7/29/06

RUBATO

Chapter 3

"So, are you gonna give me the silent treatment all night or are you gonna tell me what's got your panties in such a twist?" Warrick asked, looking over at Nick, who was spraying the kitchen sink of their crime scene with luminol, looking for blood.

"What?" the Texan asked, looking up. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had only been peripherally aware that his fellow CSI had asked him a question.

"Dude, what's going on with you? You've been a space cadet all night."

"Oh, nothing, I've just got a lot on my mind."

"Really?" Warrick asked dryly. "So, does your preoccupation have anything to do with that case of yours that the sheriff pulled the plug on?"

"Yeah," Nick admitted with a sigh.

"Did he tell you why he was pulling the plug?"

"He didn't tell me anything. Ecklie told me and no, he didn't say why, but I have a pretty good idea."

"Yeah?"

"Uh, I can't really discuss it."

"Oh, that's how it is, huh?"

"Look, Rick, I'm not trying to blow you off. It's better that you don't know anyway."

The taller man narrowed his unique, green eyes and said, "Are you about to do something stupid, Nick?"

"Possibly."

Warrick sighed. "Nick, the girl's dead. You don't owe her anything."

"Don't I? Don't we owe it to every victim, to try our damnedest to bring their killer to justice?"

"Within reason, yes, but you don't owe it to any of them to commit professional suicide. If the sheriff stepped in and closed your case, that is a pretty good indication that your suspect is someone pretty high up the food chain. Nick, you can't help future victims, if your career's already destroyed. Do you even have enough evidence to make a case against this guy, whoever he is?"

"No, but if I'd been allowed to do my job, I might've been able to get it."

"Did you talk to Grissom about it?" Warrick asked.

"No, I'm not convinced that he'd take me seriously, besides he's immersed in his own case and you know how he gets when he's got a puzzle to solve."

"Yeah, tunnel vision. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I just want to talk to the guy, look him in the eye. I'll know if he killed her or not. I just want him to know that I know and I'm watching."

"You're playing with fire, Nick." Warrick said softly, with a shake of his head.

"Yeah, well, someone's got to do it."

"You want me to come with you?"

"No, but thanks, there's no sense in both of us ruining our careers... So, you believe me, that Jenna Carlyle's death was a homicide and not a suicide?"

"Hey, I trust your judgment. If you say it was a homicide, I believe you. I wasn't there. I can't contradict you."

Nick sighed. "Thanks, man," he said softly.

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Later, very early that morning, when Nick and Warrick returned to the lab after processing their crime scene, Nick volunteered to personally drop their collected fingerprints off at the print lab. As he walked into the lab, he was relieved to find that Jacqui was working that night and she was alone in the lab.

"Hey, Jacqui, did you happen to get a look at that partial print that Wendy sent over for the Carlyle Case?" he asked.

"Uh, well, I started to work on it, but Ecklie said the case was closed, so I gave up on it."

Nick gave a silent groan. What, did Ecklie personally go around to every lab and tell all the techs not to process Nick's stuff for the Carlyle Case? It had only been pure luck that Wendy had found Nick to report her findings before Ecklie had found her.

"Were you able to get a match on the print?" Nick asked.

"It was pretty badly smeared. I tried cleaning the smudges up, but I wasn't really getting anywhere. And no, I didn't get a match. It was only a partial."

"If I gave you a name, do you think you could run a comparison for me?"

"Are you sure this person's prints are going to be in the system?"

"Oh, yeah, he's a judge. They're in the system."

"A judge? Are you going to get me fired, Nick?"

"Ecklie won't know anything about this and if he does find out. I will take responsibility for everything. Please, Jacqui..."

The woman groaned. Soft, earnest, brown eyes like those should be illegal, she thought to herself. "Okay, what's the name?" she asked.

"Daniel Markham."

"Judge Markham, the one who's running for governor?"

"Yeah."

Oh, yeah, those eyes should definitely be illegal, Jacqui concluded as she reluctantly typed the name into the computer. Seconds later the judge's file popped up on her screen and she pulled up his prints. Pulling up the print from the Carlyle Case that she'd already scanned into the computer, she compared the prints. What little there was of the partial, perfectly matched Markham's right thumbprint.

"It's a match," Nick said softly.

