"I might have something here," Catherine said carefully, looking up from one of the old files from the Las Vegas murders of nine years ago. She held the place on the page with her finger, as Brass and Warrick looked back at her expectantly.
Grissom, Nick and Cecilia had gone home shortly beforehand, once the sun had heralded the start of a new day. Grissom and Nick were going to get a few hours of sleep and then return to the lab. Cecilia had gone home to rest, and then had a luncheon date with Janice Kellerman, the mayor's wife. Brass had returned to the lab not long after the three had departed, to find Catherine and Warrick still at work.
"A very loose connection between the second vic, Marilyn Hegel and the third vic, Beth Marchison. It seems that they both used the same bank, Wells Fargo. Different branches, Hegel had an account at the one located at the Sunrise Centre Mall, and Marchison at the Las Vegas Tower. But there's a record of ATM transactions on Marchison's account, that were done at the Sunrise branch." Catherine tilted her head. "At one time in the past, both women did some banking at the same location."
Brass frowned. "Yeah, I remember now. That was a lead that Martens and Takei were working. It seems to me that the first vic, Jada Miller, didn't have an account with Wells Fargo, or any other bank, so there was no way to tie her in with the other women that way. And a lot of people bank with Wells Fargo. Then the whole thing with Juneau broke open, so it never really got pursued."
Warrick had Jada Miller's file, and he glanced down at it. "Hooking is mostly a cash business, so I guess she didn't have much need to deposit cheques or anything," he commented. "She was living at the Jade Garden, a cheap motel off strip, so she probably just paid cash weekly. She might have had to go to a bank to buy a roll of quarters for the washing machine on laundry day though," he speculated.
Though outwardly he was as cool and collected as he ever was, internally, Warrick was still reeling from everything that Grissom had told he and Nick the night before. Learning that a solved case from nine years prior had not only been attributed to the wrong perpetrator, but that the killer had gone on to kill again, in other states, had been gut-wrenching. The fact that the same killer was responsible for what had appeared to be the recent accidental deaths of three police detectives, all LVPD at one point in the past, had been enervating.
But hearing that the killer was apparently focused on a new victim, and had communicated his interest in an ominous letter, and that that target was Jim Brass, had stunned the criminalist. There had been a time in their past when he and Brass had been almost enemies, the animosity between them open and acknowledged. Back when the detective had been with the CSI unit. They had clashed from the get go. But in the years since then, with time and distance, had come understanding. Both men had changed, not only in their attitudes towards one another, but in their outlooks on life, and in the way they conducted themselves both professionally and personally.
Holly Gribbs' murder had been, Warrick had believed guiltily for a long time afterwards, the result of the culmination of the bad feelings between he and Brass. She had been caught innocently in the middle, an unwitting pawn in a power struggle that preceded her arrival at the lab. Brass had paired her up with Warrick not so that she could learn from his tutelage, or as a recognition of Warrick's worth as a CSI, but as a punishment.
And he had set himself up for being on the receiving end of Brass' wrath, by going behind his superior's back to get a warrant from a former judge. And his resentment of Brass and that situation, had trickled over to Gribbs, making him more cavalier about his responsibility towards her. Not to mention, if he hadn't owed a favour to the judge who had granted him the warrant in another case, Warrick would never have had to leave Holly alone to go place the bet.
It had been a vicious circle of blame. If Brass hadn't hated him so much, and been so unreasonable, letting his personal feelings for the CSI cloud his judgement, he would have called the judge to get the warrant himself. If Warrick hadn't been so insubordinate so often in the past, Brass might have been more inclined to facilitate his request. Back and back it went, their history troubled.
But after Holly Gribbs had been killed, and both men had had to deal with their ultimate culpability in the series of events that had lead up to the rookie CSI's death, the anger that they had previously borne for one another, had been internalized. And working in separate units, with Brass at homicide, it was as though each began to notice facets of the other that they had failed to note when they had worked together in the same building.
