The prop manager stood quickly and slammed his head on the underside of the shelf with a yelp. Reaching a hand up to rub at the sore spot, he scurried backward, and Grissom and Brass had to dance out of the way to avoid him. Finally clear of the shelf he had been looking under, he stood, sword in hand.
Brass's hand went to his holster automatically, and Neil laughed nervously. "No, it's not real. Doesn't even have a blade." He swung the dull metal into his palm a few times to show them. "It'd probably bend if you tried to actually use it to hit anything. Made out of tin." His hand ran up the blade to caress it briefly, and he set it down on the table beside him with a clang. "Can I help you?"
"You can, actually," Grissom said pleasantly. "Where were you on the night of the twenty-fourth?"
"The night Bianca died?" Neil blinked in surprise, and ran a hand through his hair, sending the blond tips into spiky disarray. "Uh, I hung around here for a little while, cleaned up, stuff like that. Then I went home."
"What time was that?" Brass asked.
"Ten, ten-thirty. I don't really remember. I was pretty shaken up." His voice shook with emotion, and this time when he ran his hand through his hair he left it at the back of his neck, fingers wrapped around the nape, and leaned his cheek against the inside of his forearm.
"And you went straight home."
"Yeah. Sure. Well, no, I mean, I stopped for a burger on the way home. I hadn't eaten since early that afternoon, and I never bring food in. Hate reheated stuff." He dropped his arm and shoved both hands into his jean pockets. "Is, uh, is there a problem?"
"Do you have a roommate, Mr. Meadows?" Grissom asked, leaning sideways to rest his shoulder against the doorjamb.
"No. I've got a studio. Not really much room there even for me." He rocked backward on his heels. "I've um, got to keep putting the props away, if this can wait?"
"It really can't," Brass informed him with a slightly frightening smile. "We're going to need you to come with us."
There was finally a flicker of some emotion other than nervousness behind Neil's muddy brown eyes. "Look, what is this about?"
"Your DNA was found at a crime scene," Grissom said bluntly.
"What?" Now Brass's hand moved to hover over his holster again. "No, don't do that, I'm not going to...fine, I'll come with you." Neil's jaw muscles worked rapidly.
Brass gestured for him to precede them out of the small prop ready room, and Grissom stepped aside, sweeping the room one last time with a penetrating look, and then followed the detective and the prop manager out.
"You want front or back?" Warrick asked as he and Sara stood shoulder to shoulder, surveying the beat-up sedan in front of them.
"Oh, back," Sara nodded emphatically. "The most interesting stuff's always in the trunk."
"Morbid," Warrick snorted, and opened up the driver's side door. "But you do have a point."
Sara's answer was a peal of laughter and the jingle of keys as she unlocked the trunk.
"Nothing too much up here," he narrated. "Fast food bag, complete with stale french fries. Half-empty Coke can. Change." He flipped open the glove compartment. "This could get interesting...and jackpot." He slithered back out of the car with the photograph in his hand. "Sara?"
"Hit the lights, would you?"
He complied, and was struck immediately by the sight of Sara bathed in the reflective light of luminol. "Wow."
"Wow is right." Sara stepped back a few paces to let him see into the trunk. It seemed like every single surface of the inside was glowing. "Told you the trunk was always the most interesting part."
"Hey, I didn't disagree with you. But check this out." He slanted the photo so that she could see it in the light from the luminol. "Look familiar?"
"That's Bianca Tolmen. And she's with a guy who was in a couple of the photos from her apartment. Neil Meadows?"
"Neil Meadows," he confirmed. "Not just that, but I'm pretty sure his is one of the faces I was trying to match earlier. He was in the apartment building when James was killed."
"Did we nail down a murder weapon yet?" Nick asked as Catherine fitted the key to the lock.
She shook her head. "Jagged on one end, elongated. Wood, but we don't know what type yet. That could be any number of things."
"Wonder if Meadows plays baseball?" Nick theorized aloud as the tumblers in the lock clicked.
"We'll find out," she said, and pushed open the door. Behind her, he flicked on his flashlight and threw a beam of light into the dark apartment.
The light switch was located quickly, and with a minimum of awkwardness as they both tried to maneuver around the tiny hall entryway before progressing any further. Finally they were able to see further into the apartment, and Nick whistled. "Man, I don't know how anyone could live like this."
"Obviously, you've never seen Sara's apartment," Catherine snarked as she took the three steps from door to kitchen and Nick followed her, two more steps placing him smack in the middle of the living room/bedroom.
"Hers is bigger than this," Nick argued, though as he took in the room, he had to admit that it wasn't much bigger. He was about to add something about how she didn't really live in her apartment anyway, but caught it just before the words escaped his mouth. "Some pretty high tech computer equipment back here. Didn't Vega say this guy was a computer science major?"
"UNLV, same year as James and both Tolmens." The background check had been exceedingly cursory, but they'd been able to find some information before heading out. Catherine swung the cabinet door closed. "There's not much in the kitchen. Leftover takeout and some paper plates. An unopened box of Luna bars."
"That's weird. Isn't that chick food?" Nick asked, and winced under Catherine's look. "Right, right. Hey, here's Bianca Tolmen," he said, trying to change the subject.
He held up the framed photograph for her inspection. Bianca stood in the middle with her arms around her brother on one side and Neil Meadows on the other.
"Wait a second," Catherine murmered, and knelt down to open up her evidence kit, standing up again with a swab and a bottle. "There was a picture missing from James's apartment." She dabbed the swab around the glass, careful to cover the entire surface. Sure enough, the swab turned bright red.
"Well now, that's going to be a little hard to explain away," Nick drawled.
