During the processing of the murder scene, Catherine, Warrick, and Greg's investigation turned up countless bodies. And even more ejaculate samples. All of which, Catherine was certain, would match up to Ginger Gracie and Claire when they were run back at the lab. It was a multi-hour process, and the lighting was almost gone... – setting on the end of their difficult shift.

And yet, when they climbed back into their car to head back to the city with their results, she felt strangely energized. This still wasn't over – it was time to go for Ginger Gracie.

Another elevator...

Greg shook his head a bit, to clear the blurring.

"Almost there, man," Warrick reassured quietly. "Almost there..."

Greg nodded, fervently. It was getting so close to the end, now. All there was that remained was for him to survive another elevator ride... and then arresting the perp. DNA had turned up Ginger Gracie all over that desert. All over the corpses. She was going down, and she was going down hard.

Perhaps THIS was the hardest part of the job: when you felt emotionally attached to the victim's loved ones, and it turned out they were the criminals, they were the ones who did it...

Greg's teeth gritted as the door opened from the elevator to the hall – he followed Brass and the other two officers down it. There was Ginger Gracie's room, conveniently situated right at the end of the hallway. No way to escape the police, now...

"LVPD!" shouted Brass, when they had reached the door.

Mrs. Gracie answered it quickly. The smile she put on was even more infuriating to Greg. He gritted his teeth tighter.

"Yes, officers?"

"Get out of the room, Mrs. Gracie," Brass rattled off. "You're under arrest for murder and necrophilia."

Greg felt Warrick clapping him on the back once when her jaw dropped, and the cuffs clicked onto her.

But she recovered quickly – as she passed, she looked over at them, and a savage grin ripped across her face. "Mr. Sanders," she greeted mockingly, with an incline of her head.

Greg watched her go with his head held back and high. Right before she disappeared into the elevator, her expression became even more smug.

Brass' voice brought him back to it. "Alright, check for anything else you may be able to find, here. I'll see you back at PD."

Greg nodded.

"Gotcha, Captain," said Warrick.

Catherine's footsteps were calmed and measured while she went towards Brass. He was looking around disinterestedly – likely as eager to get home as the rest of them were.

"Jim," she greeted when she reached him. "We ready?"

"Yeah, almost," he replied. "So, tell me what you found in the desert, so I know what we're working with, evidence-wise."

She nodded, and opened the folder. "Okay..." she began, "we found tons and tons of female ejaculation, all over the place."

Brass shuddered.

Catherine grinned. "Oh, come on, now, Jim. We women do it, too."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm well aware," said Brass, uncomfortably. "I just... well, never encountered it before."

"Well, you sure have, now," continued Catherine. "These two women were absolutely maniacs. They left the products of their fetishes all over the desert. The corpses were covered in them. At least a hundred of them, so far."

"'A hundred'?!" repeated Brass. "How many did we find?!"

"We're still finding. Current reports suggest they've found almost two hundred, right now."

Brass' teeth ground together. "All right..." he said. "Is there anything else? Or can we go nail this bitch, now?"

"I don't think she'd like it – you're too masculine, and you have a pulse. But, there is, uh... one more thing. It's more... personal."

"Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

Catherine inhaled, and felt calmness rolling up in her. "Grissom's off the hook. When you get back, you're going to find a memo on your desk. He didn't kill the Crest CEO."

"What?" asked Brass, astonished.

"Yeah," said Catherine. "I'll give you the details afterwards." She looked through the glass at a malicious-looking Ginger Gracie, and could see Brass doing so, as well. "For now... I agree: let's go nail this bitch."

She strode from there into the interrogation room. Ginger Gracie looked up when the door opened, and she saw them coming in.

"Ah," she said. "I've already seen Mr. Sanders. Now, it's you?"

"You got it," answered Catherine. "I get to do the honors."

"'Honors'," quoted Mrs. Gracie. "Is that how you see this? Is that how you delude yourself into believing this is okay?"

"You killed at least a hundred people, Mrs. Gracie," said Catherine. "Spare me the pity party."

"That sounds good to me," added Brass. "We're here to talk about the how... but mostly, the why."

Catherine and Brass took to the chairs before her.