And gradually, there had come first a grudging professional respect, and finally, a personal respect. And now, though the irony would hit Warrick every now and then, a genuine affection. And knowing that Brass was the target of a devious serial killer, convoluted the criminalist's gut into a twisted, knotted mess. He felt the pressure and the desperation of their race against the clock, as he had never felt the weight of a case before in his career.
"Miller didn't have a vehicle and I can't see her hopping a bus and going to the Sunrise Centre Mall just to get some change," Brass commented. "Lots of banks between there and where she was living and working. Still," he said thoughtfully, "you never know. And it is a definite connection between the other two vics. It gives us someplace to start looking."
"It doesn't look as though the dates and times of their transactions coincide," Catherine continued. "It appears that they were never doing business at the branch on the same day or time. Hegel went pretty regularly, every other Friday morning. Her grocery store paycheques were direct deposited after midnight, every two weeks. According to these records, she'd go to the branch, pay some bills, and withdraw some cash. Always through a teller it looks like." She switched to Marchison's file. "Her transactions were always at the ATM. More random and sporadic. Different days and times. Mostly cash withdrawals."
"I think this calls for a little trip to the mall," Brass suggested.
"You want to drive, or should I?" Catherine grinned.
Brass frowned. "We'll take separate vehicles," he insisted. "I may want to head out someplace on my own from there."
"Oh sure, you guys get to go outside and enjoy the sunshine, while you leave me here by myself in the flourescent glare, buried in reams of paper," Warrick said with mock chagrin.
"Don't pout," Catherine advised. "If there's a Jack-in-the-Box there, we'll bring you back a burger."
"Oh man," Warrick groaned. "I used to think you liked me, Cat." He was shaking his head self-pityingly as she and Brass left.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
The Sunrise Centre Mall was anchored on both ends by two of the larger department store chains, Sears and JC Penney. Comprised of two levels and sixty stores and services in all, it offered indoor, air-conditioned shopping for residents and visitors. The Wells Fargo bank was located at one of the smaller, side entrances to the mall, on the right hand side. There was a direct entrance to the branch, as well as another through the mall itself. To the left of the entrance, also with direct access from outside, was a dental office.
Brass and Catherine parked in the adjacent lot. The mall had only just opened, and there were fewer cars in this area. Brass sat in his sedan for a moment, observing the mall building and the entrance. While on the other side of the mall there was a second level, there was only a ground level on this rear portion. While he watched, an older man, and then a young woman with a toddler in a stroller, enter the mall. At one time, two of the victims of the Holiday Murders, had passed through those same glass doors. Had the third ever been here at one time? Is this where the killer had first seen and selected his victims? The possibility was intriguing.
There was a sharp rap on the window to his left, and Brass turned his head to the smiling visage of the lovely criminalist. When Catherine had suggested they drive to the mall together, the detective had felt an immediate surge of fear. Together with him, in the confines of a vehicle, Catherine might become a potential victim if the killer made his move at that time. The idea of something happening to her had made the adrenaline rush through his body. None of those he cared about seemed to realize what a danger he could be to them, now that the killer had surfaced, making his intentions known. Detective Jim Brass was slated to be his next victim.
How and when that move might come, was a totally unknown entity. None of the other detectives had died in the same fashion. Joe Takei and Elliott Keeth had been killed in their own homes, but Denny Martens had been followed in public, run down in a quiet street while just going about his day's business. There was no way to even make a guess as to when or where the killer might perceive Jim to be the most vulnerable, or what method he might consider fitting to end the detective's life. And just because so far there had been no innocent bystanders caught up in the web, didn't mean that it wasn't something for Jim to consider, painfully, each time he was in close proximity to other people.
Stepping out of the vehicle, Brass engaged the alarm. If anyone tried to tinker with the car in his abscence, he would be alerted to the fact.
Catherine smiled to herself as Brass held open the heavy, glass door. Little courtesies such as this were becoming few and far between in the general male populace, she had found. She walked into the mall, looking first at the Wells Fargo bank, and then up and down the corridor at the other businesses in the immediate vicinity.