"It won't hold up in court," Jacqui cautioned. "There's just not enough of a print here. There aren't enough points in common."

"But what we do have, matches up perfectly."

"I agree, in my professional opinion, this is a match. But my opinion won't hold up in court either. There has to be at least eight points of commonality and there just isn't enough here to get that. Legally speaking, it's not a match. I'm sorry, Nick."

He nodded. "Thanks anyway, Jacqui."

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A few hours later, Nick was headed out of the lab for the day, his mind whirling with everything he'd learned that day. He wasn't sure what to do with this information, but he felt that he should do something. As he was heading out toward the parking lot, he heard someone call his name. He stopped and turned to find Lady Heather standing on the sidewalk with Grissom.

"So, you came here to see Nick?" the Texan heard Grissom asking the woman as he approached them. Nick clearly heard the confusion in the older man's voice.

"Yes, I have something to tell him. If you'll excuse us..." she said pointedly.

"Of course, I'll just leave you two to your business," Gil said, glancing at Nick, a slight crease between his expressive brows. "It was good to see you again, Heather. I'm glad to see you looking well."

"Yes, it was good to see you, as well," she said coolly.

Nick and Grissom exchanged nods as the entomologist walked away.

"What's up?" Nick asked, after the other man was out of earshot.

"Remember, I told you that I would make inquiries about friends of Jenna Carlyle... I found someone I think you talk to. She's waiting for us at the Highball. I'll drive."

Across the parking lot, Gil Grissom watched as Lady Heather and Nick crossed to her sleek, black Jaguar and climbed inside. Seeing Nick casually toss his bag into the back seat before climbing in on the passenger side, the entomologist felt the pangs of unfamiliar emotions. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, but he didn't think he liked it. With a slight shake of his head, he climbed into his own vehicle.

Inside the cool gray interior of the Jaguar, Lady Heather gripped the gear shift in one well-manicured hand and manipulated the stick with the assurance of a woman long accustomed to working with precision machinery.

"She calls herself Carmine and she says that she and Jenna had been working the same clubs for a few years," Heather was saying to Nick. "They weren't exactly close, but they were friendly and they watched each other's backs when they could. I've already explained the situation to her and she's agreed to talk to you on the condition that she won't have to testify in court."

"Oh, don't worry, that won't be a problem," Nick said softly.

Heather glanced over at him, but said nothing as they were just arriving at the bar, which was located not far from the lab. She parked the car and the two headed inside. The interior of the bar was dimly lit and, at this early hour, not very crowded. But that was the beauty of Las Vegas, just about everything was open 24 hours.

As they approached the long bar, Nick saw a tall, leggy red-head sitting alone, sipping a martini. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was wearing snug jeans and a deep blue, lace-edged, satin camisole. She was no more scantily clad than most of the other women in the bar and there was nothing about her clothing which screamed 'hooker', but there was something intangible about her posture or perhaps her mannerisms that made it perfectly clear what her occupation was.

Nick claimed the empty chair at the bar beside her, while Lady Heather took the seat beside him. Leaning across the criminalist, Heather made the introductions.

"This is Nick Stokes, from the crime lab. Nick, this is Carmine."

The red-head made no move to shake Nick's hand, but he was very much aware of her blue eyes moving slowly over him. She gave him a sad, tired smile.

"So, you want to know about Jenna Carlyle?" she asked.

"Actually, I'm more interested in the man of her life."

"Oh, him." Carmine spoke the pronoun in a tone of infinite contempt. "I never actually met him, but she talked about him a lot. She never told me his name, either, but she mentioned that he was a judge once... Do you think he had something to do with her death?"

"It's possible, but for all appearances, her death was a suicide. Her wrists were slit."

"No, Jenna was a survivor. She wouldn't kill herself and definitely not by slitting her wrists. She hated the sight of blood, especially her own. And she was so much stronger than when I first met her. She was learning to stand up for herself... well, until 'he' came along, that is."

"What happened?" Nick asked quietly.

"Well, at first she just did him to get the prostitution charges against her thrown out of court, but then she started seeing him regularly and then, she went and fell in love with him. She broke the cardinal rule of prostitutes, never give it away, 'cause once you do, you'll never get it back."

"Give what away, sex?" Nick asked.

