8/27/05

BROTHER GRIMM

Chapter 3

The Office for the Green Man Landscape Company and Nursery was little more than a large, metal pole barn-type structure that sat on a several acres of farmed trees and carefully cultivated plants. Eight long greenhouses sat in neat rows behind the pole barn. A large, elaborate mural of a male face emerging from a seemingly random pile of oak leaves graced the side of the barn. Several concrete fountains and a couple of tall, rock 'waterfalls' stood outside the entrance to the barn, displaying the company's ability to handle water features.

As Sara and Brass entered the metal structure, it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the relatively dim light of the barn after the brilliant sunshine outside. The front part of the building had been made into shop area. There was a cash register just to the left of the doorway and several species of house plants were on display for sale. To the right of the registers was a huge, glass-fronted refrigerator where cellophane wrapped bouquets of roses, carnations and gladiolas in every hue sat in plastic buckets, ready for purchase. The two law enforcement officers wandered around the shop for a few minutes, looking for a sales person.

"Hi, can I help you with something?" a very young, perky voice asked.

The CSI and the detective turned to find a petite girl in her early twenties, looking at them expectantly. She had close-cropped, dark hair and a small silver stud in her right nostril. She wore a light blue t-shirt, jeans and black, rubber flip-flops. Her toenails were painted a garish shade of bright green.

"Uh, yes, we'd like to speak to the owner, if that person is available," Brass said, showing the girl his badge.

The perky smile faded. "Oh, yeah, sure, Cheryl's in the back. Follow me."

She led them through a metal door, into a large office area. Another young woman, in almost identical clothing to the girl leading them, sat at a desk doing some kind of paperwork. She didn't look up as they passed her. At the back of this office space was another metal door. A name plate on the door read 'Cheryl Pender.' The girl knocked. A low, female called for them to enter.

Opening the door, the girl leaned into the room and said, "Sorry to bother you, Cheryl, but there's a cop here to see you."

"A cop? ... Okay, sure, let him in."

The girl stepped away from the open doorway and gestured for Sara and Brass to enter. Inside, they found another office, smaller than the first one, but more comfortably furnished. The desk was a large antique. There was a small window beside the desk and several hanging plants were lined up across the rod, in lieu of curtains. A large area rug covered the concrete floor. The smell of hazelnut coffee permeated the small room, emanating from a coffeemaker, sitting on a small sideboard behind the desk.

The woman behind the desk stood as they entered. She was a tall woman, easily as tall as Sara, with a similar long-legged, slender build. She appeared to be in her mid-50's. Her skin was heavily tanned and bore that leathery look that people who have tanned all their lives get. Her hair was long and hung in a single braid almost down to her waist. It was almost pure white, giving her a slightly Native American appearance. She had small, round, gold-rimmed spectacles and wore a loose, white tunic made of some gauzey fabric. She wore no make-up or jewelry. Everything about her screamed 'aging hippy.'

"I'm Cheryl Pender, the owner. What can I do for you?" she said in a tone slightly warmer than frigid. She did not offer her hand to shake.

"My name is Jim Brass. I'm with the Las Vegas Police Department. This is Sara Sidle. She's with the Crime Lab. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your maintenance crews."

"Is that right? Do you have a search warrant?"

Jim sighed. "I don't need a search warrant to ask you a few questions. Although if you're going to be that uncooperative, I can always get one, shut down your business for several hours and seize all of your paperwork, if that's what you'd prefer."

Sara quickly stepped forward. "Ma'am, we're investigating the disappearance of three little girls. One of them has already been murdered. Is there a reason why you don't want to help us with this investigation?"

The woman's expression softened somewhat. "Is this about those little girls over in Indian Springs?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Cheryl Pender sighed and sat back down. Reluctantly, she gestured for them to take the two padded, vinyl chairs which sat in front of the desk. "What do you want from me?" she asked.

"We've spoken to the parents of all the girls. They all confirmed that your company does the lawn maintenance for their houses," Brass said.

"Yes, we do the maintenance for a lot of the houses in Indian Springs. Are you suggesting that someone in one of my crews is the kidnapper?"

Ignoring this question, Brass continued with his own, "Do your crews have ladders on their trucks?"

"We have ladders here at the shop. We use them mostly for setting up the displays. My maintenance crews do only basic upkeep. They mostly mow lawns and trim hedges. There's not much need for a ladder to do any of that," Pender said coldly.

"No, I suppose not," Brass said with an overly friendly smile. "But apparently they do have access to ladders."

"Yes."

"Are your crews all men?"

"Primarily, yes."