On the right hand side, next to the bank, was a CVC pharmacy. Beyond that was a small Laura Secord. On the other side of the candy shop, and on the corner between the side entrance and the main stream of mall traffic, was a jewelry store. Not one of the chains, but an independent. Van Horne's.
On the other side of the aisle, closest to the doors, was the dental office of Adams and Froude. Next to that, was a pet store, Fins and Fur. Beyond it was a gift boutique, Site O' The Green, that featured shamrocks etched into the glass display windows. And on the corner, was a lingerie store, Lacy's Closet. For a moment, something niggled at the back of Catherine's brain, and then was gone again.
In the centre of the corridor was a small seating arrangement, a bank of metal chairs to seat four, set back to back with another grouping. There were waste receptacles on either side, and live palmettos in glazed, cobalt blue planters. There was a small skylight set in the ceiling high overhead. The seats were currently vacant.
She stood for a moment, imagining the victims standing in this same spot. It was quieter down this corridor than in the centre of the mall, with less foot traffic. Catherine glanced out into the parking lot. Imagining someone waiting in an idling car, for an unsupecting bank customer to step outside. Or perhaps standing near the exterior door, casually smoking a cigarette, before trailing the victim back to her parked vehicle. Depending on the time of day, there probably wouldn't be a lot of witnesses in this area of the mall.
"Kind of a quiet little corner," Brass mused, mirroring her thoughts.
He had noted that there was no access to the ATM machine from the outside of the building, probably for security reasons. Customers had to enter the mall to use them, though they didn't have to go into the bank itself. There were two ATMs set into a narrow, black marble wall between Wells Fargo and the CVC pharmacy.
"We'll have to contact mall management," Brass was saying, "to see if these other businesses were all here nine years ago or not. There might have been changes, like places going belly up, or moving to new locations."
Catherine nodded her agreement. "I guess the place to start though is the bank itself."
They went into the bank, and approached an attractive, young brunette at a customer care desk. A gold-plated name tag identified her as Kris. Brass gave her an easy smile. "Hi Kris, I'm Detective Jim Brass, LVPD, and this is Catherine Willows, Forensics. I was wondering if the manager was in today and what his...or her...name might be."
The young woman looked at them curiously, wondering what the police were doing here. There hadn't been any incidents at the bank, that she was aware of. No hold ups or attempts. Perhaps there was an internal problem of some kind. "That would be Mr. Gracie," she replied. "He's in a meeting right now. Did you need me to interrupt him?" Her grey eyes were bright.
"No, no, that's okay," Brass answered. "But I would appreciate a few moments of his time, when he's available."
"Just a moment," Kris responded. She picked up the receiver of the phone on her desk. "Elaine? There are two police officers here to see Mr. Gracie when he's available." Neither Jim nor Catherine corrected the inaccuracy. There was a pause, then she looked up at Brass. "He should be free by eleven, is that all right?" Jim nodded, glancing at his watch. That was in about forty minutes. "Thanks, Elaine," the young woman confirmed, then hung up.
"Thank you, Kris," Brass smiled, then he and Catherine exited the bank.
"So what do we do for half an hour?" Catherine queried. "Take a stroll around the mall?"
"Exactly," Jim replied.
"Of the other shops along here," Catherine remarked, "it seems most likely to me that the one all three women might have used, if we go on the assumption that Jada Miller was here at some point too, would be the pharmacy. Filling prescriptions. Picking up health and beauty aids. If you run in to do your banking, I could see making a quick stop at the CVC."
"Not the candy shop?" Jim teased lightly. "I thought all women were crazy about chocolate."
Catherine chuckled. "Yeah, all the ones I know," she agreed. "But an Almond Joy from the pharmacy is a lot cheaper than Laura Secord, if someone gets a craving. Plus you can pick up your shampoo or some Kleenex, or whatever."
