Chapter Eleven
Outside the large house with the Corinthian-style portico, the world was very quiet. Traffic passed by sporadically. Once in awhile, a couple going for an even walk crossed the driveway, not even glancing at the building.
Inside the house was silent as well, as if the sound had been trapped in a vacuum. There was hardly a sign of life, except in one room.
In a large, ornately decorated living room, a fire roared in the fireplace before a large armchair. Beside the armchair stood a small table on which was resting a half empty glass of red wine and a bottle of prescription pills marked as doxepin hydrochloride.
Sitting in the chair, Tyler Montgomery sat staring into the fire. Mesmerized by the dancing flames, he sat there in silence. His cheeks were wet with trails of tears.
In his right hand he held a photo.
His eyes never stopped looking strait ahead, always on the fire, as he slowly brought his left hand up to his temple, holding a gun already splattered with blood.
His finger twitched and the gun fired.
Silence.
Outside the large house with the Corinthian-style portico, red and blue lights flashed. The police stood behind the yellow tape, holding the neighbors away from the house.
Inside the house, the butler stood back in the entrance, watching many different people pass in and out of the front door. The cook and the maid stood behind him some distance, looking somewhat fearful of all the activity.
In the large, ornately decorated living room a fire was dying in the fireplace before the large armchair. A man with dark hair, wearing a black vest stood alone just off to the right of the armchair.
"I guess we found the gun," Brass stated walking into the room. "Grissom?"
He looked up at Brass, not saying a word. He turned back to look at the chair and noticed something lying on the floor. Slowly, he leaned over and picked it up, turning it over in his hand.
It was a photo of a couple embracing warmly, smiling, and looking into each other's eyes, lost…