Chapter 5: Picture Imperfect

8:20 a.m.

Las Vegas Crime Lab

Las Vegas, Nevada

–

Téa Gardner rubbed the back of her neck as she waited on the couch with Tristan. Mr. Motou and Yugi were still talking with that Grissom character. Téa'd had a hard time getting a read on the man; he seemed both trustworthy and downright creepy. And judging from some of the gossip she'd been hearing from passersby, she didn't think this was an opinion she alone held.

She felt Tristan sighing next to her. She turned to him and tried to smile. "Cheer up, Tristan. We both know Joey didn't do anything."

"That doesn't make the wait any easier," Tristan answered. "They kept him here overnight. Just because you and I know he didn't do anything doesn't mean they know it."

"They're doing the best they can," she tried to assure him.

"Where's that getting Joey?" he countered. "He was the one who found the body in his room, and they haven't confirmed his alibi yet. Put two and two together. Add to that the fact that he really doesn't like authority figures, and that means he was probably rude to whoever was questioning him, even if that person was a saint – which I don't think you find in police stations."

"Crime labs," Téa corrected. "This place is a crime lab. They bring all the evidence at the scene of a crime here and examine it."

"Whatever. My point is that it's almost guaranteed somebody around here believes Joey may very well be the one who killed the man."

"But Joey has no reason to kill anyone, much less a stranger!" she protested.

"Like I said, just because we know it doesn't mean they know it."

A dark-skinned man approached them then, and offered them a slightly strained smile. Téa found herself appreciating the effort; she didn't imagine his job was an easy one, and even less so when kids were involved.

"Tristan Taylor? Téa Gardner? My name is Warrick Brown," the man said. "I'm helping conduct the investigation into Mr. Henstridge's drowning."

"Henstridge? You mean Simon Henstridge?" Téa inquired, blinking in surprise. "The Luxor's co-manager?"

"No, it was his father, Gordon. But you've got the co-manager part right. He also owned the place. Now it's all been left to Simon."

Tristan scowled. "Great, just great. When you think things can't get any worse for us..."

Warrick nodded. "I listened in on some of the questioning sessions with your friends. They expressed the same distaste for Simon. Can't say I blame them, either. But now he's running the place, and he's not much inclined to continue reserving the room of his father's killer."

"Joey didn't kill him," Téa asserted firmly. "He's had his problems in the past, but he would never kill."

"That's what he and the Motous said. And I'd like to believe that, but in this line of work, I can't afford to believe anything except what the evidence tells me. That's why I need your help."

The two teens perked slightly at this, eager to be of some assistance. "What can we do?" Tristan asked.

Warrick held up a pair of swabs. "I'd like to get hair and DNA samples from you two, if you'll let me."

Téa blinked at the implications of this request. "You don't think one of us did it, do you?"

The dusky-skinned criminologist shook his head. "No. Your alibis have already been confirmed."

"Then why're you asking us for samples?"

"Because we found several different types of hairs there, and we need to eliminate everyone who we know has been in the room. Joey said you all were in his room at one point; is that right?"

The teens nodded. "We all went to check out each other's rooms the first day we got here," said Tristan, "but I thought the cleaning lady would have vacuumed up everything."

"Cleaning ladies do a decent job, but they don't catch everything while a guest is there," Warrick replied. "They wait until a guest has vacated the room completely before they do the real cleanup. We won't find anything from a previous guest there, but you guys might have dropped something. We just need to make sure who all was in the room. Your samples will help us eliminate you guys, leaving the person we're looking for."

10:28 a.m.

–

Grissom rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. Rarely did he admit to being tired. He was an insomniac by nature; he supposed it went hand-in-hand with being so enamored with death. He was the definition of the phrase "You can sleep when you're dead."

But right now, he was getting tired.

And unfortunately, the young and vital Sara had spotted him doing it as she walked into the break room – rarely was it ever used for breaks, at least when Grissom was there. She grinned at him. "The great Grissom, actually getting sleepy?" she gasped mockingly. "I didn't think it was possible."

