Chapter XXXI

Good Morning Las Vegas!

"I can't believe I let myself be conned into this." Sara pushed her sunglasses up against the bridge of her nose for the fifth time since Sofia had picked her up at the Crime Lab, and crossed her arms over her chest.

Sofia smirked as she glanced at the other woman from the corner of her eye. Sara's expression bordered on petulant. "It could be worse."

Sara sighed; she knew that. After much debate -- a bar brawl with words as opposed to fists, and glares instead of curses -- it had been decided that they would talk to Alex again, in a more informal manner until things were clearer. That hadn't made Catherine very happy. Catherine, who was meeting them presumably right outside Dupree's suite, had been ready to rouse a judge and get a warrant. Grissom had, almost reluctantly, decided that Sofia's low key, take the mountain to Mohammed plan was the better one. Sara had been sent along to, as a sort of ambassador of goodwill, and she wasn't particularly pleased about that. Sofia knew it was a raw spot for her. Unless they proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that Alex was innocent, Sara was eyes-only. She couldn't handle, sign off on any evidence, or run with theories. She was an invisible investigator as far as this case went. Sofia knew Sara was feeling burnt by that. Since the case was now focusing on her ex, the burn was probably somewhere between the third and fourth degree.

Sofia had brought her coffee -- a good memory for details had allowed her to get the brew exactly the way Sara liked it -- and that had earned a smile. She knew that the CSIs, much like she and Jim, had spent the shift chasing down the ring lead that Wendy Simms had uncovered. They were one confirmed kill away from having a bona fide serial killer on their hands -- classification wise, anyway. Sofia, like Sara, was already certain that they had a serial killer; she didn't need another kill to know that. The woman was taking rings from the men she killed as trophies. Abernathy's wedding ring and a State Championship ring from Marsh. Female serial killers were rare, but not unheard of. The abnormality of the case made it all the tougher. The press was already going wild over it. They'd been forced to sneak around through one of the side entrenches to avoid the paparazzi.

The elevator continued it's long climb up the sky-scraping hotel and Sofia shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "So did you have to do that allot back in the day?"

Sara blinked, "Do what?"

They had a few more floors left until the coveted penthouse level. Sofia shrugged, "Avoiding or elbowing through crowds of paparazzi, rubbing elbows with movie stars and mega millionaires. Riding in limos and flying in private jets. That sort of thing."

Sara chuckled, "No. No, I was a strictly behind the scenes girlfriend. Most, almost all, of my friends were with the SFPD. I did my best to stay out of the glitzy part of Alex's life. It was just simpler that way."

The conversation grew stilted again, the gentle hum of the elevator and the monotonous pings of the piped-in muzak failed miserably at defeating the silence.

Jim had cleared it with the lawyer and they had called ahead. It felt slightly strange, interviewing a potential homicide suspect in the comfort of her own suite. Sofia generally preferred her own space at the PD where she was comfortable and completely in control of the situation. Though, if she felt strange, she couldn't imagine what Sara was going through.

The elevator finally dinged and the doors slid open without even a squeak. Sara stepped out first, the picture of professionalism, her dark suit still crisp and her sunglasses still firmly on.

She shattered the image by smirking, "Top floor, Shoes, Ex Girlfriends and Coworkers who'd rather shoot me than say 'Hi'."

Sofia matched her smirk and tried desperately to control the very unprofessional chuckle that climbed up her throat. Maybe Sara was more prepared to deal with this situation than Sofia had given her credit for.

When they rounded the corner and saw Catherine standing with her kit in hand and a scowl on her face, Sofia had to smother her laugh into a cough. Sara glanced at her and Sofia saw a thin brow arch coolly under sunglasses. Oh, she was good. Sara was laying the gloss on thick and heavy and the shine looked good on her. Sofia especially liked Catherine's sour half smile when Sara took off her glasses and positively chirped off, "Good Morning."

