Chapter 13

Stepping out of his car in the driveway of 42 Palm Lane, Grissom studied the modest home in front of him. Built in the sixties, it was truly a Vegas original, not to be confused with the cookie-cutter mini-mansions springing up in the 'burbs.

Closing the car door he headed for the house still unsure whether he was looking for evidence or looking for a wedge to place between Mike and Sara. Still, one migraine pill, five hours of deep sleep and one intriguing phone call later, he was refreshed and ready to continue the quest wherever it may lead.

Before he could ring the bell, the door opened and a petite woman met him with a nervous smile. "Mr. Grissom?"

Flashing his ID he nodded. "Yes." Fascinated by her image, he studied her features. It was as if the photo of Samantha Hatcher had been aged to produce the living version standing in the door way. "Wendy Hatcher, I presume?"

"Wendy Blake now." Opening the door she gestured for him to enter. "I'm uh…I'm still a wreck from your phone call. It's been over twenty years since I lost my sister but hearing you talk about it brings me right back to the day. I haven't stopped shaking since you called."

Walking into the living room he took in the familial atmosphere. Cheerful photos lined the walls and dotted the shelves, toys were scattered randomly over the floor, the smell of fresh-baked cookies wafted from the kitchen and two cocker spaniels circled his feet. It was a sharp contrast to his austere townhouse where the walls displayed framed butterflies, the only thing scattered were books and the only creatures beside him were bugs.

Raking her fingers through her cropped golden hair, Wendy realized she hadn't prepared for company. "Sorry…you must think this place looks awful. We only moved in a couple of months ago after my mom passed on and I haven't been able to organize…"

"Not what I was thinking at all." Bending down he placated the curious dogs with a few pats. "The homes I usually go to don't have this kind of life, it's refreshing."

"Well, after your phone call, I brought the kids to my friend's.When I got back I headed to the kitchen and started baking up a storm. It's what I do when I'm stressed." Rolling her eyes at herself she explained. "It's what my mother did when she was stressed. After Samantha's death she spent all her time in the kitchen baking for senior citizen homes, schools, you name it. It was her outlet and now that she's gone…it's mine."

"Everyone needs something." Standing up he smiled at the weary woman. "I like to ride roller coasters."

Nodding, she refocused on the unpleasant subject at hand. "So when you called you said you had been reviewing cases and wanted to know more about my sister."

Taking out a small notepad and pen he noted the date. "You reaction puzzled me. Why did you say, you always hoped the truth would come out. What truth?"

"I need to sit down." Backing up she dropped into a worn armchair. "I've never told anyone but my mother and she wouldn't listen. You see my mom worshipped Samantha. Even though my sister and I were twins, Samantha was a carbon copy of my mom. I…I was the rebel…the one who never made the right choices. So when my sister died and I tried to tell my mom I didn't think her death was an accident that I knew...he killed her." Choking on the words she dropped her head in her hands. "It was my fault if I hadn't said...I don't think I can talk about it. I've never talked about it and I don't know why I even let you come here."

"He?" Grissom's eyes narrowed. "Who is he? I know this is difficult but you need to stay with me Wendy."

Through her tears she struggled, "My father…"

It wasn't the answer he expected. "You believe your father murdered your sister?"

Shaking her head, she clarified while sobbing into her palms. "My father considered him the son he never had so when I told my mom, she said I was lying and warned me never to say it again…that if my father were to hear…it would kill him. My dad had a heart condition. I never said it again…not even after my dad died. I lived with the guilt all these years and until you called I never thought I would talk about it as long as I lived."

Looking up she wiped her tear-soaked cheeks. "I know this will sound crazy but after I hung up the phone with you I heard my sister's voice inside my head. Like…like she was asking me to speak for her."

"Wendy." Kneeling down beside the distraught woman he gently asked, "Who do you think killed your sister?"

"I don't think…I know." After filling her lungs, she locked eyes with the investigator. "Mike Rodgers." She was surprised to see such a tense reaction from the man at her side. "Mr. Grissom?"

"How do you know?" Suddenly his suspicion was becoming fact and his concern for Sara a horrible reality.

Having said the name aloud, Wendy felt a weight lift off her shoulders and the freedom allowed her trapped words to flow. "Mike was the guy everyone wanted to hang with…the guys wanted to be his buddy and the girls…they all fell at his feet. My sister was no exception. I was no exception. He knew just the right thing to say and when to say it. My sister was so in love with him, certain they'd marry and have kids, dogs, the whole nine yards. She never knew the real Mike."

"But you did?"

A flash of anger hardened her features. "At first I was like the rest of them…I adored him. I was even jealous of my sister. I never saw it coming.