"See if you can entice Greg into breaking out the strong coffee next time he passes through," Grissom said. "Speaking of Greg, I assume Ms. Gardner and Mr. Taylor provided samples."

"Without a hitch. Greg's processing the results, he'll have them in a couple hours," she said. "They're eager to help."

"I'm not surprised. All of them have shown remarkable loyalty to Joey. You don't see that kind of dedication in Vegas... kids on the street are more eager to sell each other out."

"Hm." She approached, and looked over his shoulder at the file he was consulting. "Wheeler's rap sheet, huh?"

"Yeah. And even after he got out of constant trouble, he still caused controversy – some people think he's one of the best duelists in the world, others think he's just a hack."

Sara shrugged. "Maybe he's both. They're not mutually exclusive. We both know from experience even the most innocuous people can become dangerous... and this kid has a record."

"Not for any serious crimes, though," Grissom pointed out. "He's a troublemaker, but throwing a brick through a window isn't murder."

"No, but you've got motive," Sara replied. "From what I understand, Simon Henstridge was willing to do just about anything to play a game with Yugi Motou and threatened to kick them out if he didn't. Wheeler could have killed his father as revenge."

"That wouldn't make sense, though. Joey exacted his revenge when he defeated Henstridge in a game played on Yugi's behalf."

"Maybe that wasn't enough for him," Sara suggested.

"Something about the way Yugi describes it leads me to believe that a Duel Monsters game is highly emotionally charged. When a duelist loses, he's ashamed; when he wins, he's elated."

"So maybe Wheeler didn't think the shame was enough for Henstridge. Or maybe he wanted to win again."

Grissom shook his head. "Doesn't feel like it."

Sara sighed. "Are we gonna base the case on what 'feels right' to you?"

"For someone to challenge Yugi, the Duel Monsters world champion, he has to be prideful in his skills as a duelist. Otherwise he wouldn't even consider it."

"Someone like Simon Henstridge, who could have kicked them out at any time?" Sara shook her head. "Sorry, Grissom, that sounds more like a power play to me than a challenge."

"It's all about pride. Joey insists he believes Henstridge wouldn't have a chance against Yugi – that more than anything, he wanted a chance to say he personally faced the world champion in a duel, no matter the outcome."

"You don't think he's right?"

"I don't think Henstridge would have challenged Yugi if he didn't have the slightest belief he could win. Maybe there's some part of him that truly thinks he can do what nobody else has been able to."

She put her hands on her hips. "Look, this is fascinating, really, but what does all this have to do with the murder?"

"Joey defeated Henstridge in a duel. For professional duelists, there's no greater high than winning a game of Duel Monsters. There'd be no point in trying to cause more suffering to Henstridge; he was humiliated in front of a public audience. And even if he did want to cause Henstridge more pain... why do it through his father? Why kill Gordon Henstridge? At that point, Simon becomes the sole manager and heir of the Luxor, and he'll give them all kinds of grief."

"Maybe Wheeler didn't realize Gordon was co-manager? The family resemblance is striking, but the average person can't tell what position of power a man is in just by looking at him."

The faintest trace of a smile flitted over Grissom's weathered face. "Joey Wheeler isn't your average person."

"You really believe he didn't do it?"

Grissom didn't respond.

10:34 a.m.

Main Lobby, Luxor Hotel

–

Simon Henstridge was as incorrigible as Brass had ever known him and his father to be – perhaps even more so, considering the death of his father just last night. "Captain Brass, I'm a very busy man."

"Care to guess how many times I've heard that phrase before?"

"Not particularly."

"Let's cut the crap. You don't want to talk to me. But I came here for a reason and I'm not leaving until I get what I came for."

