“You can go in now,” said the receptionist, who didn’t seem surprised at all.

The man sitting behind the desk in the next room was not what Catherine had envisioned. He was young, clean-cut, wore glasses with stylish, stainless steel frames and a short-sleeved white shirt with a blue tie. He was so nondescript her eyes practically slid off him-which, she had to admit, was probably the point.

“Hi,” she said. “Catherine Willows, CSI.” She showed him her badge, which he examined a little more thoroughly than she was used to while shaking her hand.

“Darwin Hardesty,” he said. “Have a seat. What’s this about?”

“Hal Kanamu. He just turned up dead.”

Hardesty frowned. “Overdose?”

“Surprisingl y, no.”

“Robbery?”

“Doesn’t seem to be. You investigated him, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You know about the bet? Well, I was sure he must have had some sort of inside information. Couldn’t prove it, though.”

“Any leads?”

“I think the closest thing to a link I dug up was a second cousin he hadn’t seen in ten years who once worked at a resort Kendall Marigold’s dentist stayed at. When she was six.”

“What’s your gut say?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. It was such an out-of-left-field, weird prediction… but not only did I not find any proof, Kanamu himself came across as on the level. A slightly off-the-wall, drug-using kind of level, but essentially honest. He really believed the information came to him in a dream-I had experts interview him. He even passed a polygraph.”

“How did Frankie Thermopolis take the news?”

Hardesty smiled with a mouth full of even white teeth. “Not too well. But he’s a professional gambler and knows there’s no such beast as the sure thing. He may not like it, but he takes the bitter with the sweet. I think he’d recouped his losses within a couple of weeks, anyway.”

Catherine nodded. “You turn up anyone else who migh t have wanted him dead?”

“Not around here, but he hadn’t been in Vegas that long.”

“How about in Hawaii?”

“Some small-time drug stuff. I guess one of his former buddies might have gotten wind of his win and shown up demanding his share, but Kanamu didn’t seem to hang with a dangerous crowd. He was even trying to clean up-before his big score.”

“Yeah, that much money could push anyone off the wagon.” Catherine got to her feet. “Thanks for your time. Think I could take a look at your files?”

“Sure. I’ll have Cindy fax them over to your office. Willows, right?”

“You got it.”

Catherine had to admit that Darwin Hardesty seemed to know his stuff; the file he sent over on his investigation into Hal Kanamu was thorough and professional. It also seemed to confirm exactly what he’d told her-if Hal Kanamu had inside information on the status of Kendall Marigold’s virginity, he hadn’t been able to uncover it. Catherine sighed, put down the file, and went in search of other information.

She found Hodges hunched over a table in his lab; he seemed to be sketching something. “Taking up cartooning, Hodges?”

Hodges looked up, startled. “What? No, I was just brainstorming a few ideas for-never mind.”

Catherine glanced at the pad Hodges was dood ling on. “Is that a microscope with legs?”

Hodges flipped the pad over. “What can I do for you, CSI Willows?”

“I was wondering if you had anything new for me on that shard of volcanic rock.”

“Ah. You mean you need information on a mineral sample?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Then I can’t help you.” Catherine had seen that smirk too many times to think he was finished. “However, if you would like my findings on a mineraloid sample, I have some news for you.”

“The rock… isn’t a rock?”

“Not exactly. It’s obsidian, a very interesting substance. As a glass, its structure isn’t crystalline. It’s highly felsic, but with too many elements to be considered a single mineral. It’s mostly silicon dioxide, though.”

“Okay, so it’s volcanic glass. Where did it come from?”

“That’s the interesting thing. I checked a geologic database and got a match. It’s not from Nevada at all-it’s from Hawaii . Not only that, but-despite the fact that the Hawaiian Islands are basically all volcanic-there’s only one site on any of them that produces obsidian: Puu Waawaa.”

“Excuse me?”

“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.