"It was around two a.m. I was returning to campus from a frat party and Mike appeared out of nowhere." Her tone turned icy. "He was drunk and started pawing me…saying how he always wanted to make it with twins but he knew Samantha wouldn't go for a threesome so he'd have to be satisfied with keeping the knowledge of his conquest from her. I couldn't get him off me and before I knew it he had me on the ground behind some bushes. He was so strong. I was drunk. I tried but I couldn't get away." She bit her lip until it throbbed. "I…I never told anyone…"

Fighting past his own fear, Grissom reached out the best he could. "There's a statue of limitations on rape but not on murder. You have to keep talking."

Closing her eyes she resumed her story. "After he was...done…he started laughing at me. He said he knew I wouldn't tell anyone because my parents already thought I was slut. They would say I was lying because I was jealous of my perfect sister's boyfriend. I told him I didn't care what anyone thought of me. I was going to tell my sister, my parents, anyone who would listen and then they would all see him for the monster he really was. I told him my sister and my parents would never look at him the same. Suddenly he stopped laughing and his eyes…I'd never seen eyes like that before…like that saying...if a look could kill. It was terrifying. And then without saying another word he left."

The profile Wendy painted played on Grissom's worst nightmare. "What did you do?"

Shame replacing anger, she confessed. "Nothing. I went back to my dorm, showered and packed a bag. I went to my parents' cabin and hid for two days. When I finally called home I found out my sister was dead. He killed her twelve hours after he raped me."

A hunch wouldn't do any good. He needed evidence. "So based on how Mike treated you, you believed Mike killed your sister."

"No." Pausing she raised the courage to tell the final part of the story. "When I came home my house was filled with people comforting my parents and Mike. He looked so devastated. His sobs...they sounded like they were straight from his soul. Even after what he did to me I felt sorry for him. Hell, I even started feeling guilty about being so angry with him. I thought maybe we were both drunk and who knows what really happened. I mean clearly he loved my sister because he was beside himself with grief."

Disgust hastily returned to her voice. "The next day, after the funeral, I decided to take a break from the chaos in the house. As an excuse, I took the trash to the dumpster in the alley. When I turned around to go back through the gate Mike was standing there blocking me. That look was back in his eyes and a chill ran up my spine. He said…he said… 'I guess you won't be telling your sister anything. I made sure of that. Don't worry, Samantha never saw it coming.'" Gripping her stomach she wailed. "You see if I hadn't said I was going to tell, my sister would be alive today. If I hadn't been afraid and had gone home or to the hospital and been able to prove he…"

Anger seething inside him Grissom fought to remain calm. "You are not responsible for your sister's death. Wendy. Is there a chance anyone saw Mike assault you?"

"No…there was no one around."

"Is there a chance anyone overhead what he said to you in the alley?"

"No." Gritting her teeth she added, "Don't you see…he's too good! He gets away with everything. He killed my sister but everyone called him a hero for trying to rescue her when she fell."

Sitting against the wall, Grissom rubbed his temples. The migraine was returning. He didn't know where Sara was but wherever she was, if she was with Mike, she was in the company of a rapist and murderer. Unless of course Wendy's story was just that...a story. What if Wendy was merely exacting revenge against Mike because of her old jealousy? Jealousy makes people do crazy things. Wasn't it the green-eyed monster that landed him on Wendy's doorstep in the first place?

Grissom knew the score...there was no evidence and people lie all the time. As honest as Wendy seemed, she could merely be adept at the fine art of deception. Then again she could be telling the truth.

Grissom's head throbbed as the volley continued in his mind...if Wendy is a liar then Sara is safe...if Wendy is telling the truth then Sara is in jeopardy. Wendy can't prove her story...You can't prove she's lying. Feeling a little queasy he asked, "Could I use your restroom?"

"Of course." Rising to her feet, Wendy directed him. "It's straight down that hall, first door on your right."

"Thank you." He thought a cold splash of water on his blood drained face might help him get a grip. When he reached the door, he turned the knob surprised to find it locked. Trying again he got the same result. Intrigued he wondered, if they were alone why was the bathroom door locked?

When Wendy saw him at the wrong door she joined him. "I said first door on the right, not left. That room was my sister's…my mom locked it the day my sister died andmy momwas the only one ever allowed to open it. We only moved in a couple of months ago and I haven't been able to bring myself to deal with the room. I know I have to clean it out, I just…"

"Your sister's room?" Grissom's right brain seized control back from the emotional left. "What's in there?"

"All of my sister's stuff. My mom was a little obsessed. She even kept my sister's stuff from the accident, even her bloody jacket. It's bizarre, I know. My husband is so understanding about it."

"Could I see it?" The words bloody jacket were music to his ears.

"I…" Wendy swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can let you..."

"Mrs. Blake…" He softened his voice. "That jacket may tell us something your sister couldn't. I'm trained to interpret blood spatter patterns and use the interpretations to determine how an injury occurred. The newspaper articles I read on your sister's accident said Mike told the police she slipped off the edge of a cliff and hit her head on a rock. The blood on the jacket could tell a different story and if it does, I could have enough information to re-open your sister's case."

A mixture of hope and terror flickering in her eyes, Wendy nodded. "I'll get the key."