"Okay, then, let me put it another way... I'm a grieving man, and under enormous pressure right now. My father was murdered last night, and now I have the tedious job of managing this place myself. As you can probably imagine, it's no picnic. I can't even take a break to grieve because this place needs a manager. I'm on the verge of a breakdown. So maybe you should just take your questions and shove them."

Brass shrugged. "Look, pal, if you need a break from the job, I'd be happy to give you one down at the station. I could use a break myself."

Henstridge sighed. "I was there already for a previous round of questions.Your habit of suspecting the beneficiary of the deceased is quite irritating. But fine, we'll talk here. What is it you want?"

"I'd like to talk to you about an incident that happened Monday afternoon. It involved a Joey Wheeler... you know him?"

"It's hard not to acquaint yourself with a man who beats you at Duel Monsters and then goes on to drown your father in his jacuzzi."

"Wheeler hasn't been charged with the crime yet."

Henstridge's eyes blazed. "What! Why not?"

"Not enough evidence to back it up."

"Don't tell me you've released that menace! I won't have him running around the Luxor with my father's blood on his hands!"

"You can't bar him without a good reason, and we can't hold him without just cause. I think you know that. Far as we're concerned, he has yet to commit a punishable crime."

Henstridge glowered at Brass. "You know, news like that can be very bad for a man's health."

"There are worse things. Tell me about your encounter with Wheeler."

Henstridge sighed. "There was a dispute over some money a friend of his won. Some of my people thought he was cheating. Wheeler and I settled the dispute with a round of Duel Monsters. He beat me, so I let them have the money, and that was that."

"From what I hear, it was a bit more complex," Brass replied. "You didn't want a duel with Wheeler, you wanted a duel with Yugi Motou. Why?"

Henstridge shrugged. "Either of them could have represented the accused. Frankly, I thought Yugi would present more of a challenge to my dueling skills. There was no way I could lose, even if I did lose."

"Except you did lose, and to Wheeler. Weren't happy about that, huh?"

"I was... annoyed, but I agreed to duel him, and he defeated me fairly."

"And then you still threatened to dispute the money. Why?"

"I said I was annoyed, Captain Brass. When a duelist is beaten in Duel Monsters, that defeat is embarrassing enough when the winner is there to gloat. It's downright humiliating when spectators are cheering your downfall."

"You're breaking my heart."

"I have no doubt. So back to my original question, what is it you want?"

"Same thing you want – evidence on a suspect. And to get one, I need your security tapes."

Henstridge blew his breath out his nose. "Is there another way you can get your evidence?"

"Nothing better for evidence than what's caught on tape. You want your father's killer, I want your tapes. I'm asking you nicely but I could get a warrant if you'd like."

"Okay, okay. Which ones do you need?"

"I need everything from your food courts starting on Monday morning, and everything on your casino since last Friday. It's to verify everyone's alibi."

Henstridge's eyes narrowed. "They haven't been in the casino since Monday. You don't need Monday tapes for a Tuesday murder."

"Did it ever occur to you that they might have been lying about some of their whereabouts before yesterday? We catch them on one lie, we might catch them on several." Brass swept his hand through the air for emphasis. "Nobody ever tells 'little white lies'. They don't exist. You tell either a lie, or the truth. Now, tell me the truth, Mr. Henstridge: do you have something to hide by not letting us see those tapes?"

Henstridge straightened. "No, Captain Brass, I don't."

"Good. Then have someone deliver them to the crime lab by noon."

1:45 p.m.

Las Vegas Crime Lab

–

Greg Sanders' eyes were glued to his microscope. One might have thought they literally were glued there, the way he seemed unable to stop admiring the samples on the slide. But most people who worked here had come to accept that as normal behavior from Greg; in fact, they had come to accept most behavior he displayed as normal for him, so they rarely questioned his motives. Those motives tended to be a mystery to all but himself, anyway.

A knock at the door, however, prompted him to pry his gaze away from the sample and up at his boss. "Hey, Grissom. You ought to get some sleep, those bags under your eyes aren't doing you any favors."