Sara rolled her neck and let out a grunt when a round of firecracker-like pops went off in her neck. She went ahead and popped her knuckles, rolled her shoulders and shook out her legs, as if she was about to run a triathlon instead of talk to a suspect. Of course, she had spent the night psyching herself up like a triathalete. A mental one, at least. She was very glad she had chosen her wardrobe from the left side of her closet. She looked cool, crisp and completely professional. That was how she was going to handle this. She was a professional and what she had with Alex was long over, dead, buried and had disintegrated into dust. This was just like any other case, she had to solve it, then go home to her dog. As Greg would say, 'Badda-bing, badda-boom, and we're done."

She had to keep Greg away from Mob movies, or at the very least, start tuning him out when he started talking about Old Vegas.

"All right," She looked from Catherine to Sofia, " Alex will not be in a good mood about this, not at all. She is unpredictable; she more or less thinks that being predictable is a sin." Sara shook her head; stability was something that they had never quite seen eye-to-eye on. "She could have her lawyer, a team of lawyers or none at all, I honestly don't know." Sara paused, but before Catherine could butt in, she picked up again, "I can tell you that her assistant will be there, she keeps Alex's schedule. Her agent, God help us, might be in there too. Alex usually carries three to five bags, but don't expect them to be in any sort of order."

Sara sighed, "She's smarter then she looks, don't underestimate her. She knows her rights and what we'll be looking for and what questions we'll be asking." She slid her hands in her pockets and shrugged, signalling that she was done.

Catherine snorted, "Brought a lot of work home with you back then, huh? Guess you haven't changed that much. Did she let you keep the scanner on for mood music?"

Sara knew very well that the older CSI was baiting her. She didn't dignify the comment with an answer. Instead she knocked on the door.

The door opened and her neutral mask momentarily slipped. It was not Alex at the door, it was much worse. The man at the door was wearing a conservatively cut Armani suit, his hair was gelled into place firmly enough that Hurricane-force winds wouldn't disturb it. He had manicured hands, whitened teeth and a scowl that made his underlings duck and cover. Tristian Andros Incorporated, Agents to the Stars.

Andros had built the firm, literally from the ground up. Managing careers, brokering deals, handling temper tantrums, and spinning the worst possible kind of publicity into PR gold, Andros was a God amongst peons in Los Angeles, New York and every celeb get-away in between. His firm of twelve highly trained ass kissers held the reigns on dozens of Hollywood's hunks and starlets, for an incredible fee, of course. Tristian only handled the crème de la crème. If you weren't on the A List, word was he wouldn't even see you personally. Sara had hated him from the first day they had met. Tristian hadn't particularly liked her either. She had never been, to quote Tristian, good for Alex's image. Anything that wasn't good for Alex's image wasn't good for his wallet. If there was anything, besides himself, that Tristian loved, it was his bank account.

When she had been Alex's girlfriend, he had at least been passably civil, she could expect much less than that now. She squared her chin and stared him dead in the eyes, like one would do a dog to establish dominance.

He glared right back at her, "Sidle."

His reception was positively glacial, and Sara momentarily wondered if he was Catherine's long lost twin brother.

Sara let it roll off her back, "Official business, Mr. Andros, this is Detective Curtis and CSI Willows with the LVPD."

He nodded and stepped back. "Ms. Dupree's lawyer is a few rooms down and if I don't like what I hear I won't hesitate to bring him up here."

Sara almost wished he would; she liked Alex's long-time lawyer. She didn't voice her opinion, though, and quietly followed Andros into the penthouse suite.

The carpet was thick, plush, and the low heel of the boot she had polished the evening before sank into it. The main room's centerpiece was the wall of windows that looked out over Freemont Street and that was where Alex was, looking out over the bustling city bellow with a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. Her feet were bare and her faded jeans were casual. The shimmering gold halter-top she wore looked more suited to a late night of clubbing than an interrogation. Without her turning around, Sara knew that her makeup was flawless and, though her hair was tied in a lose ponytail, it too would be perfect. Sara knew very well that despite the time, Alex had already been up for hours, preparing herself. The casual appearance, the coffee and her positioning were all just window dressing. She wasn't fooled one bit.