"About how many do you employ?"

"I have three crews of two. That would make six, one of whom is female," the woman said, in a tone one would use with a very slow child.

"So, you employ five men in your maintenance crews. Yeah, even us 'pigs' can do basic math," Jim said, his tone meticulously courteous. "Do any of these men come in contact with the children of the households?"

"They would have no reason to, but some of the children are very friendly. If the children come up to them, they're going to respond. It would be rude not to, don't you think? Look, my guys are all decent, hard workers. They wouldn't be working for me if they weren't."

"Then you wouldn't mind allowing Ms. Sidle here to take DNA samples from each of them, would you?"

"Oh, there it is! I knew it! I know how you people work. You come in here, claiming to be trying to find those little girls. You get DNA samples from my guys and then you use them to frame my guys for crimes they didn't commit. Well, I know my rights! I know you do need a warrant to get DNA samples!"

"Fine," Brass said. "We'll get one and be back."

"You do that! Now, get the hell out of my office!"

"Well, she's quite a pleasant one," Brass commented dryly, as they were climbing into his Taurus. "There's a lot of anger there. I always love dealing with people of that generation. They always have such wonderful opinions of the police."

Sara gave him a sympathetic smile, but said nothing.

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It was nearing 11 AM, when Catherine and Warrick entered the McCormick Bakery. It was a large, brick building, with green and white striped awnings and an outdoor patio area, where people sat drinking coffee and eating delicate pastries. Inside, were more small, round cafe tables and more expensively dressed, pretty people. There were children everywhere. Most of the women sitting at the tables seemed to be stay-at-home mothers or nannies and they apparently felt perfectly safe in allowing their kids to roam wherever they pleased.

There were two counters in the store. One, where the coffee orders were taken and where a large, glass display case showed the various pastries for sale. Behind this counter, several baskets, with a variety of bagels were also available. The other counter, located at the other end of the store, was evidently where special orders were taken, bulk orders and orders for wedding and birthday cakes. Displayed on long racks between these two counters were more specialty bread items, packaged muffins and scones. The place smelled heavenly, a mixture of coffee, cinnamon and steamed milk, with a slight undertone of yeast.

Seeing that the young woman behind the special orders counter was free, the two CSIs moved to speak with her. As she looked up and gave them an expectant smile, they saw that she was an open-faced woman in her late twenties. Her dark hair was pulled up in a bun. Like all the other employees, she wore a white t-shirt and jeans, with a long, white apron over these. She had a pen tucked behind her right ear. Pinned to her apron was a name badge, which read 'Mary.'

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The two investigators showed their IDs and Catherine introduced herself and Warrick.

"Crime Lab?" the woman repeated, looking confused, but not particularly alarmed. "What's this about?"

"We're investigating a series of kidnappings in the area," Catherine said. "We're just trying to find any kind of links between the victims. We understand that this bakery is very popular in the area. For all we know this could be where the kidnapper hangs out to find his victims. There certainly are a lot of children around."

"Oh, yeah, we give the kids free cookies. It's good for business."

"Well, business certainly seems to be doing well."

"Yeah, the business has been in my family for generations. We have two other stores as well. One in Reno and one in San Bernadino, but this was the first store."

"So, you do all of your baking here?" Warrick asked, looking around. "This place doesn't look big enough for that kind of an operation."

"Oh, no, we only bake the small stuff here, the pastries, the bagels, that kind of stuff. We have our own bakery for the other stuff, like the breads and the specialty cakes. It's not open to the public. It's located just outside the city."

"So, who's in charge of the business?" Catherine asked.

"Oh, that would be my oldest brother, Michael."

"May we speak to him?"

"Sure, hang on, I'll get him," the woman said and she turned and disappeared through a swinging door that stood behind the counter.

A few minutes later, a short, slender man in his early-fifties stepped through the door and moved to the counter. He had close-cropped, gray hair, but a relatively smooth and unlined face. He had pale blue eyes that peered serenely at the two investigators from behind small, rimless glasses.

"You're with the Crime Lab. Mary said you wished to speak to me?" the man's voice was slightly high and very soft.

Once again, introducing herself and Warrick, Catherine said, "Mr. McCormick, we're investigating the disappearance of three little girls whom we believe may have been in this store at some point. Your bakery made a birthday cake for one of the girls, Tiffany Metcalfe..."

"Wait, just a moment," the man said. Turning, he took up a thin, laptop computer from a shelf behind him and set it on the counter. Opening the computer, he typed in a few words. "Yes, we sold a chocolate sheet birthday cake to Angela Metcalfe, with the words 'Happy Birthday, Tiffany.' It was delivered last Friday."