They continued to walk down the corridor, and out into the main area of the mall. To their left, in the direction of the JC Penney, was a food court. A semi-circle of fast food kiosks ringed a collection of tables and chairs. There was a small fountain in the centre of this area, a large concrete structure with vines, and nymphs frolicking beneath a waterfall. The older gentleman who had entered the mall ahead of them, was seated at one of the tables, sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup, and reading a newspaper. A dozen other patrons, singly or in pairs, half of them teens enjoying their summer break, sat at other tables. It was still early, and a weekday, so the area was not very busy yet.
Behind the tables, was a staircase which ascended to the second level and the shops and services located there. Brass and Catherine sauntered through the food court, taking note of the offerings. There were the usual franchises one would find at similar malls all across the nation. A&W. Orange Julius. New York Fries. KFC. Second Cup. There was Japanese, and Greek and Indian food available.
They left the food court, strolling casually to the other end of the mall, to the entrance to the Sears store. They took the stairs to the second level, and came back that way before descending the stairs to the food court once more. From a certain section of the eating area, someone could look towards the corridor where the Wells Fargo bank was located. "You want a coffee?" Jim asked the criminalist.
After purchasing two coffees, and a danish for Catherine, Jim selected a table on the furthest side from the fountain, that overlooked the side corridor. He had a clear view of both the lingerie shop and the jewelry store, and a partial view of the Laura Secord place. Looking upwards towards the second level, he counted eight other businesses, four on each side, that he could see from his seat.
There were another four stores facing the food court, between Lacy's Closet and the JC Penney. A Banana Republic clothing store. An electronics store. A health food store. And a Reeboks. "Let's say the women originally came to the mall to use the bank," Brass conjectured, "and then maybe they came to the food court for a drink, or a bite to eat. A mall employee or customer also taking a break, might have seen them. Since we know Hegel and Marchison were here at different times, and on different dates, I'd be more inclined to think employee. There are more than a dozen stores that I have a clear view of from here," he noted. "So that means they have a clear view of us, too."
"But anyone working at any of the shops or businesses here, could come to the food court on their break. Or before or after work," Catherine mused. "If Hegel and Marchison were both noticed here by the killer, it could mean that it was someone working at the mall at that time." She shook her head as she realized how difficult it would be to track down everyone who had worked at the Sunrise Centre nine years ago. Even if every business had a complete employee list, and assuming none of the businesses were new to the mall, or that old ones had left once their leases expired, the task of trying to track those employees down was overwhelming. "Even if we had someone, or two someones, working on that around the clock, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. And before we could even think of allocating those kinds of resources, we'd have to have something to tie Miller to the bank, or the mall, as well. And so far, we don't have anything."
"The bank is the only connection between two of the victims," Brass stated. "We haven't got anything else, nowhere else to put the effort into," he reminded the blonde quietly. He noticed that she was staring into the distance, towards the corridor where the Wells Fargo branch was, seeming not to have heard him. "Cath?"
It was another moment or two before the criminalist shifted her gaze. She looked speculatively at the detective, her blue eyes bright. "I can't remember for sure, but I think we might have our link for Jada Miller." She took out her cell phone and hit one of the speed dial numbers.
"Warrick," came the deep timbre of the melifluous voice on the other end.
"Hey, Warrick, I need you to do me a favour," Catherine asked sweetly. "You still at the lab?"
"Somebody has to hold down the fort," he joked.
"Can you get Jada Miller's file?" she requested.
"Yeah, no problem." There was a short wait, while the CSI located the murdered prostitute's file. "What can I do for you?" Warrick wanted to know.
"The report that detailed what the vic was wearing at the time of the attack," Catherine began, "can you find that?"
Warrick shuffled through the reports. "Got it."
"I remember the killer's letter mentioned that she wasn't wearing a bra," the blonde said, furrowing her brow in recollection. "And that was confirmed. At least, one was never found. But there was a pair of torn, pink panties near the body, is that right?"
