up close and personal."

"Jan worked in a casino, Eleanor used to be a showgirl...there might be a connection..." her sentence trailed off.

Grissom took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face. "When Warrick printed the Candlestein house, he found a lot of smudges."

"Killer wore his blue gloves again." Catherine said.

"And again, and again." Catherine and Gil looked up from the photos to find Capitan Brass standing in the open office doorway.

"What?" Catherine asked him.

Brass took two steps in, and held up two brown case file folders. "I ran the MO through the system, came up with two more hits." He handed them each a file.

Catherine took hers, and continued to stare at him for another moment. "Jan Taylor wasn't the first victim?"

Brass shook his head. "Nope."

Gil opened the file, turning to the photos first. Expect for the color of the bedclothes, the photo in his hands and those on his desk were almost identical. Quickly he turned back to the first page of the report and ran his finger down the paper until he found what he was looking for. Catherine had done the same, and they looked up at each other almost at the same time.

"Dayshift." Grissom said, pissed.