Mrs. Gracie folded her arms in front of her. "Are you, now? And what makes you so interested in that? I thought your jobs were to find the who and the how. Why the why?"

"Look, in situations like this, there's more than enough justification to press for the why of the matter," answered Brass. He folded his hands in front of him on the table. "And don't give us lectures, lady. You don't know how PD or CSI works."

She smiled. "Nope. You're right about that. I have some ideas, though..."

"Uh huh," placated Catherine, to get the show moving. "So, Mrs. Gracie, are you gonna help us out with that?"

"Where's Claire?" answered Ginger Gracie.

"That's none of your business, anymore," Brass snapped. "The two of you will never see each other again, regardless of anything else. We got more than enough to charge you for serial murder, and there's not a jury in the world who won't convict. If anything in this business is certain, Mrs. Gracie, it's that you. Are. Going. Down. ...for everything you've done, here. So why don't you just give all the nonsense and bullshit up, and come clean about it, hmm? It might make you feel better," he added sarcastically.

To Catherine's surprise and anger, Mrs. Gracie began to cry silently. "You don't understand..." she whispered. "You don't know what kind of life I've had to live. You people... always hunting for fingerprints and DNA samples... You've forgotten what it's like to be a person. To be a person living in the world, and to have to deal with the things the common folks do."

"Even if you were anywhere within the ballpark on that ridiculous assessment, you're far from being a commoner, Mrs. Gracie," rebutted Catherine. "Far from it."

"Is that what you think? You think I'm above the rest? You think I'm just a different form of you? Why...? Because my husband made money?"

"Only following your logic," argued Brass. "Following ours... you're just a perverted, sick-minded killer."

Mrs. Gracie exhaled loudly. "There's just no getting through to you people, is there?" She looked away, deliberating for just a moment. And then turned back to face them head-on. "Alright. Claire and I met a long, long time ago. Back in high school."

Catherine raised her eyebrows.

"I remember it so clearly." Mrs. Gracie smiled at her hands on the table, bound in cuffs. "We were both in the English class. It was her neck that got to me. It was so... beautiful, so delicious-looking."

She raised her eyes again, and Catherine was a little suspicious to see a hint of begging there. "You have to understand: I FOUGHT it, I really did. I tried to see my boyfriend in the same way. I tried to ignore. Tried to teach myself, show myself, that it was natural. That my pleasures should be organic, not synthetic. That I should be proud to have a man in my mouth. And I should be disgusted with myself for ever having a woman– ...Ever hav–"

She shook her head. "It just didn't work. It didn't, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't deny myself, any longer. I gave in. Claire and I met one night, under the bleachers. She was a cheerleader. I was... well, I was the loser, back then. If anyone had seen us then, they would've guessed that MY future was as a secretary. I've never forgotten how it felt, that evening... The lights were out, save for one. The stars above..."

She took in another deep breath. "Unfortunately, my father didn't understand. And neither did hers. Our fathers were... religious." She looked up for a moment, but then let her head drop back down. "They told us we were of the devil. They told us we were possessed, insane. I pleaded with him to let us stay. I told him I'd refrain, I'd find a way." She glared at the table. "I had other reasons, you know. Other things about my life back then, I wanted to stay for. But they insisted that the best way to fight 'sin' was to 'separate ourselves from it'. We were all living in Wisconsin back then. So, we separated."

She wrapped her arms around herself, and sniffled. "I found out later that they took Claire to California. While WE came HERE. I tried to deal with it, though. I met Archie, I married him... After my parents had made the rest of my life complete hell – I was probably the only girl whose parents not only allowed, but encouraged sexual interaction between their daughter and a male. My mother even told me she would be proud of me if I would get pregnant..." She scoffed. "They were that desperate...

"But, I didn't. I had my fun with the boys and men I met along the way, I really did. It isn't as if there isn't some fun to be had. But it was never enough. Never satisfying... Men just can't do what women can do. They don't have the self-control, or the lasting ability in bed. And they don't show the same care that women do out of bed. With men, it's all about sex, you see. Everything they do for you that's nice, or... kind, in some way... it's all because they're playing a constant, on-going game of seduction.
"So, shortly after my marriage, I became smothered. I felt like, if I didn't do something to free myself, I would kill myself. Fortunately, I discovered that Vegas was not only a good place to do whatever one wants, but a land full of people who didn't care, didn't judge for it. Here were women, and hundreds of them, all lining up to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. I had no reason to be worried anymore. I needn't tell my parents, or my husband. He'd lived this type of life style all his life! He knew there were untold, un-discussed secrets in the real world. He didn't question me when I spent so much time with my 'friends'.