"Yeah," Warrick confirmed. "Pink, polyester, size small." He looked at the crime scene photo. "Thong style. A DNA match done on vaginal secretions affirmed that they belonged to the vic."
"Does it say anything else?" Catherine asked. "A brand name?" she prompted.
"Uh, let's see," the voice on the other end paused. "LC Girl. That important somehow?" he wanted to know.
"Could be. I'll talk to you later. Thanks, Warrick." Catherine set the phone on the table.
"What's all this about Jada Miller's underthings?" Brass queried.
"The panties she was wearing," Catherine said excitedly, "LC Girl brand. I thought I'd read that, just one of those weird things that sticks in your head, though I didn't make the connection right away. Those are sold exclusively at Lacy's Closet." Brass looked at the shop on the corner, and raised a bushy brow. "It's the poor woman's Victoria's Secret," she explained. "And they only have two locations in Vegas. That I know of, that is, we'd have to confirm. One is right over there. The other is in Henderson.
"Miller was living and working downtown, she was new to Vegas and didn't have any friends here, I can't see her going all the way out to Henderson for undergarments. But she could have come here. And once here, she could have stopped at the bank for something, even though she didn't have an account there. Something that there wouldn't have been a recorded transaction for."
"Such as buying a roll of quarters," Brass said consideringly. "For laundry. Just like Rick said." He raised his cup of coffee to the blonde in a salute. "Good catch, Cath. You guys are gonna make me obsolete."
"Let's go ask how many of their stores are located in Vegas," Catherine suggested.
Lacy's Closet was staffed at this time of day by a lone sales clerk, a voluptuous, barely dressed blonde, with short, spiked hair. There was rock music coming from the sound system, and the decor was what Brass thought of immediately as whorehouse meets Victorian parlour. There was scarlet carpeting underfoot, a couple of overstuffed, antique style boudoir chairs for customers, lamps with silk shades, tassles and feathers, and paintings of scantily clad, nubile women in heels. The salesgirl greeted Brass and Catherine warmly, letting them know that there was a thirty percent off sale on teddies.
"She's not talking stuffed bears either," Catherine whispered to Brass with a wink.
"For that price, you'd better stock up," he returned softly. "If you need a man's opinion before you buy, I'd be willing to let you model some for me."
"Yeah, I just bet you would," Catherine laughed. She went to a rack of camisoles, and reached for one, checking for the LC Girl label. Then she said to the sales clerk, "I'm not really looking to buy today, thanks. I just have a quick question. Other than this location and the one out in Henderson, do you have any more outlets in Las Vegas?"
The young woman shook her head. "No, just the two. Though Collette, she's my boss, did mention that they were hoping to open another one late next year, closer to downtown. They're just trying to get a lease. I'm hoping to get a promotion to manager maybe, by then." She smiled.
"Good luck," Catherine commented. "Do you know how long this store has been at this location?"
"I grew up around here, I used to come to the mall with my mom when I was a kid, when it was first built about fifteen years ago. The store was here then, I remember. My mom used to grab my hand and hurry me past it," the young blonde laughed. "I don't think she's quite gotten over the fact that I work here."
"Thanks," Catherine said.
"Nothing else I can do for you?" the other woman pressed. "We've got some new massage oils in, some really lovely scents."
"That's okay thanks," Catherine replied. The sales clerk nodded and moved to the rear of the store to work on a display. Catherine's lips curled devilishly as she held up a purple thong, "Unless you needed something new to wear, Jim?"
"No, I'm good," he replied wryly. "And anyways, I'd need a heck of a lot more fabric than that," he announced matter-of-factly. He was rewarded by the quick shifting of her sapphire eyes and her faint blush as she returned the merchandise to its rack. Jim laughed. It was rare to see Catherine Willows discomfitted. He checked his watch. "It's about time we go see Mr. Gracie."
