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…”
    As if it had been choreographed, the detective and the two CSIs looked as one at the dead body.
    â€œâ€¦ and all strangled with a reverse-eight noose.”
    Catherine frowned. “Which is what, exactly?”
    â€œA knot—a ‘wrong’ running noose,” Grissom said. “It’s about which end of the rope you pull to tighten the noose. This knot’s backward … and other than yo-yos, you never see it used.”
    Turning back to Brass, Catherine asked, “Any real suspects back then?”
    â€œWe started with a slew, but we narrowed it to three,” Brass said. “I had a guy I liked, Vince had a guy
he
liked, and there was a third one that lookedgood, only neither of us thought he did the killings.”
    Pointing at the body, Grissom said, “Here’s how we do this: Run it like we would any other homicide investigation.”
    Brass nodded, then asked, “You want me to start with looking into our old suspects?”
    Grissom gave him a long, appraising look. “First, a question.”
    â€œSecond, an answer.”
    â€œShould you be working on this?”
    â€œShouldn’t I?” Brass said, his voice rising slightly.
    â€œJim,” Catherine said. “You’ve carried this one around for a long time. Objectivity—”
    â€œCan kiss my ass,” he blurted, then immediately seemed embarrassed about it.
    Grissom studied his friend. “So you’re Captain Ahab on this one?”
    â€œLet’s just say,” Brass said, “I’m gonna catch the dick.”
    â€œAh,” Grissom said ambiguously.
    â€œAnd,” Brass said, swallowing, his tone softening, “we will, as you say, work it like any other homicide.”
    Grissom’s eyes met Catherine’s. Her skepticism was etched in an open-mouthed smile.
    Apologetically, Brass said, “Come on, you two—you’ll keep me honest on this. You’ll keep me—”
    â€œObjective?” Catherine offered. “You really think this is a good idea, Jim?” But her question was obviously intended for Grissom.
    Grissom ignored that and said to Brass, “Do you see any reasonable way this could be a coincidence, looking so much like a CASt-off?”
    Catherine added, “Which is what the press called his victims, right?”
    â€œYeah, and it’s no coincidence.” Brass indicated the corpse. “If this isn’t the guy’s real signature, it’s sure as hell a copycat who knows how to commit a hell of a forgery.”
    Catherine asked, “How so?”
    Brass shrugged. “Well, if it’s a copycat, he or she knows way more than was ever in the media.”
    Nodding, Catherine said, “You kept things back, so you could sort through the false confessions. Of course …”
    Grissom said, “Whether this is a blast from the past, or a latterday cover artist … we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
    Catherine drew in a deep breath and let it out. “New or old—this is one vicious killer.”
    Grissom was watching the homicide captain. “See anything here, Jim? You’re the veteran of the CASt-off crime scenes.”
    Brass moved closer, squatted next to the dead man, then finally rose and faced Grissom.
    â€œMuch as I’d like to have a crack at the original CASt,” he said measuredly, “I think this may be a copycat.”
    Grissom and Catherine traded a look.
    â€œWhy?” Grissom asked.
    â€œAppears staged. For one thing, there’s not enough blood.”
    Catherine stared at the coagulating puddle on the rug. “How so?”
    â€œThose five original murder scenes,” Brass said, and his eyes took on a haunted cast, “spray was everywhere. Here, there’s none of that.”
    â€œBlood spatter,” she said with satisfaction; after all, it was her specialty. “In the other cases, were the fingers cut