“I’m afr aid so,” said Grissom. “Work.”

“You told me you were off for the whole of the conference,” said Soames. “You’re not just ditching us, are you, Gilly?”

“I’m not actually on the clock,” Grissom admitted. “This is more of a personal interest.”

“Nobody you know, I hope,” said Vanderhoff.

“Not exactly. More like a species I’m familiar with.”

That got their attention. “Oh?” said Soames. “Flies? Maggots?”

Vanderhoff shook his head. “They wouldn’t bother him for something so mundane. Beetles? Something poisonous, perhaps?”

“I’m not sure,” said Grissom, getting to his feet. “But it’s definitely unusual.”

“Unusual?” said Soames. “Oh, no, mate. You can’t do that to us. That’s like dangling a nice plump rabbit before a croc and then snatching it away.”

“I can’t really talk about an active police investigation.”

“We’re not asking for gossip,” said Vanderhoff. “We understand the need for discretion. But we are your colleagues-couldn’t you share a few details in a purely professional sense?”

Grissom hesitated. Many were the times he’d discovered some particularly fascinating aspect of bug life related to a case and either had no one to share it with or had been me t with raised eyebrows and squeamishness when he brought it up. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I can’t promise anything, but I might be able to discuss the insects themselves. In a purely scientific way, of course.”

“Good enough,” Soames declared. “Go get ’em, Gil. Bring us back some juicy tales tomorrow.”

“Yes,” said Vanderhoff. “Do return with something interesting…”

Grissom showed his CSI ID to the uniform at the door and stepped into the motel room. He hadn’t brought his kit, but he had slipped on a pair of gloves as a precaution.

“Knew you couldn’t stay away,” said Brass. “Pay up, newbie.” He held out his hand to Riley.

“I’ll get you later,” said Riley.

Grissom raised an eyebrow at her. “You bet against me?”

“Against you driving to a fleabag motel in the middle of the night on your own time? Seemed like a pretty safe bet to me.”

Behind her, Nick Stokes tried to suppress a chuckle. Grissom gave him a look. Nick suddenly found something very interesting to examine on the other side of the room, though he didn’t bother getting rid of the wide grin on his face. He’d known Grissom a long time.

Grissom nodded hello at Dr. Robbins, then approached the bed. They’d removed the bag from the head and transferred the millipedes t o a plastic evidence container with holes punched in the top. Grissom ignored the bugs and studied the corpse’s face instead.

“Gris?” said Nick. “Creepy-crawlies are over here.” He tapped on the lid of the evidence container that stood on the table next to him.

“They’re probably Harpaphe haydeniana,” said Grissom. He pulled a penlight out of his pocket and shone it on the vic’s face. He looked like a high school or college student, his hair brown and cut short. His skin was a bright pink.

“You know that without looking?” said Riley. She sounded skeptical.

“I could be wrong,” Grissom admitted. “But the color of the skin and the petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes point to death by cyanide poisoning. Harpaphe haydeniana are more commonly known as cyanide millipedes, because they emit hydrogen cyanide gas as a defense mechanism. They’re common in the rain forests of the Northwest, but not in Nevada.”

“So the bugs were actually the murder weapon?” Brass asked. “Means he and they were sharing that bag while he was still alive. Nasty.”

“It’s like a killing jar in reverse,” said Grissom.

“Killing jar?” said Brass.

“It’s what entomologists call the container they put specimens in-specimens they don’t want alive. It has a thin layer of plaster of paris on the bottom as the absorbent substrate for whatever poison is used. These days, chloroform or ether is the most common-but some collectors will actually use these very same millipedes to generate cyanide gas. You have an ID?”

“Keenan Harribold,” said Riley. “Found his wallet in his jeans. Pile of clothes at the side of the bed. He’s seventeen, goes to Plain Ridge High. I’ve got a cell phone, too-looks like the last place he called was home.”

“Desk clerk-and I use the term clerk loosely-was no help,” Brass said. “Name in the register is L. W. Smith. Doesn’t remember anything about the guy-it could have been our boy here or someone else.”

Grissom scanned the room. “A teenage boy in a motel room-any sign of alcohol, drugs, or condoms?”

“Yeah, found a brand-new box of pre-lubricated love gloves in his pocket,” said Nick. “Looks like he came prepared to party. Didn’t happen, though-no sign of sexual activity.”

“Whoever he was meeting had a very different agenda than he did,” said Riley. “And they didn’t leave much behind, either. We’ve been through this room and the bathroom and found nothing. Neither the soap nor the water glasses have been used.”

“So our killer probably wasn’t staying here,” said Grissom. “This location was probably chosen for its privacy. Easier to control someone young and strong-he could have threatened him with a weapon to get him to put on the cuf fs.”

“And then bagged and bugged him,” said Riley.

“Yes,” said Grissom. “A very deliberate-if unusual-way to kill someone. The killer obviously has some knowledge of entomology.”

“Sorry, Grissom,” said Brass, “but I’ll have to take you in now. You had a good run, but your homicidal tendencies have finally gotten the better of you. Thanks for making it so easy, though-I appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I could do,” said Grissom. “The thing is, while normally I’d agree with you about the identity of your prime suspect, at the moment I’m not the only one in town who holds those particular qualifications…”

“Damn,” Greg Sanders said, turning on the AC of the Denali. “It’s gonna be a hot one today.”

“Yeah,” Catherine Willows agreed. “Sun’s only been up an hour and it’s already over a hundred degrees. But look at the bright side-we’re almost at the end of our shift.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with working graveyards and still being at risk for sunburn.”

“Baseball hat and sunglasses, Greg.” She tapped the brim of her own cap. “Also useful for hiding bad hair and bags under your eyes.”

She checked the dashboard GPS and then pulled off the highway onto a narrow dirt road. They were a few miles west of the city, the terrain uneven and rocky. They hadn’t gone far when Greg spotted the telltale blue-and-red flashing lights of a parked cruiser.

The coroner’s wagon was already there. David Phillips, the assistant coroner, was talking to a tall black officer, both of them drinking coffee from paper cups.

Catherine parked. “Hey, David,” she said as they got out. “What do we have, guys?”

The officer nodded at both of them. “Well, it’s a little strange-”

“Uh, do you mind if I explain it?” David interjected. He smiled a little nervously. “It’s just-I probably won’t get a chance to do this again.”

The officer shook his head. “Be my guest.”

“What’s up, Dave?” Greg said. “You got something special for us?”

“You could say that.” David smiled. “Okay, first thing I have to tell you is that I’m pretty sure our vic is a Pacific Islander.” He motioned for the CSIs to follow him as he led them around a house-sized outcropping of granite. “And the second is that he’s probably a virgin.”

Catherine mock-frowned as she walked along, her CSI kit in one hand. “Virgin as in the Virgin Islands? Or as in-”

They rounded the corner and all of them stopped.

“-virgin sacrifice,” Greg finished.

Only one arm and the head of the body were visible. The hand ended in five red stumps-his finge rs were gone. The rest of the corpse was embedded in a mass of pitted black rock with veins of vivid scarlet running through it. A thick scarlet sludge was edging its way across the desert floor, bits of black matter floating on top.