"And imagine my joy when I went with Archibald the day he accepted his job at Crest. And who do I see when I go in? Claire! There she was, my Claire! Right there, behind the CEO! His secretary...

"As it turned out, Claire hadn't been so quick to give up." She grew teary-eyed again. "And for that, I will never, ever be able to repay her. She came here, she found me! She moved her entire life all over again, out to Vegas. She hoped, desperately, that she'd eventually find me, so she took a job at a desk to try to help her efforts along.

"Afterwards, she never needed to worry for money again. I helped to fund all of her nice things. Archibald thought it was great! Thought she and I being friends was wonderful for both the marriage and the career he was trying to build!

"I found, all too soon, that whatever had happened between Claire and I back in school was powerful. She, too, had learned the perks of living in a place similar to Las Vegas. Where life operates by the rule that we can do whatever we want. That's how I convinced her to get into bed with me... and a corpse."

Catherine suppressed a gag. Jim's hands, on the table beside her, tightened.

Ginger Gracie noticed. "One thing I hadn't learned back then was how judgmental the police could be. The only people in the whole of Las Vegas, I'd say." She shook her head, sadly. "But, you see, I also learned quickly that the police were stupid. By that point, the number of corpses I'd slept with was already high. And Claire understood it! I knew we were absolutely, undeniably made for each other when she didn't run screaming, or threaten to turn me in... but rather, she enjoyed it. She even procured a few of the bodies. She was a gift from God! Who I finally couldn't deny the existence of! It was he who had killed that woman, that prostitute I'd been with. When she died during the encounter, I thought it was a bad thing. I thought it meant God had abandoned me. In truth, God was closer than ever to me, at that time! I'd discovered it! Discovered what I needed to get myself through the rest of my life!

"Unfortunately, my husband and my oldest son just couldn't see it. So, when they came home that day, and they stumbled through the bedroom door... well, they just didn't get it. It was a good thing Claire had stumbled across the insurance fraud. Not only did it provide us with a source of bodies, but it provided us with money. And a great cover! It was actually Greg who came up with the idea that I was having an affair. Bless him, he was so helpful. Never showed a sign of faltering... If I had been somehow attracted to men, it would've been him, truth be told. I would've even left Archibald for him without a glance back!

"Him, or my son, that is. If he weren't my son..."

Catherine was squeezing her hands underneath the table. We'll go for dead bodies, but no incest, huh? she couldn't help thinking...

"Archibald was mostly cooperative. He rarely raised a protest to anything that was going on. Naturally, I told him not to hold back on my account. He could sleep with anyone he wanted. And he was always welcome to come sleep with me, to share in my joy! Husbands should do that with their wives, you know? But he didn't spring for it. I'm honestly not sure WHO he ended up with. It's a shame, I'm sure he made a great lover to SOMEBODY out there...

"But Frank, you see, was just a shell of a human being, after his siblings died. He pressed on, he lived life as best he could. But I saw a lot of myself in him. I saw that he needed something, just as I had. He didn't quite sympathize with the empowerment one can find in sleeping with a body, but he DID eventually find that he liked killing and delivering them. Even watching, on occasion. That's how he got the job at Crest – Greg offered him a formal position to explain his presence at Crest, but the REAL money was in taking care of Greg's end of the deal for him. Frank took a lot less money than the people who'd been hired before. That lady WAS nice, though... I was mildly saddened when Frank brought us the old hit team in body bags...

"Eventually, though, Archibald was beginning to come loose. He came home nervous and shaky for months. I've no idea why, because everything was flowing unbelievably smoothly, more than I could have ever imagined it could flow for me to have a happy life. Frank was all too happy to take care of that for us, too. He had his own problems with Archibald. Problems like I'd had with my father, the only difference being Archibald wasn't religious. And thank God for that! I'd have killed him, myself, for my son's sake...