The bank manager invited them into his office, shaking their hands with a firm, no nonsense grip. Mr. Gracie was a tall, distinguished, dark-haired man, just beginning to silver at the temples, who reminded Catherine of the late Cary Grant. His shoulders were broad beneath the expensive cut of his custom suit. Before she was even conscious of her actions, her eyes dipped to the ring finger of his left hand. A thick, gold band circled there, she noticed with fleeting disappointment. "How can I help you?" he inquired with an inquisitive smile.
"How long have you been the manager at this location?" Brass asked, taking the lead for questioning, while Catherine sat quietly in the chair to his right, observing.
"Three years," Mr. Gracie replied.
"Where did you work before that?" the detective wanted to know.
"Actually, I worked here," the bank manager responded. "I was the mortgage manager for four years."
"And before that?" Brass continued.
"May I ask why you want to know, Detective?" the other man queried. He looked from Brass to Catherine, then back at the detective again. There was no resentment in the question, just curiosity. "Am I under investigation for something?" There was no guilt either in his tone or his body language.
"We're investigating a murder from several years ago," Brass told him. "Two women, both of whom were customers at Wells Fargo."
Mr. Gracie looked puzzled. "Before coming to this branch, I was at the Tower. Four years. Commercial accounts. I'm not sure how any of this helps you though."
"So you weren't at this location nine years ago?" the detective wanted to confirm.
"No, I wasn't." Gracie said amiably, sitting back a bit in his chair, deciding that the other man wasn't going to satisfy his curiosity just yet.
"I wonder if I could get a list of all employees who were working here nine years ago. Current and former," Brass requested.
"That should be easy enough to do," Gracie agreed. "I can contact human resources at our district office."
"I'd appreciate that," Brass thanked.
"I'll do it today, and should have the information later this afternoon or tomorrow morning," Gracie said. "These murders...I haven't heard anything on the news. The fact that they were customers of our bank, is that going to be reported in the media any time soon? Is there any need to bring Wells Fargo into things, as far as the public is concerned? I wouldn't want to alarm our current customers, over something that happened several years ago," he remarked. "Or to have them think there is any danger in doing business with us."
Spoken like a good Company Man, Brass thought. "No, there's been no media involvement so far," he said. "And if and when that time came, there would be no need to reveal the bank's connection."
"Good," Gracie smiled.
Brass smiled back. "Likewise, I would prefer to have any queries we make, kept as low key as possible."
"Certainly," the bank manager replied.
Brass stood up, reaching into an inside jacket pocket, and extracting one of his business cards. "If you could fax, or email that information to my office, when you have it, I'd appreciate it," he stated, as he handed it to Gracie. "And thank you for your time."
"Anything I can do to help," the banker agreed rising. "Detective Brass. Ms. Willows." He nodded to Catherine.
Outside the bank, Brass looked at Catherine, his features pensive. "Before he came to the Sunrise Centre, Mr. Gracie was at the Las Vegas Tower branch."
"The same branch where Beth Marchison had her account," Catherine said thoughtfully. "Interesting. I wonder if he's been out of state in the last several years. On business trips or vacation." She sighed. "But that would be too easy. Besides he doesn't seem like a killer."
Brass shrugged. "How many times do they, really? Look at Paul Milander. Who would have thought such a self-effacing guy capable of committing multiple murders? Who would have guessed the secrets he was hiding?"
"I know," Catherine agreed. "And we don't even know for sure whether or not the bank is the key to all of this. We know both Hegel and Marchison were there at some point. And we can guess that Miller likely was at the mall, to shop for lingerie at Lacy's Closet. And then could have used the bank." Catherine looked up the corridor at the store. She tilted her head consideringly for a moment. "Brass, what if we're right, and the mall is the epicentre. But what if it's not the bank that was the commonality for all three. What if...just maybe...it was the lingerie store?"
Brass followed her gaze. "It's worth looking into. I'll have to see if I can find out if Hegel and Marchison ever bought their undergarments there."
Catherine was distracted by a squeal of pleasure. Across the aisle, at the pet store, a young girl was beaming, as a small, beige puppy that she held wriggling in her arms, licked enthusiastically at her face. Her father was smiling at her indulgently, while the female shopgirl had a knowing look on her face. "Lindsey has been asking for a puppy for the longest while," the criminalist mentioned to the detective, as she walked closer to the pet shop.