"Delivered? So, you have the Metcalfe's address on file?"

"Yes, we do."

"Do you have an address for Bruce or Eileen Russell? Or Erik and Tanya Dresher?"

The man typed some more. After a moment, he said, "Yes, it appears that we have made deliveries to both of their homes within the past year."

"Who has access to this computer?" Warrick asked.

"Well, pretty much any of my employees."

"So, this list isn't password protected?"

"Uh, no, it's not."

"How many employees do have?" Catherine asked.

"Uh, here at the store, we have about 25. We employ about 30 more at the bakery. I suppose, I should tell you that this is a family business. Most of my employees are related to me in some manner."

"Who does all your deliveries?" Catherine asked.

"That would be my younger brother, Tommy... You don't think Tommy had something to do with this, do you?"

"Why do you ask?" Warrick inquired. "Do you think he did?"

McCormick paused for a moment. "Well, it's just that Tommy has been so withdrawn lately... but I'm sure it's nothing, just a temporary lapse."

"Withdrawn...?" Catherine said, trying to draw out more information.

"Well, he just went through a rather messy divorce. He even lost custody of his daughter... He hasn't been dealing with it very well, but he would never hurt anyone. He loves children," McCormick added quickly.

"Does Tommy drive his own vehicle to make deliveries?"

"Uh, no, the bakery owns a mini-van for that kind of thing. You know, it has our logo painted on it."

"Mr. McCormick, do you happen to know where Tommy was last night?" Warrick asked gently.

"No, I'm afraid you'd have to ask him."

"Just for the record, where were you?" Catherine asked.

"I was at home, in bed by 9:00. I go in to the bakery at four in the morning, every morning. I spend about two hours there, helping get things set up for the day then I head here to open up the shop. I don't go out much at night."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"My wife, she was with me the whole time... Carla?" he called out across the store.

A tall woman with heavily graying dark hair, pulled up in a bun, stepped around the other counter and came to stand beside her husband. She had a tired, slightly pinched, expression, as if she hadn't had a good night's sleep in a very long time.

"Yes, Dear, what is it?" she asked her husband.

"These people are from the Crime Lab, they're looking into those kidnappings in the Indian Springs area. They want you to verify that I was home all last night."

"Well, yes, where else would he be?" the woman asked. "We don't have the time to go anywhere." To her husband, she said softly, "They're asking about your whereabouts, but not Tommy's?"

"Darling, ssshhh..." McCormick whispered. He smiled at the two investigators.

"Alright, thank you," Catherine said. She reached into her purse and produced a white business card. Jotting down a number on the back, she handed it to McCormick. "This is the lab's fax number. Could you please fax me a list of all your employees, along with their addresses?"

"Yes, of course, I'll get right on that. Although, I'm sure you're wasting your time. I'm sure none of us had anything to do with this."

"So, what do you think?" Catherine asked her companion, as they walked out to their vehicle. "Tommy Boy sounds like he could be a viable suspect."

"Yeah, I wonder if he's got a sixteen-foot ladder."

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Later that night, Nick was the first one to arrive at work. The others came straggling into the breakroom several minutes later. Everyone looked tired and somber. They poured themselves coffee and took seats in the lounge area in silence.

When Catherine entered last, she went immediately to Nick's side and slid a hand over his forehead. He sighed, but permitted the indignity without complaint. He knew that she was only demonstrating her concern.

"You're still warm," she said.

"I'm fine. I slept all day."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he said firmly, looking up at her with a determined expression.

"Okay," she said, dropping the subject and seating herself on the couch beside Warrick.

A few minutes later, Grissom and Brass entered together. While Gil took a seat with the rest of the team, Brass continued standing so he could address the group.

"I've gotten the background checks back on some of the players in our little tragedy. Rosa Moreno, the Metcalfe's nanny is clean. She's got no priors. She's a widow, a legal citizen, husband served in the Air Force, died in a car accident shortly before Rosa went to work for the Metcalfe's. And she had no access to the other two girls. Same with the Dresher's maid.

"Unfortunately, we don't have much else to go on. I'm still working on a warrant for DNA samples for the landscape company. And on a personal note, I'm really hoping the investigation heads in that direction."

"Oh, you're just pissed that the owner was rude to you," Sara teased lightly.

"Hey, she hurt my feelings," the detective said in an exaggeratedly wounded tone.

Everyone smiled at this improbability, but no one bothered to contradict it. Catherine produced several sheets of fax paper and handed them to the detective.

"These are a list of employees for McCormick Bakery," she said. "That ought to keep you out of trouble for a while."