"Frank never did tell us about his affair with the prostitute, though. Or the child he'd fathered. He met her coming off the plane back into Vegas. He came home after he'd spoken to her and told us what he'd discovered. Archibald didn't want to bring the child into this family. I would've pressed against him, but Frank didn't care. And Archibald was taken care of that very night! Greg offered to step up to the plate for us, quite happily, of course. He went to get her, himself. Heather, I hear her name was."

"Is," spat Catherine, in absolute repulsion at the vile, unspeakable, unsalvageable monster sitting before her. "Heather IS her name. She's not dead. We got to her, before your buddy could finish the job."

Mrs. Gracie shrugged. "It's of no value to me, deary. Greg only told me that he was going to enjoy finishing her off because she put up 'one hell of a fight,' I believe his words were. I was just in it for the aftermath of the killing. I must say, though... my son and I, sleeping with the same woman... in life and then in death... well, I was kind of looking forward to that part."

Brass didn't say anything. He stood up and stormed out of the room, red in the face. Catherine watched him go, and hid her face away from Ginger Gracie by staring after him a little longer than necessary.

When she turned back, she inhaled, and asked the question she didn't want to know the answer to. "And, uh... how much of this does your housekeeper know? Or the great grandmother of your son's daughter?"

Greg's arms were wrapped comfortingly around Delora. The elderly housekeeper had burst into tears long ago. Her frail form was shaking, and she had thrown up a couple of times during the confession into the waste basket. Greg was holding it at foot's length, and balanced on the other, while the kindly old woman sobbed against him.

"Delora? Oh, for heaven's sake..." replied Ginger Gracie from inside the interrogation room. "That would've been one too many people to have kept track of." She shook her head slightly. "I do feel a little badly, though. Delora never did know everything she was cleaning up when she came to our home. And she was such a loyal employee..."

Greg's eyes narrowed. For the first time in his career, he didn't actually know if he would be able to let this person walk past him into prison. That wouldn't be enough for a person like this... for anyone like Ginger Gracie...

Delora raised her head. In her eyes, Greg saw a world of hurt and shock and betrayal. "Oh, my God..." she whispered. "Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I swear to you, I had none! I–"

"–Ma'am, I believe you," reassured Greg, softly. "We all believe you. And no one's going to count you in for this once they hear everything Ginger Gracie's just confessed to. Trust me, when a jury hears this tape...? I'd be surprised if they even ask you to submit to a lie detector test..."

Delora wiped her eyes with a saturated Kleenex she had clutched to herself for most of the whole thing.

"And you know... Archie's grandmother talks a sweet game, but she's just too much of a bitch," went on Ginger Gracie. "She would have told, no question about it."

Greg saw Catherine's head duck. And then shake... This had to be one of the absolute worst things they'd ever encountered in Las Vegas.

"I really thought I knew them," Delora piped up. "It makes me feel sick. I worked for them for all these years, I had no clue at all."

"Nobody did," comforted Greg. "How could they? This is just sick, Delora... on levels you couldn't have anticipated. I know it's in your nature, but... don't blame yourself."

"I feel like I've wasted so much of my time... so much of my life with them. I feel wrong... And what am I going to do for a job?"

Greg inhaled a deep breath.

"Officer, get her out of here," Catherine said from inside interrogation.

And with that, Ginger Gracie was roused from her chair – rather forcefully – by a pale and green-faced policeman.

"You don't understand..." repeated Ginger Gracie, insanely. "You don't understand."

"Yes, Mrs. Gracie, I do." Catherine held the door open for the officer. "I understand that sometimes in life, there IS nothing to understand. There's no way to justify this. Nothing, no matter how strongly you felt or believed, gave you the right to do anything like this. And I sincerely hope, by the time your trial is over, the verdict will make the world a better place by removing you from it." She stepped out and gestured for the officer to proceed. "And I've never said that before, not to anyone. No matter how screwed up I thought they were, that never mattered. I never hoped for the death penalty. Think about that. That is, if you even CAN comprehend that kind of thought or emotion, anymore."

"Oh, yes, I know it well: I am different from you, so therefore, I must be eliminated."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "There's no point..." she sighed, and then looked up, directly into Ginger Gracie's eyes, once again. "'Eradicated' is more like it, Ginger Gracie. Completely and totally 'eradicated'."

