Donn Cortez - The Killing Jar

“That’s the name of the place, Puu Waawaa. It’s a volcanic cone on the north side of the Hualalai volcano. Primitive tribes used it to make things like arrowheads or kn ives-obsidian holds an edge right down to the molecular level. In fact, it’s still used for surgical scalpels today.”

“So our vic probably brought it with him.”

“Or his killer did.” Hodges paused. “Catherine, I want your honest opinion-which do you think is sexier, a centrifuge or a gas chromatograph?”

“Hodges, you really need to get out of the lab more often.”

“NONE OF THEM went for it?” asked Brass.

Nick and Grissom glanced at each other on the other side of the desk. “No,” said Grissom.

“We gave ’em every opportunity,” said Nick. “We paraded them around the lab, put crucial evidence in plain sight, then made sure each of them was alone with it at least once. Hidden camera showed that none of them so much as glanced at it.”

“They all seemed genuinely interested in the millipedes,” said Grissom. “A fistfight almost broke out over a disagreement about the species.”

“Qua d r os?” said Brass.

“And Jake Soames. Though to be fair, I don’t think Jake would have swung first.”

Brass leaned back and sighed. “So much for the direct approach. How about the subtle? Did any of them ask inappropriate questions?”

Grissom frowned. “They’re scientists. There’s no such thing as an inappropriate question.”

“Then I guess we’re back to square one,” said Brass.

“Maybe not,” said Nick. “None of these guys are local, but the U.S. has pretty good relations with Australia, Thailand, Brazil, and South Africa. I might be able to dig up some background with a few phone calls and e-mails.”

Brass raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got connections I don’t know about, Nick?”

Nick laughed. “Everybody comes to Vegas sooner or later. I’ve made a few friends.”

“Then start running up that phone bill,” said Brass.

Riley found Grissom in his offi ce. “Got a minute?”

Grissom peered at her over the top of his glasses. “Yes?”

She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. “I just talked to a possible suspect in the Harribold case.”

“And?”

“He’s a minor. But he could be who we’re looking for.”

Grissom frowned. “Did you speak with him with a legal guardian present?”

“No, but his mother gave me permission. He didn’t say anything incriminating.”

“But you feel he could be responsible.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He’s only sixteen, but he has motive and possibly the means. I thought I’d talk to you first before bringing him in for a formal interview.”

Grissom thought for a moment, then pointed to a jar on a shelf to his right. “You see that?”

Riley took a step into the room and tilted her head. “Is that a brain?”

“Yes. Specifically, the brain of an Oryctolagus cuniculus -a domestic rabbit. I dissected and preserved it myself-when I was fifteen.”

“Uh-huh. So you’re saying you’d like me to bring him in?”

“I’m saying I’d like to be present when you talk to him.”

Nick Stokes was a friendly g uy, and he knew the value of networking. While many people these days relied on e-mail, Nick had found that a phone call was more likely to get results than a line of text on a screen. He put out feelers to various agencies in various countries, talking to people when he could and leaving messages on voice mail when he couldn’t. He’d been at it for over an hour when he finally got a call back from Mongkol Sukaphat, an officer with the Royal Thai Police. One of the oddities of Thai culture was the use of a nickname, usually bestowed in childhood, that then followed the person throughout their adult life. Even though these names were often absurd, Thais were so used to them that even the most ridiculous were never remarked upon.

“Yes, I’m returning a call from Nick Stokes?”

“Beer! Thanks for getting back to me…”

Nick gave him a quick rundown on what he needed: the arrest record, if any, of Khem Charong.

“Let me check,” Sukaphat said. “Ah, here we go. Yes, he has been arrested before. Shall I send you his file? It’s in Thai, of course.”

“Can you just give me the highlights over the phone?”

Nick jotted them down as Sukaphat talked. By the time he thanked Sukaphat and hung up, his smile was gone.

Grissom closed the interview room door gently, t hen turned and smiled before taking his seat. “Hello, Lucas. My name’s Gil Grissom. I understand you’re interested in entomology.”

Lucas swallowed, looked from Grissom to Riley and then to his mother beside him. She had her own gaze fixed on Grissom, as if she could control what questions he asked through sheer force of will.

“Uh, yeah,” he said.

“So am I. In fact, I’ve studied insects for many years. Do you have a favorite?”

“I don’t know. I like spiders, I guess. And scorpions. They’re not insects, though, they’re arachnids.”

“That’s true. I own a baboon spider, myself.”

“Yeah? Those are pretty cool.”

“I think so.” Grissom smiled. “Don’t be nervous. We just need to ask you a few questions. All right?”

“I guess.”

Grissom glanced over at Riley, who took the cue.

“Where were you on the night Keenan Harribold died?”

“Uh-at home, I guess.”

“I can confirm that,” his mother said. “He spent the evening upstairs doing homework. If he’d gone out, I’d know about it.”

Riley nodded. “Have you or your family traveled to the Pacific Northwest any time in the last year? Vacation, field trip, anything?”

“No.”

“Vacation?” his mother said. “In this economy? Not for a while.”

“Do you ever get insects by mail-order?” asked Grissom. “It can be hard to obtain certain specimens locally.”

“No, I go to the Pet Cave for all my stuff. They know me down there.”

Grissom made a note on the pad in front of him. “I’m familiar with the place myself. They have a nice selection, don’t they?”

“I guess.”

“Mrs. Yannick, do you or your husband keep any firearms in the house?”

“What? No. No, we don’t.”

“Thank you, Lucas, and thank you, Mrs. Yannick. I think we have all we need.”

Riley looked less than satisfied but didn’t say anything until after Mrs. Yannick and her son had left. “That was kind of brief, wasn’t it? You didn’t even ask about his relationship to Keenan Harribold.”

“I didn’t have to. While it’s conceivable Lucas could have snuck out of the house without his parents being aware of it, he would still have had to obtain a gun to control Harribold and rent the motel room. Difficult for a teenager, even in Vegas.”

“He could have an accomplice.”

“Conceivable, but unlikely. If Lucas Ya nnick killed Keenan Harribold, he did it because he was an unpopular loner being bullied by a more popular athlete. Those kinds of kids rarely have accomplices.”

“Maybe not in your day. In mine, they wear black trench coats and carry automatic weapons.”

Grissom got up from the table. “Nobody wants to see a repeat of Columbine, Riley. But the circumstances in this case are very different. I suggest you concentrate on finding the man who rented that room rather than a fifteen-year-old who’s interested in bugs.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Sixteen,” said Riley to the empty room. “He’s sixteen.”

Khem Charong glanced nervously around the interview room. “I don’t understand. Where is Dr. Grissom? Why have I been kept waiting for so long?”