Sin City by Max Allan Collins

Author:Max Allan Collins [Collins, Max Allan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

Out in the large, tidy garage, Pierce stood on the periphery, arms folded, while a latex-gloved Grissom poked around.

One of the two parking places stood empty, the therapist’s blue Lincoln Navigator occupying the other. A workbench made out of two-by-fours and plywood ran most of the length of the far wall, tools arrayed on the pegboard above it, larger power tools stored on the shelf below. Three bikes and two sets of golf clubs in expensive bags lined the nearest wall. A plywood ceiling held a pull-down door with stairs that gave access to the crawlspace up there.

“Do you own a chain saw?” Grissom asked affably.

“A chain saw!” Pierce’s eyes and nostrils flared. “I resent this harassment! I’m trying to—”

Holding up a traffic-cop palm, Grissom interrupted. “I’m not harassing you, Mr. Pierce.”

“That’s how it looks to me.”

“I’m sorry you see it that way. I’m doing my job, which is to find and eliminate suspects based upon the evidence.”

“I’m automatically a suspect, I suppose, because I’m the husband.”

“Based on that tape you heard Captain Brass play, it’s fair to say you had argued with your wife, threatening her with violence… and when she turns up dead in just the manner you described, you tell me? Are you a reasonable candidate for the crime?”

The therapist looked dumbfounded. “Well…”

“Your cooperation helps me eliminate you as a suspect. Remember that.”

Pierce turned conciliatory, sighing as he walked over to the criminalist. “I’m sorry, Mr. Grissom. I guess I lost my head, because I do know how it looks.”

The question,the CSI thought, is how did your wife lose her head? But Grissom had enough sense and tact not to blurt as much.

Instead, Grissom said only, “Understandable, sir. Understandable.”

“Lynn and I had some really good times, before she was… bornagain. I’m telling you, it’s like she joined a cult. Do you know that she told me, once, that she felt it was so sad that good people like Gandhi and Mother Teresa had to go to hell, ’cause they hadn’t been saved, like she had? I can’t lie to you, Mr. Grissom—we were definitely in the divorce express lane.”

“The chain saw?”

Pierce sighed, pointed. “Under the workbench… Want me to… ?”

Grissom nodded, followed him over and watched as Pierce pulled out two chain saws and hauled them, one at a time, up on the bench. One, a brand new STIHL, was still in the box.

“This box is sealed,” Grissom said, giving it a close, thorough look.

“Yeah, just bought it yesterday. Got the receipt.”

The other, an old Poulan, was so rusty that Grissom could tell just by looking that the saw wouldn’t even start, let alone cut through a human body.

“What do you generally use a chain saw for, Mr. Pierce?”

“Cutting firewood, mostly. Pile out back.”

Grissom nodded at the door leading outside. “May I?”

“Be my guest.”

Behind the house, in the moonlight, Pierce showed Grissom to the woodpile. Using a pocket flash, the CSI knelt and inspected several of the cords.

“These are freshly cut, Mr. Pierce.” He stood. “You’ve got one saw that’s inoperable, and another still in the box.

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