Binding Ties Read Online Free PDF Page A

compact, mournful-eyed Brass—always one to wear a jacket and tie, no matter the weather—had showed up in jeans and a blue shirt open at the neck.
    The uniformed officer, Logan, went out to catch Brass at the front stoop, thinking a relative or other civilian had arrived. The detective flashed his badge, but Logan seemed unimpressed.
    â€œWhat brings you to our neck of the woods, Captain?”
    Leaning out the doorway, Grissom called, “He’s with me, Officer. It’s all right.”
    Logan, apparently not wishing to tangle with Grissom again, sighed and nodded and let Brass pass.
    â€œYou could’ve told him I was coming,” Brass complained.
    â€œYeah, well I’m still working on my social skills,” Grissom said.
    â€œReally? How’s that coming along?”
    Shrugging, Grissom stepped back inside and got out of the way so Brass could see the body.
    The detective took one look and shook his head. The blood had drained from his face and his eyes were large and unblinking. “Well, son of a—”
    â€œIs
it CASt?” Grissom asked.
    Catherine came back in from the kitchen, kit in one latex-gloved hand, gesturing behind her with the other. “I didn’t find anything except dirty dishes …” Seeing Brass, she froze and blinked. “Aren’t you on vacation?”
    Brass nodded to her. “I was.” His sad gaze fixed on Grissom. “Well, it sure
looks
like CASt’s handiwork….”
    â€œCast?” Catherine asked, joining them. The three had the corpse surrounded—he wasn’t going anywhere.
    Closing his eyes, Brass touched the thumb and middle finger of his right hand to the bridge of hisnose. “You didn’t work that case … you might even have been a lab tech still. I dunno.”
    Catherine looked at Grissom and tightened her eyes in a signal of,
Help me out here?
Grissom, of course, merely shrugged.
    Brass was saying, “I know you’ve heard me talk about it—my first case here? Never solved? Lot of play in the press? Worst serial killer in Vegas history? Cop in charge an incompetent New Jersey jackass? Sound familiar?”
    â€œTaunted the PD in the papers,” Catherine said, nodding, thinking out loud. “Used the initials … C period A period S period tee.”
    â€œâ€˜Capture,’” Grissom said, “‘Afflict, and Strangle.’”
    â€œI did a little lab work on the case,” Catherine said. “I was nightshift then, too. And wasn’t it a dayshift case?”
    â€œYes. This was ten, eleven years ago.” Brass rubbed his forehead. “I just transferred in, from back East. Still shellshocked from my … my divorce. Not exactly on top of the Vegas scene, yet….”
    â€œAll I remember about the case is pretty vague,” Catherine admitted. “More from TV and the papers than anything in-house….”
    Grissom said, “Lots of media, but we were able to control it better in those days. And fortunately it never caught wide national play.”
    Brass said, “Yeah, we kept as much out as we could. My partner, Vince Champlain, didn’t want to muddy the waters.”
    â€œGood call,” Catherine said. “Wish we had better luck with that, these days.”
    Brass continued: “Vince was the senior detective. He figured, more we put in the paper, more crackpots we’d have to deal with. S. O. P. And yet, of course, there were plenty just the same. We must’ve had twenty different whack jobs try to claim those crimes.”
    â€œNone of the wrongos looked right?” Catherine asked.
    Brass shook his head. “Nah, standard issue nut-cases. Serial confessors.”
    Catherine said, “What
did
you have?”
    With a dark, defeated smile, Brass looked at her and said, “Victims—we had victims. Five—all male, all white, all in late middle-age, and all on the heavy side