"He folded pretty quickly," Warrick observed from where he was leaning practically on top of the two-way mirror.
"No alibi and the weight of the evidence against him," Catherine said with a shrug, on the other end of the mirror from Warrick, arms crossed. "Smartest thing to do, plead guilty to second-degree murder."
"We still don't have a murder weapon," Sara pointed out, dangling her legs from the table.
"Grissom'll get to it." Nick kicked sideways from where he was sitting next to her, sending her legs into disarray and disrupting the methodical swing of her feet. She made a face at him, but resisted kicking back.
They watched as Neil Meadows shook with fine tremors, unable to meet Grissom or Brass's eyes, practically curled in on top of himself. His court-appointed attorney was doing most of the talking, bargaining with choppy hand movements and an ominous frown.
"So let me get this straight," Brass began, addressing himself to Neil. "You thought Bianca was dead, you immediately decided that Carter James was responsible. And you went to kill him."
"No!" Neil protested, finally looking up, but still keeping his gaze focused on the wall. "I went to talk to him."
"That's not the first time I've heard 'talking' as a euphemism for murder," Brass snapped. "Care to explain a little better?"
"The firewood," Sara said suddenly, and all eyes in the small observation room turned to her. She jumped up. "James had a fireplace remember?"
"Yeah, but it was fake," Catherine pointed out.
"He still had fire tools," Sara remembered. "And a couple of pieces of firewood, I remember seeing them. It must have been an appearances thing. And then later, he could have used it to start the fire to burn the clothes. It would have been dry, from sitting out all that time. Maybe it even went up too fast, and didn't burn the clothes through. He didn't have time to find more wood, so he just stuffed them under a bush and hoped we wouldn't find them. We almost didn't." She shook her head ruefully.
"It was just right there," Neil was saying. "And I looked up, and there was the picture of us. And he'd killed her. He'd murdered her. I loved her." He broke down in piteous sobs, and Brass looked distinctly uncomfortable. Grissom tapped his lips and watched Neil with a steady gaze.
"Way to go, Sar," Nick praised.
"I wonder if she ever knew?" Catherine said softly. "If he ever told her?"
"Doubt it," Warrick shrugged. "Even after he gave up compsci and went into theater to follow her. Her own personal ghost."
"And avenger," Sara whispered. "He did kill her. And if Meadows hadn't killed him, Carter James would be in there on his way to jail instead of him. It wasn't even worth it."
"I don't get the sense that he regrets it." Nick frowned in thought.
"Well, he's going to have life in prison to regret it." Catherine pushed off from the wall. "Anyway. I've got a forced entry in Henderson. Looks like our dry spell might be ending. Warrick, you want in?"
"Yeah, I'll take some of that," he said, following her out of the observation room and leaving Nick and Sara sitting on the table, watching Neil tell about wrapping the body in the plastic tablecloth and carrying it down the stairs to the service door.
"So."
Sara turned and raised an eyebrow at Nick. "Yes?"
"You and Grissom."
She fought to hold back a smile. "Yes...?"
"I..." He let out an explosive breath. "Yeah."
Sara nudged him with her shoulder. "Hey." Her tone prompted him to continue.
"Just as long as you're happy," he blurted out.
"Nick." She looked at him, silently urging him to turn and meet her eyes. When he did, she smiled at him. "I'm really happy."
"Okay." He met her smile with a tentative one of his own. "Okay." He hopped down from the table. "I'm going to go check with dispatch and see if anything else is on the plate for tonight."
"Catch you later." He waved at her behind his back as he left the room, and she shook her head with a smile.
"I looked up the original Bible passage the quote on the roses was taken from."
"Oh?" Sara twirled the mostly-empty wine glass between her fingers and watched him dice zucchini from where she was perched on the bar stool. "And what was it?"
"For love is as strong as death, Jealousy as cruel as the grave; Its flames are flames of fire, a most vehement flame. Many waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it," Grissom quoted. "Song of Solomon, 8:6."
"Jealousy as cruel as the grave," she repeated. "That certainly proved true in this case. I take it back, that wasn't a very good sentiment after all. I'll take a plant anyday." She threw a fond glance at the orchid where it rested on her windowsill. They were in her apartment tonight; a convenience store robbery had kept Grissom away from the labs until nearly ten AM, and she had gone straight home. He had woken her up with a kiss and a bag of groceries an hour ago.
He didn't answer, just continued chopping and finally swept the bits of vegetable into another bowl and took out another zucchini.
"What are you making, anyway?"
"It's a surprise," he chided, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Fine." She tossed her hair back and took another sip of the wine. "I finished reading the play, by the way. I'll return the book next time we're at your place."
"How did you like the end?" Grissom finished with the zucchini and moved on to an eggplant.
"A little contrived. But Beatrice and Benedick were fun right up to the end. Definitely the better couple." She leaned forward and snuck a piece of zucchini out of the bowl, his swatting hand coming just a second too late. She stuck her tongue out at him.
"I do love nothing in the world so well as you," Grissom quoted again softly. "Is not that strange?"
"Oh, okay, now that's good sentiment," Sara said, blinking back sudden tears.
"For which of my bad parts did thou first fall in love with me?" he continued, rounding the kitchen counter and setting his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him.
"For them all together," she answered, swallowing past the lump in her throat and standing up to kiss him softly.
"Mmph," Grissom mumbled against her lips. "Dinner."
"Dessert," she countered, and whimpered in complaint when he drew away and returned behind the counter.
"You never did see the ending performed," he said casually. "The theater offered us refund tickets."
"Isn't that a little morbid, Griss?" she said, making a face.
"Maybe," he conceded, and reached into the grocery bag. "I got the movie."