"Your heart... Anyway, he told her to stop turning tricks and she did, became totally dependant on him. I tried to tell her she was stupid, but she wouldn't listen. She was convinced that he loved her and he was going to take care of her forever.

"I saw her a couple of days ago. It seems that Judge Wonderful had suddenly up and decided that it wasn't a good idea for him to see her anymore. And just like that, he pulled the plug on her, so now she was going to have to go back out on the streets."

"I'm sure that was devastating for her," Nick said. "And yet, you still don't think she was suicidal?"

"She wasn't devastated, Mr. Stokes, she was pissed and rightly so. Like I said, she was learning to stand up for herself. She wanted to get even. I told her she should threaten to tell the wife. That usually brings them to heel. I figured she'd get a nice, fat check out of him, you know, kind of like severance pay, instead she ended up dead... It's my fault, isn't it? If I'd kept my mouth shut, maybe she'd still be alive..."

"No, it wasn't your fault," the investigator said gently. "You were just trying to help your friend."

"Thank you," the girl whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. "Are you going to get the bastard?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can," he said softly. He sincerely wished he had another answer for her, but he wasn't going to lie to her. "I just don't have enough evidence against him."

She nodded and didn't seem particularly surprised. "I understand. We tend to be realists in this business. We know our place in the grand scheme of things. And I know that it's definitely a lot lower than that of a judge. But thank you for trying, Mr. Stokes."

Nick started to reach out a hand toward the girl, but Heather stopped him with her own hand on his arm. "Thank you for your assistance, Carmine," she said to the younger woman.

The red-head nodded, but didn't look up from her drink. Heather glanced at Nick and gestured toward the door. Outside, in the brutal Nevada sunshine, Nick felt a surge of anger. He couldn't get the girl's sad face out of his mind, the way she had simply accepted the injustice of her friend's murder without complaint.

The ride back to the lab was silent. Both Nick and Heather seemed to be immersed in their own thoughts, oblivious of each other. When they reached the parking lot of the lab, Nick gave Heather a distracted thank you as he was climbing out of the car. Grabbing his bag from the back seat, he headed for his SUV.

Climbing into the vehicle and starting it up, Nick didn't head directly home. Instead, he went to the county courthouse. He climbed the wide, marble steps, to the upper floors where the judges' chambers were located and headed straight for Judge Markham's chambers. It was still early enough that the man was probably not in court yet. A pretty, young female assistant sat at a desk in the outer office. She smiled up at Nick as he entered.

"Hi, my name's Nick Stokes, I work for the Clark County Crime Lab. I'd like to speak to Judge Markham, please."

"Is this concerning a warrant? Or a case that His Honor is presiding over? Because, if it is, I'm afraid you'll have to come back later. His Honor is very busy this morning and has asked that he not be disturbed."

"Could you just tell him that I want to talk to him about Jenna Carlyle."

The girl gave him a thoughtful frown and said, "Uh, okay, just one moment."

She stood and went to the big, highly polished, darkly stained oak door at the back of the room and knocked softly before opening it and entering the room beyond. She returned a minute later.

"His Honor with see you," she said and stepped aside, so that Nick could enter the chamber.

The room was large, with a rich, oak coffered ceiling and plaster walls, painted a soft cream color. A deep brown carpet covered the floor and a black leather sofa sat off to one side. The judge sat behind his large desk and watched the young man approaching him intently.

Judge Markham was in his late forties, with a head of short, thick, sandy brown hair, heavily streaked with gray. He was a handsome man, tall, still quite fit, and with dark eyes that burned with intelligence and ambition. He gazed at the young man before him with all the arrogance and disdain he had acquired over his many years behind the bench. But the dark eyes that returned his stare did not falter.

"You have something to say to me, Mr. Stokes?"

"You killed Jenna Carlyle."

"If you had any hard proof to back that statement up, you'd have a police officer with you and a warrant for my arrest. Since you have neither, we both know your words are empty," the judge said calmly.

"No, not empty, just... not provable."

"Same difference in the legal world," Markham said smugly.

"You know, I may not have enough to prove you killed her in a court of law, but I do have enough to cast serious suspicion on you in the court of public opinion. I can certainly prove that you were sleeping with her, and now she's dead. I wonder what the media would think of all that. It would probably play havoc with those election plans of yours."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Stokes?"