Brass gave her a wry smile and looked over the papers. "Thomas McCormick," he read. "Why is his name highlighted?"

"He's the owner's brother," Warrick spoke up. "We think he might be your best candidate. He's the delivery guy. He's made deliveries to all three families and the delivery truck is a mini-van... That was a good call on the bakery, Nick."

The other man gave a nod in acknowledgement of the compliment, but didn't say anything. He saw Grissom turn to face him, one eyebrow cocked in a questioning manner. Nick knew the supervisor wasn't questioning his hunch, but his presence. The younger man returned the stare with one of his own, once which clearly said, I dare you to send me home again. To his mild surprise, Grissom looked away without comment.

"Oh, and just so everyone knows, the press has decided to jump all over this case," Brass said. "They found out about the whole princess costume thing and they've decided to call our guy 'Brother Grimm.' Aren't they clever? So, an-."

He was interrupted in the mid-sentence by the chirping of his cell phone. Excusing himself from the group, he stepped a few feet away and answered his phone. As he was doing that, Mia entered the room, bearing a folder. Stepping up to Grissom, she opened the folder and removed a printout and handed it to him.

"The results from the semen sample you found at the Metcalfe's home. It matches the samples taken from the previous two cases. It's definitely the same guy," she said. She took another printout from the folder and handed that to Grissom as well. "This is the result from the blood sample taken at the Metcalfe home. As you can see, it also matches the semen samples. I ran the samples through all the databases, still no hits."

"Thank you, Mia. Did Doc Robbins send over a semen sample taken from Samantha Dresher's body?"

"Yeah, he did. I haven't gotten to it yet. Although at this point, I think we can safely assume we're going to get a hat trick."

Grissom nodded sadly. "Run it anyway."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Mia," the supervisor said.

She gave him a slight wave in acknowledgement as she left the room.

Brass wandered back over to the group. "I just got a call from dispatch. A woman called in to say that she thought she saw a man dressed in black, 'carrying a child', enter Wallace Park. This was well after the park was supposed to be closed for the night. Wallace Park is not far from Indian Springs Subdivision. Anyone care to check it out with me?"

"Why don't we all go?" Grissom said. "It's not like we have a whole lot of evidence to process. If I remember correctly, Wallace Park isn't that big. The more searchers we've got, the quicker we'll be done."

"Excellent! I'll round up a few uniforms and we'll meet you out there."

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In fact, Brass was only able to get two uniformed officers. They met up in the small parking lot of the park. The officers had gotten there first and had already set the floodlights on their cruisers, to illuminate as much of the park as possible.

Heavy Maglite flashlights in hand, they split into three groups. Sara, Grissom, and one of the uniforms would search the children's play area. Catherine, Greg, and the other uniform would cover the area around the basketball and tennis courts. Brass, Warrick and Nick took the picnic tables and the small wooded lot that lay beyond them.

Before heading off to their designated search areas, Brass addressed the small group. "Okay, people, we do this by the book. We don't know if our guy is still out there somewhere. So, everybody stays within sight of each other. No wandering off alone. Everybody goes armed. That means you, too, Grissom."

The lead CSI smiled patronizingly and patted the gun in its holster on his belt.

"Good, Boy," Brass said, returning the smile in kind.

There were three neat rows of picnic tables which sat lined up beneath a series of crude, wooden shelters. Consisting of little more than peaked roofs set atop stout 4 x 4s, with clapboards covering the short sides, the longer sides were left open. They provided shade from the brutal Nevada sun and a screen from the odd rain squall, but still allowed for plenty of ventilation. Warrick and Brass took the first two rows of shelters, while Nick searched the last row, the one closest to the woods.

He moved methodically from shelter to shelter, sweeping each one with his flashlight in the same careful pattern, checking the shadowed areas, including the peaked roof overhead. They had been searching for nearly an hour and he was almost at the end of his row. He had found nothing yet and since no one else had called out or called on the radio, they hadn't found anything either. As he was moving through the next to last shelter, the beam of his flashlight swept across the woods on the other side and for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of red.

Abandoning the rest of his search, Nick moved to stand at the edge of the mowed area. He directed his flashlight into the trees, in the general direction he thought he had seen the odd flash of color. There it was again, a scrap of red cloth, flitting from one tree to another. Immediately flashing back to his dream of Tiffany running through the woods, Nick took off after the fluttering cloth, never even thinking to alert Brass or Warrick of his plans.