"Warrick and Nick gave you the DNA samples from my case hours ago. What have you been doing with them? Spiking your coffee?"

"Ah, the last of the samples is being processed now. Stick around a couple minutes and you'll get the results. C'mere and check this out." Greg grinned and gestured to the microscope.

Greg's expression gave Grissom sufficient cause to frown. What's he up to this time? Nevertheless, he approached and inspected the specimen under the scope. After a moment, he shrugged. "Hairs. So?"

"So, they're all from the same person."

"Yugi Motou?"

"Exactly. But here's the interesting part – none of it is dyed."

Grissom looked up and raised an eyebrow. "You're not serious."

"I'm telling you, there's not a drop of dye to be found on that kid's head. Plenty of gel, as I'm sure you noticed, but that hair is otherwise all-natural."

The frown returned. "I don't think I've ever seen a case of purple hair occurring naturally, never mind purple, maroon, and blond all at once."

"Sort of a trap card purple, don't you think? And the maroon... sort of a, I dunno, Beast of Gilfer tone."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Duel Monsters." Greg grinned. "Haven't you heard? It's the new thing. I'm a fan."

Grissom repressed the instinct to roll his eyes. "Results, Greg..."

Perhaps the printer heard him then, because it was at that moment that Greg was saved from having to say anything – a sheet of paper was expelled from the printer, say all that needed to be said to both of them.

Grissom's expression darkened. "This can't be right."

"Sorry, boss, but it looks like the only people in the room were Wheeler, his friends, and Henstridge. Didn't pick up any hairs or DNA from anyone else."

"But if that's true... then Joey is our only suspect."

1:47 p.m.

Room 1207, Luxor Hotel

–

Grissom's right. There's something weird about this entire case... and I don't think that Joey kid is why.

It was this reasoning that had Nick crawling across the floor, back and forth, over and over again, searching for something, anything they might have missed. Logically, on an off-white carpet, they should have been able to pick up just about everything – it was the perfect color scheme for a CSI to look for clues.

And so far, he'd not found so much as an extra hair.

Damn, this is frustrating. Usually Nick liked picking things apart like this. He was fastidious around his own home, a tendency that had come to him from his family of law enforcers... although he believed he might have been just as tidy without the law in his veins. He imagined he might have made a good maid in another life.

For the fiftieth time, he made his way along the line separating the jacuzzi tile from the carpet. There's gotta be something here. Something... something... something?

His determined eyes caught on what almost looked like a random piece of lint sticking up from the carpet. He frowned. No, that's not lint.

He pulled a pair of tweezers from his tool kit and plucked the fuzz away from the floor. The color isn't right. It's not the same shade. He grinned and put the minuscule ball of string into a plastic bag.

That piece of fuzz could possibly be the one break they needed.

2:04 p.m.

Las Vegas Crime Lab

–

"I just got a call from Nick, he said he found something else in the room. You paged me?"

Warrick glanced up at the door, to see Grissom standing there with a curious expression. He nodded. "Yeah. Something to show you. Take a look."

Grissom approached Warrick's workbench. Warrick offered him a portfolio. "We printed Joey's shoes and Henstridge's. What we got were a pair of Nikes and a pair of alligator boots. When we compared what we printed with what we picked up from the jacuzzi tile, this is what we found."

Grissom flipped through the pages, then frowned. "The treads for this print look like they have more definition to them."

"Exactly. When we went back over the tile prints, we noticed a difference in tread quality. So we went over it again. It doesn't just look that way, it is that way."

Grissom blinked at Warrick. "You're telling me that our guy was wearing the same type and size of shoes Joey was wearing?"

"Precisely the same type and size. But the tread looks virtually brand-new. The shoe was probably bought within the last few days."

"This can't be a coincidence," Grissom said. "The killer couldn't have gotten shoes of the same size and type within the last few days by accident." He looked back down at the portfolio. "Someone tried to frame Joey Wheeler for murder."