"No, just stating a fact... You were going to dump Jenna. She was too high of a liability for a man aiming for the governor's mansion, wasn't she? Unfortunately, Jenna didn't want to let go. She actually loved you and mistakenly thought you really loved her. She threatened to go to your wife. And doesn't your father-on-law own hefty shares in a couple of casinos? I'm guessing that's where most of your campaign funds are coming from. That money would dry up pretty fast if the little woman were to leave you, wouldn't it?

"In that instant, Jenna crossed the line from possible political liability, to being a serious threat to the survival of your dreams. And you weren't about to let anyone stand in your way, were you? Especially not some jumped up whore, who'd tried to rise about her station."

Glancing down at the cluttered desk top, Nick reached over and picked up the object that had first caught his eye when he'd approached the big desk. It was a brown plastic prescription bottle. He turned it around to look at the label. The prescription was for Valium and it was in the judge's name. Nick turned the bottle again, to show the label to the other man.

"The coroner's report showed Valium in Jenna's system, but I didn't find any Valium in her apartment. But, look, here it is. I wonder how many are left. It looks like you just refilled it. I wonder, are there just enough missing to incapacitate a young woman? That's how you managed it, isn't it? You drugged her and then you put her in the bathtub and slit her wrists."

The judge's tanned face had gone noticeably pale. "You can't prove that. Valium is a common enough drug. You can't prove that it was the Valium from my prescription that killed her."

"No, I can't, but we both know the truth, don't we?"

"Look, Mr. Stokes, I'm sure we could work something out. After all, once I'm established in the governor's mansion, I'm going to need intelligent, resourceful men around me. And who knows what could happen after the governor's mansion. There's always the White House..."

With a sigh and a disgusted shake of his head, Nick turned and left the office.

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Walking through the double, swinging metal doors into the Clark County Morgue later that night, Nick saw Doc Robbins' gray head lift to look at him.

"I seem to recall Warrick saying something about you having the night off," the coroner commented. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to have another look at Jenna Carlyle's body, if that's alright," the investigator said.

The pathologist's expression softened. "I'm sorry, I can't help you. I just released her body to the mortuary. I was told the case was closed."

"Uh, yeah, it was... mortuary? You mean someone claimed her for burial?"

Robbins nodded.

"Look, Doc, I know it's none of my business, but who claimed her? Not her father?" Nick asked.

"As far as I know there was no family to claim her. It was Heather Kessler who did. She said something about the girl having worked for her in the past."

Nick nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Thanks, Doc."

"Any time."

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When Heather Kessler opened her door, Nick thought she looked even more beautiful than she had when he'd seen her, only that morning. She had changed out of the simple, black dress she'd been wearing earlier and into a pair of jeans and a snug, long-sleeved, black t-shirt. She had put her auburn hair up, but several strands had worked their way loose, to fall enticingly around her face and neck.

"Uh, I hope you don't mind that I dropped by unannounced," Nick said, feeling unaccountably awkward.

"Not at all, Mr. Stokes. I did tell you that you could stop by any time you liked."

"Yeah, uh, I have something for you. Hang on a second."

Heather didn't try to hide her mystified smile as the investigator turned and walked back to his vehicle. He returned a moment later, carrying something in his arms. As he stepped into the glow of the porch light, she saw that it was a small, predominately white cat. He held the little animal out to her.

"Most men just bring flowers," she commented in amusement, as she accepted the furry little bundle.

"Oh, uh, you do like cats, don't you? And you're not allergic or anything?" he asked quickly.

She smiled. "No, I'm not allergic," she said, although silently, she wondered what he would have done if she'd said that she was. "And yes, I like cats. What dominatrix wouldn't love such maddeningly indifferent and supremely arrogant creatures? In many ways, cats are the dominatrixes of the animal world."

However, the little cat in her arms was doing everything in its power to belie this description, purring loudly and rubbing its face on Heather's chin.

"The cat originally belonged to Jenna Carlyle," Nick explained. "I was supposed to take it to one of the city animal shelters, but I just couldn't bring myself to. So, I took it home. But I'm not really a cat person and, as you can see, it's very affectionate. It needs more attention than I can give it. I'm just not home enough."