There was a small, octagonal pen at the front of the store, and within the wire confines now scampered three tiny balls of fluff. The pups hadn't been there when they had first come into the mall, probably still in the back in cages. Catherine felt herself inexorably drawn to the small, rambunctious forms. There wasn't much in the world cuter than a puppy, she thought. The sign indicated that they were Yorkie-poo crosses, vet checked and first shots, for two hundred and ninety-nine dollars. "Lindsey would love one for her birthday next month," the blonde sighed. "But they're just so much work, and my schedule is so bizarre. Maybe in a couple of years she'll be old enough to take more responsibility, and we could make it work."
"You shouldn't get a dog from a pet store," Brass cautioned, his voice low. "You don't know anything about them, their breeding, and a lot of the time they come from puppy mills."
"I know," Catherine agreed. "But look how adorable they are."
The child, who was a couple of years younger than Lindsey, was pleading, "Oh Daddy, I want this one! Pleeeease!"
"I prefer a bigger dog myself," Jim remarked as they headed out to the lot. "A German Shepherd."
"A police dog," Catherine chuckled. "Go figure."
Jim became introverted as he remembered an earlier discussion about dogs with Cecilia. The writer had indicated that she had always wanted a dog, and that she thought German Shepherds were beautiful. That had led to Jim's disclosure that he had had one growing up, a black and tan named King. He had extolled King's virtues, from his fierce loyalty, to his gentle nature, to his intelligence. Cecilia had lamented the fact that she had never had a dog, but said that one day she would. Now that her career as a writer was taking off, and her schedule was more her own, she thought that she might have the time for a dog at this point in her life.
Jim hadn't said anything to her at the time, but snuggling there with her on his sofa, listening to her talk, he had allowed himself to imagine a future with Cecilia. One that included a small house with a fenced yard, and a German Shepherd to keep her company and protect her, when he was at work. Thinking of Cecilia now, missing her, was like a physical blow.
Catherine noticed the sudden change in his demeanour, the slump of the detective's shoulders, and the sadness that clouded his dark eyes. "Is everything okay?" she asked tentatively, pausing before making her way to the Denali.
"Yeah," Brass answered, forcing a smile. Concentrating again on the case at hand, he looked back at the mall entrance, imagining Jada Miller heading through the glass doors, on her way to buy lingerie. He looked beyond the parking lot to the street that ran behind the back of the mall. There was a pole there, marked with the colours of the city transit system. One of the routes stopped here at this entrance to the mall.
Miller didn't have a vehicle of her own, and no friends to drive her around the city. Taxis were expensive, and Brass couldn't see her shelling out her hard earned cash to take a cab around town. Hitchhiking was always an option for a shapely young woman, and no more risky than hooking. And of course, there was also the bus. "I wonder what route that stop is on," the detective remarked, nodding with his head to indicate the boulevard beyond the parking lot. "I wonder if it goes downtown, anywhere near the Jade Garden Motel."
Catherine pursed her lips. "I could get the stop number off the post, and make a call, or check the transit website," Catherine offered. Until they received the employee list from Gracie, there wouldn't be anything more to do to follow up this angle of the investigation.
"You must be about ready for bed," Brass commented.
"I've got my second wind," she remarked. "I'll see what I can find out about the bus route, then I'll go home and grab some sleep."
"Okay, thanks," the detective said. "I'm going to get in touch with Marilyn Hegel's husband and find out if she ever shopped at Lacy's Closet. Page me when you get back in to work tonight, and I'll meet you at the lab, and we can compare notes." Brass felt re-energized. Catherine's rediscovery of the Wells Fargo connection between Hegel and Marchison might actually lead somewhere. At least now there was something for him to follow up on, however remote a connection there might be to the case.
And anything was preferable to sitting around, waiting for the killer to make his next move.