The woman sitting on one of the nearby leather couches seemed largely unimpressed by the company: the view or the visitors. She was speaking in rapid Italian, presumably to whomever she was talking to via her bluetooth earpiece, typing on a Mac Notebook, and glancing at several sheets of paper spread out around her. Sara didn't recognize the young woman -- it was hard to recognize anyone when their face was buried in a laptop computer -- but knew exactly who she was, Alex's personal assistant. Alex hadn't employed an assistant at first, but as her career took off, she had been swamped with details, and details were something that Alex didn't handle very well. Sara had tried to help, for a while, but outside of giving up her career, she wouldn't have been much help.

Her Italian skills were minimal, but she recognized the woman's sign-off "Ciao" and knew the call was over. After a few more fast key clacks, the woman looked up, and Sara felt a tickle at the back of her brain. The woman's hair was short, jet black and razor cut; she wore all black, her lip was pierced and Sara was on the verge of putting a half-remembered name with a fuzzy face in her head.

"Sara."

Sara blinked, but before she could say a word, the young assistant was on her feet. "You probably don't remember me." Now that she could see the woman's whole face, she could see a resemblance. "I'm Jenica, Piper's younger sister." She held out a hand to shake and Sara finally made the connection. Piper had been the name of Alex's assistant when they'd parted ways. It was actual interest, and fond memories, that had Sara asking after Piper, instead of the expected niceties.

"She married David Sinclair -- you remember David? -- and is busy raising four children, I have pictures." Alex's voice sounded almost kind, but it was a well honed barb. It was a subtle reminder of her past. Of course she remembered David, she'd introduced Piper, Alex's assistant, to David, a CSI with the SFPD, at a barbecue. He'd been a great friend to her.

Alex, finished off the statement with a sigh and empty cup dangling from her hand, walked towards them. "Jenica, please pull up my schedule for the last year and print it out for them." Alex sat on the couch opposite of them, crossed her legs and laid her arms across the top of the couch.

"Sit, please, let's be civilized this time. They lined themselves up with the glass coffee table between them. Alex sat between Jenica and Andros. Sofia sat across from Andros and Catherine was across from Jenica, who was coaxing her computer to transmit the needed pages to the printer wirelessly. There was a space that gave more than enough room for her between the two women. Sitting between Catherine and Sofia, across from Alex, Sara opted to stand behind the couch. The high back hit her just above the navel, no one could see her wring her hands or tap her feet.

Alex clapped her hands together, "Okay, so let's get started. I remember how these things go. Questions, searches, spending all your time with your nose down a microscope. Taking DNA samples, dusting for prints, becoming obsessed with solving a case." She was looking straight at her, but Sara refused to flinch. It was an argument they'd had several times towards the end.

On the couch, Sofia rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. She probably felt like she had walked in on a lover's spat. If Catherine felt the same, she didn't show it. "We saw your little Public Service Announcement on Ms. Dupree. I have to admit, it was flashy, Super Bowl worthy even, if you can get past the sociopathic and frankly disgusting parts. Far be it from me to violate your freedom of speech, but you show that to impressionable girls and that's just sick."

Sofia quickly jumped in, "What she means, Ms. Dupree, is that there are several unhappy circumstances that we need you to explain."

Alex shrugged, "I am an open book for you, ladies. Anything I can do to help out Las Vegas's finest."

Sara rolled her eyes, "Cut the act, Alex, this is serious."

Beside the supermodel, Andros scoffed. "Alexandra's in trouble and Sara Sidle is right in the middle, agging it on. God, why am I not surprised? It's a viscous cycle and it never changes."

Alex frowned at the agent, "Tristian, behave."

More serious now, Alex stared down Catherine. "Rape isn't pretty, Ms. Willows, I know you know that. I'm working to put an end to it any way I can. Better education, stronger laws and harsher punishments. The best way to beat rapists is to prevent the rape in the first place."

Catherine scowled, "Second hand rape stories from Sara and numbers don't mean jack coming from you." Sara let out a hiss of breathe, Catherine had gone and done it now.

Alex's eyes, a predatory gold, flashed. "And working rape cases doesn't mean you know shit about being raped. You obviously got your job by fucking someone, Ms. Willows, because it couldn't have been ability. My case was well documented and covered by the press. I was raped."

Author's Note: And the story resumes after a dibilitating battle with the flu. More on Catherine and her rage later.