Chisato sat across from Sayuri Tendo, who was whispering frantically to her attorney. The lawyer, Karen Watts, gave Chisato a dirty look.
"You won't get a word out of my client until you translate the question into plain English and I've allowed her to answer – understood?"
"Quite well," Chisato replied icily. Grissom, watching from behind the two-way mirror, marvelled at the change in her – her pale skin glowed under the cool fluorescent lighting and her grey eyes flashed dangerously. The quiet, timid CSI he'd known thus far had vastly transformed.
Chisato licked behind her teeth, a habit she'd developed when switching from one language to another. She slid the photographed fingerprint off the donut wrapper across the table. "Our fingerprint lab matched the print on this wrapper to your finger." She repeated it to the lawyer and Watts nodded.
"It was his favourite sex game," Tendo said, unfazingly. "So what?"
"I didn't say anything about sex, Chisato grinned darkly. "Why'd you throw the donut out the window?"
"Don't answer that." Karen glared at Chisato, who yawned.
"Here's what I think." Chisato began, leaning forward. "You couldn't stand Mr. Mitsuda. You were some low-profile neo-geisha who rolled with Orchid boys – never Orchid men. But Mr. Mitsuda met you. He liked you. And all of the sudden, you weren't hitting the clubs anymore. You were nothing more than a secretary with benefits – a quick lay and back to work, right? The icing on the cake was when he dragged you here. You'd had enough. You knew he'd been with a prostitute earlier but needed an excuse to get close to him – you unwrapped the donut, microwaved it so it's be hot and sticky, and then had fake intercourse with him. He lay back, and you slit his throat. You figured that if you called him in we wouldn't consider him. Let me tell you something, Miss Tendo. You thought wrong."
"I don't need you giving my client false legal implications, Miss Dominico," the lawyer sneered.
"Save it," Chisato huffed.
"We're done here," Karen Watts began stuffing letters into her briefcase while Chisato looked bored.
Sayuri reached out and grabbed her counsel's arm. "Wait," she said desperately, in broken English. "I'm not finished."
Watts sighed and sat down. "Let it be on record that I have advised my client not to divulge the following information."
"You heard the girl," Brass spoke up, "Save it." He gave Chisato a brief wink and motioned for her to continue.
"Your lawyer doesn't want you to say anything," Chisato began, but Tendo cut her off.
"I know that, I'm not stupid," the girl retorted. And you were wrong."
"About what?" Chisato gritted her teeth, and for a moment the two Japanese girls shared a dark smile.
"I loved Yoshi," the words made Chisato's eyes widen. "I begged him to go on this trip. He ignored me the entire time. He even hired a dirty whore – it was me he should have wanted. And when he turned his back on me…"
"…You made him pay," Chisato murmured.
"That's right," Tendo jeered, "And no one in this room knows it but you and me."
Archie, the A/V tech burst into the room, a portable DVD player in hand. Chisato, not knowing him, whipped around.
"Please, God, be a translator," Chisato said, in Japanese. Archie's eyes darted from Chisato's, to Brass's, and rested on Watts', only because she looed the least interested.
"Uh…" he began, not knowing what Chisato had babbled. "I've got some pertinent evidence."
Chisato and Karen stood simultaneously, both reaching for the DVD player in Archie's hands. He handed it to Chisato and she opened it, pressing play.
The surveillance image on the screen was of Miss Tendo, cleaning her hands and nightgown in the bathroom sink. Blood ran continuously down the drain.
"As it turns out," Archie grinned, "There was an illegal peep show ring run by a few bellhops."
Chisato smiled evilly at Sayuri. "Lucky me."
"Bitch!" Sayuri jumped at Chisato, but the officers in the interrogation room restrained her. "You couldn't understand." The girl said, somewhat helplessly, as Brass read her her rights.
"You have no idea," Chisato replied, winking at Grissom through the two-way mirror and leaving the room.
"Wait," Grissom said, meeting her in the hallway. "I'd like to congratulate you on an exemplary job."
Chisato reddened. "Please," she replied, "You couldn't even understand me."
"I had a translator," he smiled, and her eyes widened.
"Well then," she licked her teeth and punched Grissom affectionately. "You still owe me dinner." She stalked away, her high heels clacking on the lab's linoleum floors.
"You know, I've never been grocery shopping with a girl before," Greg said amiably, as Chisato picked up a bag of fresh pasta. The pair were celebrating Chisato's first wrapped case, and, true to her word, they were heading to Chisato's condo for a Tarantino festival. After grabbing chips and coke, oreos and table grapes, they were ready to check out.
"Hey, Chisato!" The cashier greeted, a beautiful Indian girl with large, dark eyes and a nose stud.
"Hi, Soraya, this is Greg, my new work buddy."
"Hi," Greg raised a hand in greeting and whispered to Chisato, "Exactly how do you know each other?"
"I used to work here," Chisato said plainly, helping Soraya parcel her groceries.
"What?" Greg asked dubiously.
"I needed something to do while my application for CSI cleared."
"My God, I'm never doubting entry-level employees again.." he scratched his head. "A cashier… with a doctorate."
"That's me," Chisato grinned. "See you, Soraya."
Greg and Chisato arrived at her condo, and while Greg caught an eyeful of her place, Chisato unpacked the groceries. They finally settled on one of Chisato's sleek leather sofas, Montesquieu and a bowl of Ruffles squished between them.
"I need to use the facilities," Greg announced.
Chisato looked confused. "There's a gym," she started, "And a pool…"
Greg laughed. "The bathroom."
"Oh." She smiled. "First door on the left when you come in."
Greg made his way to the front hallway and found the bathroom. He admired the blue-glass basin sinks on the white marble countertop and the centre mahogany tub.
He finished up and returned to the living area of the condo, where the menu for Pulp Fiction played on Chisato's picture frame television.
"Did I mention that your house is completely bitchin'?" Greg smiled, although his face fell when he happened upon Chisato, asleep. He sighed, draping a white angora throw he found over her, and sat down resignedly. He watched Pulp Fiction on mute, scratching Montesquieu behind the ears.