Kevin Montrèsor, husband to Sarah Montrèsor, sat opposite of him. Like Nick, his arms and face were covered with pustules. On his neck and arms were deep scratches from fingernails. If Nick had been able to focus, he would have realized that the most damning proof was in plain sight, but he could only stare silently at the folder. Eventually the silence made Kevin Montrèsor stop tapping his leg. It was a long enough that Brass slowly looked at him. Even the officer standing guard at the door eventually looked down at Nick.
To Nick, it was mere seconds that he was silent. He was trying to find the courage to make his mouth open and vocal chords work. He knew if he messed this up, if his emotions got in the way, Sarah Montrèsor’s husband would walk. He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t let that happen. Not because he felt she deserved justice, but because the man that had kidnapped and buried him alive had escaped justice. He needed Kevin to pay for his personal torment also.
“You were married to Sarah Montrèsor?” Nick softly asked.
Brass’ phone quietly beeped. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and read the screen. He quickly fired off a text message and returned his focus on the interview.
Nick cleared his throat. “I’m told you were packing to leave when they picked you up. I’m confused. Why would a guy leave if his wife were missing? You did file this missing person’s report, didn’t you?” Nick slid it across the table to Kevin. He kept his eyes on the table, unable to look at Kevin.
Kevin didn’t even look at it. “Yeah. I figured she’d just left with her lover.”
“She was cheating on you?”
“Yeah. With another woman. I found out by walking in on them.”
Nick made the mistake of looking into Kevin’s dispassionate eyes. Was this what Walter Gordon had looked like when he spoke to Grissom?
Nick didn’t realize his mind had wondered and everyone in the room was staring at him, again. Brass cleared his throat. When that didn’t work, he cleared it even louder.
Nick glanced at Brass, and then looked down at his papers. His courage was selling him out.
“Uh… When, uhm… When was the last time you s-saw your wife?”
“A few days ago. So she was buried alive?”
Nick slowly looked up. He hadn’t said that. He knew Brass or the arresting officer never would have said that.
Nick asked, “Why would you ask that?”
Kevin leaned on the table. “Ask what?”
“No one told you how she was found.”
“Really? I thought someone had. Oh! I know where I’ve seen you before. You were that C.S.I. buried alive, aren’t you?”
Nick’s mouth dried out. Kevin grinned, and there was no kindness in it.
“Yeahhh. Some guy buried you alive ‘cause you put his kid in prison. Say, what was that like?” Kevin leaned toward Nick.
Nick began shaking as he reactively leaned back, away from Kevin.
Brass tried to intervene. “Kevin, you were asked a question. Answer it.”
“Did you freak out the entire time? Did you scream or just cry?” Kevin pressed.
Nick stood, knocking his chair over. “Excuse me.” And he left the room before anyone could object.
Kevin sat back with a smug smile under Brass’s glare. Brass now connected what was causing Nick’s strange behavior on this case.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Brass told him.
“I got all night, Officer,” Kevin said and then laughed.
Brass walked out into the hall, but Nick was gone. He opened the observation room door. It was empty.
Brass called Grissom. “Gil. That problem you asked me to check up on… It just walked out of an interview and it wasn’t acting normal. What do you want me to do?” Brass glanced back into the room. “I’ll detain him as long as I can.”
The computer screen before Warrick populated with information about Edith Stuckley. He was brother to Ronald Stuckley, owner of the Lucky Strike Casino. It wasn’t a large or popular casino but it pulled in a nice profit and had survived the constant changing changes on The Strip. There was no indication about Edith’s last known whereabouts, but his brother had filed a missing person’s report in 1999.
Warrick glanced at the coins, changing thought gears. He glanced up when he saw Nick rush past. Warrick stood to follow, but he glanced back at the table of evidence. He couldn’t leave it. Warrick sat back down, pulling up the police report database and threw in some keywords: gold, coins, bullion, 1999. The computer started chugging away.
Warrick pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and took the driver’s license over to a camera on a tripod. He snapped off a couple pictures, and then began putting the evidence away.
“Warrick,” Grissom said behind him.
Warrick glanced at him. “Yeah?”
“Have you seen Nick?”
Warrick motioned toward the stairs. “I think he was headed to his thinking spot.”
Grissom left. Warrick watched him go into the stairwell. Had things come to a head finally? Warrick’s concern was derailed when the computer displayed a few dozen results. Warrick finished putting his evidence away and sat down to wade through results.