The officer went past them, and turned down the hall with Ginger Gracie locked firmly in his grip. She didn't fight him at all as he dragged her off.

Catherine came up behind Greg and Delora. "I'm sorry, Delora," she offered. "I'm so sorry..."

"That's okay," responded Greg. "We were just making plans. We'll see to it Delora's taken care of!" He looked back to her. "I think it's probably fair to say, you've earned a little peace, huh? Mayhaps we can find you somewhere nice to retire?! You could go and visit your own family," he suggested.

Delora smiled, and dabbled at her eyes a little more. "That's nice of you, Mr. Sanders, but I don't know what to do if I'm not working. And my own family...? I think it's too late for that. Work is all I've known, for all of my life... I can't just change gears now."

"Oh, I bet you can," said Greg, friendly. "I'll help. If you start out, here in Vegas, and maybe go somewhere else later on...? I'd be happy to help you find a way to adapt to a new life style. Might give me a little preview of what it's going to be like when I'm your age."

Delora's smile turned into a full-blown grin. "My only regret in my life, despite everything else I've just found out about the people I once thought of as friends and good employers, is I won't live to see you at that age, Mr. Sanders. You're a fine young man." And she gave him a hug. "Fine... and I gotta thank you for making this old woman's life – especially at a time life this – that much better. I feel like I know now why I had to go through all this. Thank you so much, Mr. Sanders."

Greg felt her smiling up against his chest. He returned her hug, and felt the tears escaping his eyes. He looked over.

Where Catherine, Warrick, and Brass were smiling at him. And he'd never felt prouder. Being the primary on the case hadn't meant anything, in the end. He'd done his part...

...And perhaps a little more. With which he was not just okay...

...but absolutely happy.

"Alright, so what's the deal with Grissom?" demanded Brass.

Catherine took a seat and snatched up the memo from in front of him. "First, tell me what's going to happen to Ginger Gracie and Claire...?"

"They've already been assigned separate prisons. They're in a holding cell, now."

Catherine's eyes widened. "They're with Nicky?"

Brass' eyes, on the other hand, narrowed. When he spoke, his tone was short. "No, Catherine, they're not anywhere near Nicky." He then smiled down at his folded hands. "He's, uh... he's gonna be on his way out, soon."

Catherine exhaled with relief, and leaned back against her chair.

After a few moments in which they both rubbed their eyes, Brass held a hand out for the report. "What's going on with Grissom?" he again asked.

Catherine shook her head to clear it. "Oh! Yes..." She cleared her throat. "The deal is: Grissom didn't kill him." She passed the report over to him.

"Yeah, you told me that," pressed Brass. "But what the hell DID happen to him, then?"

"Heart attack," answered Catherine, completely relaxed for the first time since the whole thing had begun. "Doc's autopsy came back. The cause of death was a heart attack."

"At... At the–"

"–exact moment Grissom fired at him, yeah," finished Catherine, and she nodded once. "That's right. What are the odds?"

"Next to nothing," commented Brass. He was again staring off, apparently astonished.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. It was an evidence bag, and there were three bullets in it. "I found these amongst the vegetation, out there in the desert. They match Gil's gun. No blood, no DNA at all. He didn't do it."

Brass threw his hands up. "Well, thank God for that much... Then, that means we don't have to explain this to ANYBODY."

"Nope," Catherine affirmed. "As far as I know, the public doesn't know about Grissom taking a shot at anybody, yet. And all we have to do in Nick's case is–"

"–play him up as the hero he is." Brass scratched the back of his head. "And he is. If he hadn't shot that guy, that woman would've died. And who knows what could've gone wrong with this whole Gracie case...?"

Catherine raised her eyebrows once, to show her agreement. "Is this the part where I can say, 'I knew it'd all work out, but I'm sure glad it's over'?"

Brass laughed. "Something like that." Then he reached under his desk again. "Hey, Catherine... you want a drink?"

She smiled. That smile where her lips were open, and her tongue was obviously rolling over her teeth, with her eyes angled downwards.

When they moved up again, she could even feel her eyes sparkling as much as she could see them in the reflection on his desk. "I'd love one, Jim."