Chapter XVIII

Miscalculation

Warrick looked around the quiet area. He didn't know where his uniform was...It was getting late and he needed the serial numbers off of the neon tanks. No one was around this secondary sight...it was open by appointment only. Tonight's action was all down on Freemont Street.

"Hello? Anyone here? I'm from the Crime Lab..." His voice echoed around, bouncing off of the neon idols of old Vegas. His only answer was the slight whistle of the dry desert breeze and the creaking of old metal and glass. The shadows cast by the evening twilight made the signs and figures cast eerie shadows...making what was supposed to be a cheerful maze of history seem ominous and yes, even dangerous. Warrick was pretty sure he'd seen this particular movie...and the cop had died.

He shook his head, to clear it of morbid thoughts and clicked on his flashlight. McQueen was no where around...no one was around. The beam of his flashlight moved around in a slow, steady arc, taking everything in. In the fading light, Warrick could see the edge of the desert give off it's final heat waves of the day... He frowned, how close was "The Boneyard" to the dump sites they'd found the vics at? He wasn't sure...but it couldn't have been too far...an easy drive, to be sure. His beam fell on an old beat up, dusty truck...an easy drive especially with a 4x4.

A hand fell on his shoulder and Warrick jumped, drew his gun, threw off the gun's safety in one quick movement. A scruffy man stared at him, "You're trespassing." The man wore a work shirt with his name, Allen, stitched on them. Warrick let out a breathe and lowered his gun. "Jeez, man, you scared the hell out of me. I'm Warrick Brown with the Las Vegas Crime Lab..."


Officer Adam Murphy was not considered a handsome man. That was okay, though, you didn't have to be handsome when you were both strong and carried a gun. Adam had served his country as a Marine and now he served Clark County as a police officer. He was on his way out to baby sit one of the Geek Squad when a a red motorcycle flew by him, headed back to the city...towards the strip...

Adam pulled his emergency break and pulled his powerful black and white patrol car into a perfectly executed 180. The CSI would be fine...A chase was much more his style...


The gift shop at the Freemont Neon Sign Museum's gift shop was doing sluggishly slow business. Catherine and Sofia looked around and immediately zeroed in on a bored looking bottle blonde behind the counter. She looked up at them. "Can I help you?" Sofia flashed her badge. "I'm Detective Curtis, LVPD and this is Cathie's Willows from the Crime Lab, we're here to see Mr. McQueen." The woman, her name tag read Lila, blinked owlishly, "Is this about the investigation?" They nodded and followed her through the small hallway that lead to McQueen's office. Lila, who wasn't as dumb as she looked, read the warrant. "Well, I can unlock the office for you, but you won't find what you're looking for... All the neon is kept out at the Boneyard, so are all the repair invoices. I mean, the only person who even understands the neon stuff is Allan...Mr. McQueen's son...McQueen, for all his talk, wouldn't know which way to turn a neon valve."

Catherine looked at Sofia, blue eyes met blue and a terrifying realization passed between them.

'We have the wrong guy'


Sara sighed and looked at the records she'd been given to look over. Yes, it was evidence...but she'd rather have DNA results, fiber analysis...real physical evidence...not paperwork. The lab techs were going as fast as they could, though. Doc Robbins had handed over the autopsy report. Elizabeth Monroe had not died of neon poisoning, but of a heart attack, brought on, obviously, by her ordeal. It was still murder and she wanted McQueen to go down for it.

She shook her head and sighed. It was strange, though, that he had left the first three scenes nearly spotless and the fourth scene...well, the fourth scene had been a treasure trove of evidence.

She's run McQueen through the system and found nothing. She wasn't surprised...he just didn't look like a cold-blooded killer...He kind of reminded her of one of her old professors from college...a dusty old professor of European History. Looks, however, could be deceiving. She sighed and took a drink of her rapidly cooling coffee.

Her eyes drifted back to the huge stack of files. All the neon deliveries had been signed by Allen McQueen...not Percival McQueen. That got her thinking...She typed in McQueen, Allen. Sure enough, he had a record, his prints were on file...but nothing was listed. "So it's a juvenile record..." She grabbed her phone off of her hip and scrolled through the numbers. With an investigation this big, unlocking a juvenile record should be no problem...it wouldn't be admisable in court, but...she needed to see it.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and within fifteen minutes, and a called-in favor, she was staring at what could have doubled for a serial killer's resume. Fist fights, animal abuse...assault with a deadly weapon.

Sara's pager went off...it was Wendy from DNA... Urgency hurried Sara's stride along. Wendy looked up at her. "Sara, I got those epis from the old woman's fingernails..." Sara took the page from the printer and read it for herself. "Oh No." Wendy nodded, "It's not your guy, but it does have seven alleles in common with McQueen." Sara felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh God." She pulled her cellphone off of her belt clip and dialed with shaky fingers.

"Answer, damn it. Answer. Warrick answer!" She was booted to his voice mail. She slammed the small phone shut. Wendy touched her arm. "What's going on?" Sara looked up, fear already playing havoc on her senses. "We had the wrong guy."

She was already half way to her Tahoe when she thought to call Sofia.

Sofia didn't even answer with a greeting, not even her name, "We have the wrong guy." Sara balanced her phone on her shoulder and started the ignition on her Tahoe. "I know. Allen McQueen, he's got a juvenile record that reads like a serial killer textbook." Sara felt her voice breaking. "And I sent Warrick out to the Boneyard." Sofia sucked in her breathe. "Catherine and I are already on out way..." Sara slammed her Tahoe into reverse and whipped out of her parking spot. "He's not answering and neither is the uniform that was supposed to be with him...I'll meet you there." She ended the call, threw the phone in the passenger seat and turned on her rarely used emergency lights. She laid rubber out of the parking lot, fear pushing her foot down to the floor.


Warrick smiled at the janitor, "I have a warrant to look at your neon supplies...and Mr. McQueen's office out here." The janitor motioned for Warrick to follow. "Dad doesn't have an office out here...Mr. McQueen only comes out here when the press is involved. He only drags himself out of his air conditioned office when there is publicity involved. He's forgotten about these pieces, they're not good enough for him...They're disappointments...he doesn't handle disappointment well.

To say Warrick was getting a bad vibe from Allen McQueen was quite possibly the understatement of the century...the needle of his creepy meter had buried itself in the red.

"I see. Well, I still need to see the neon tanks and any paraphernalia that would be used to repair the signs." Allan nodded and Warrick looked the man over, from the top of his balding head to the tips of his dusty work boots...

The realization his Warrick almost as hard as the shovel Allan wielded...Warrick's knees hit the ground and his last thought echoed in his mind like a broken record...

'We had the wrong guy.'

Author's Note: Didn't I warn you there would be charecter owchies? I wasn't talking about skinned knees, people.