After completing the search of his row of shelters, Brass wandered over to Warrick, wanting to confer with the two younger men about where they should search next. Walking up beside the investigator, the detective glanced past him, to try and get Nick's attention. Seeing that the younger man was staring into the trees and aiming his flashlight in that direction, Brass turned to Warrick and gestured toward the other investigator.

"Hey, I think Nick's got something," he said.

Warrick turned to look as well. "Yo, Nick, you find something?" he called out.

As though he hadn't even heard the other man's call, Nick abruptly darted into the trees, immediately disappearing from sight of the other two men.

"What the hell is he doing?" Brass demanded. "Did I or did I not say, stay within sight of each other?"

"You did," Warrick confirmed, but he was already starting to sprint off in the direction of his fleeing partner.

Brass sighed. "I hate running," he said, to no one in particular as he began jogging after the younger man.

Nick tried to keep his flashlight trained on the fluttering scrap of red cloth, but that was difficult to do while running. Just like in his dream, he was having trouble keeping up with his quarry. It was dark and the terrain was unfamiliar. He stumbled a couple of times and only just managed to keep himself upright. Breathing heavily, a painful stitch in his side, he abruptly burst into a large clearing and came to a dead stop.

Standing on the far side of the clearing was Tiffany. The hood of her red cloak was pulled up and she was facing away from him. She was apparently looking down at something on the ground, but Nick couldn't see it. There was a large, fallen tree in the way. Hesitantly, he took a step toward the child. A twig snapped loudly under his foot. He froze as the girl's head jerked towards him. Her eyes looked huge and dark in the beam of his light, her face ghastly pale. She stood staring at him unblinking, ghostlike. He stood transfixed by that stare, unable to move.

"Nick!"

The sound of his name seemed to break the strange spell and reflexively he turned toward the voice. He could see the beams of Warrick and Brass' flashlights moving towards him. He could faintly make out their silhouettes not far behind.

Turning back to Tiffany, he found the girl was gone. He swept his light back and forth a few times, trying to catch a glimpse of her cloak, but he saw nothing. Moving the beam back to the spot where she had been staring, he slowly moved toward the fallen tree. Lying on the far side of the log, on a dark blue plaid blanket, was Ashley Russell.

Just like Samantha Dresher, she was made up like a princess. Her dark hair was curled and she wore a formal gown and gloves, although her dress was yellow. Her hands were folded neatly across her stomach. Like Samantha, there wasn't a mark on her, another Sleeping Beauty.

Slowly, Nick sank down to sit on the tree. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. He was suddenly incredibly tired and slightly light-headed. He was still sitting that way when Warrick and Brass found him a few minutes later. He raised his head as they approached. He didn't need to say a word; Warrick read everything in his friend's bleak expression.

"Oh, man..." the African-American groaned softly. "I was so hoping this was gonna be a false alarm."

Moving closer, the two newcomers could see the girl for themselves. Seeing the dead child and the completely defeated look on Nick's face, Brass couldn't bring himself to chew the younger man out for disobeying orders. He decided that little chat could wait for another time. Stepping away from the two investigators a few feet, he pulled out his radio and contacted the others. Replacing his radio with his cell phone, he called the coroner's office.

Catherine, Greg and their escort were the first to arrive at the clearing. Catherine moved close to the tree and leaned over to look at the girl. She gave a heavy sigh.

"Well, a Belle costume this time," she commented.

"Belle?" Greg asked.

"You know, from Disney's 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

"Oh, guess I'm not up on my Disney movies."

"I am."

"'Beauty and the Beast' isn't a Brothers Grimm story," Nick said softly.

"What?" Catherine asked.

"The story 'Beauty and Beast' wasn't written by the Brothers Grimm. It's a traditional French fairy tale."

"Whatever, I don't think our guy cares. It was the press that came up the Brother Grimm name. I think our guy just wants little princesses."

"Nick, how did find her?" Warrick asked gently.

"I don't know, I just came across her body," the other man mumbled, with a vague shrug.

"Dude, you were running flat out, like you knew exactly where you were going."

"No, I didn't, I just..." Letting his voice trail off, he looked up to find all of them staring at him expectantly. Finally, he sighed and said, "I had this dream earlier today..."

"You dreamt all this?" Greg asked. "You mean, like a precognition?"

"No," Nick said quickly. "No, it wasn't like that. It was... well, kind of... Look, I don't know how to explain it."

"Okay," Catherine said quickly, seeing that the Texan was starting to get agitated. "It's not important how we found her. All that matters is that we did. Now, let's just concentrate on looking over the scene immediately around the body. We can probably assume this was just another body dump, but we still have a job to do. Let's get back to work."

To be continued...