"'It'?" Heather repeated. "You didn't even bother to determine the gender?"

"Oh, uh, no..."

With a slightly exasperated sigh, the woman tipped the cat and took a discreet look. "'She'," Heather reported. "I don't suppose you gave her a name either, did you?"

"No, but I did bring the litter pan and a bag of food. They're in my car. I can go and get them."

"Later," Heather said, "Right now, why don't you come inside?"

She closed the door behind him and gestured toward the back of the house. "Why don't you head back to the four-seasons room. You remember where it is? I'll join you in a moment. I'm going to get some milk for my new friend and a beer for you?"

"Please," Nick said.

He found the cozy four-seasons room much the same as it had been the last time he'd been here. Once again, there was a fire in the fireplace and several lit candles. He did note one change in the room's appearance. Sitting on a chair in a far corner of the room was an open violin case. Moving closer for a better look, he was sure that the instrument was Jenna Carlyle's, although he wasn't sure why he thought that. He supposed one violin looked much the same as another, unless one knew what to look for, which admittedly, he did not.

"Yes, it's Jenna's."

Nick turned at the sound of the voice, to see Heather standing in the doorway of the room, holding two beer bottles. She moved closer and handed one of the bottles to him.

"How did you get it?" he asked, accepting the beer.

"When I claimed her body for burial, I also took possession of her property. I stopped by the apartment. This was the only thing of any real value and it's actually a very valuable instrument. The rest of the things I'll probably just give to charity, but this deserved special consideration."

"Do you play?"

She smiled, her expression suddenly, and unusually, self-conscious. "I used to... Oh, I was never even close to Jenna's caliber, but yes, I played. Perhaps it's time that I tried again. After all, I do have the extra time these days..." She ran her fingers lightly, almost lovingly, over the smooth, polished wood.

"God, it's such a waste that such talent was silenced and no one will ever hear it again," Heather said, her voice soft, but harsh.

"Actually, maybe it wasn't entirely silenced," Nick said, reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket. He took out the tape of Jenna playing. He'd been listening to it in his car and had stuck the tape in his pocket when he'd arrived at Heather's house. "I took this from Jenna's apartment... I know I shouldn't have, but... well, I guess it belongs to you now, too."

Taking the tape from him, Heather turned and disappeared from the room. After a moment, the room was filled with the sound of the violin, emanating from speakers hidden somewhere in the room. Heather returned and the two sat on the couch for a long time, sipping their beers and listening to the beautiful strains of the violin, made all the more haunting by the knowledge that the woman who played it was now dead.

"She was murdered, wasn't she?" Heather asked in a hollow voice, finally breaking the silence between them. "It definitely wasn't suicide?"

"No, it wasn't suicide. It was murder," Nick said, his tone matching hers.

"But he's going to get away with it, isn't he?"

"Yep, I know he did it, but I can't prove it and he knows it."

"Who was he?"

"Daniel Markham, an appellate court judge."

"Yes, I know how he is."

"Well, he killed Jenna to keep her from getting in the way of his bid for the governor's office and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

She nodded. "It's not your fault."

"I know, everyone keeps telling me that, but I still feel like I let her down."

"You did the best you could. Hell, you did more than many would have. You have nothing to feel guilty for."

"I know, but I still do."

Reaching out, Heather touched Nick's cheek and turned his face toward hers. Her dark eyes were once again fierce in the candlelight. "He won't get away with this completely. I promise you that. He killed her so that she couldn't keep him from the governor's seat. He used his position and influence to keep the investigation from going forward. Well, I'm not entirely without influence in this city. I, too, have friends in high places and I intend to see to it that Daniel Markham never sees the inside of the governor's mansion. When I'm through with him, he'll be lucky if he can keep his seat on the bench."

"Thank you," Nick whispered.

Noting that his eyes were entirely too bright in the candlelight, Heather pulled him into her arms and held him tightly, almost fiercely. Feeling his strong shoulders begin to shake slightly as he surrendered to tears, she held him even tighter, moving one hand up to cup the back of his head, her fingers sliding easily into the soft, dark hair. She continued to hold him for a long time, simply reveling in the wonderment of this man who, even after everything he'd experienced and seen in the course of his career, still had the ability and willingness to feel.

THE END