Catherine was constructing a diagram of the crime scene, employing a relatively new computer program, when her cell phone rang. It was Brass, who after a perfunctory greeting informed her. "ID on the lady is probably fake. Goes along with the fact that she paid cash and left a deposit behind. Frank Leland was a history professor at UNLV; I've interviewed a couple of his associates. He was going to the `Grill'em' sports bar last night, care to meet me there?" He asked.

"You bet. I've been there; it's pretty new. Stays open round the clock." She replied.

At the Grill'em sports bar…..

"Dr. Leland was murdered. I can't believe it." One of the bartenders, Marcy Taylor, said upon hearing the news of his demise.

"So you knew him." Brass inquired.

"Oh, yeah. He used to come to `Final Play' when I worked there. I told him, me and a couple of the other regular bartenders were taking jobs here so he started coming here. We got better hours and pay so, you know, time to move on." She replied.

"Was he interested in a relationship with you?" Catherine asked.

"Nah, he wasn't like that. I think he just wanted to be around some familiar people. There are quite a few other guys that used to go to `Final Play' that come here too. He got divorced not that long ago. I think he was lonely, didn't know what to do with himself." She responded.

"How did you know to call him doctor?" Brass questioned.

"He was my Prof a couple of years ago for `Western Rot and Torture', um, sorry, `Western Thought and Culture'. He was a good teacher, it's just, ah, well, it was a Gen Ed class." She answered with a shrug. "Once in a while, he'd tell me to call him Frank; I guess, I just couldn't get used to it."

"What do you remember from last night?" Brass asked.

"Dr. Leland came in around seven. I got him a Bud, long neck, his usual. Sometime later, maybe an hour or so, I noticed a woman sitting by him. They were chatting; I thought that was good, you know." Marcy recalled.

"Can you describe the woman?" Brass interrupted.

"Brunette, brown eyes, I think, um, kinda medium, trim. She wasn't a knock out but not bad looking. She drank Pyramid Apricot Ale." She answered.

"Do you recall what she was wearing?" Brass inquired.

"Uh, a beige tank top, looked like it was silk; navy skirt, maybe from a suit." She replied.

"How many beers did they have?" Brass asked.

"Him, three, I think. Her, two, that I served." Marcy answered.

"When did they leave?" Brass continued jotting notes.

"Ninish." She shrugged.

"Could you be more exact." Catherine asked.

"I finished a sandwich about ten after nine. They were gone when I came back. I put their bottles in the case – See, this why I'm not really sure. When we finish out a case, we're supposed to take it to the back and bring up an empty. I was working with Dave Rucker last night and he thinks that's beneath him. He's got that whole `Tom Cruise Cocktail' thing going on, you know. Anyway, those bottles could have sat for nearly a half hour." She explained.

"Let me get this straight, you keep the empty bottles?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah, New Earth Recycle picks them up on Monday and Friday afternoons." She replied.

"May I see them?" Catherine asked with mounting excitement.

"Sure." Marcy answered and led them to a storeroom where cases of empty beer bottles lined one wall.

"Uh, where're you going with this, Cath?" Brass asked.

"DNA, prints. Marcy, did you sell any other Pyramid Apricot Ales last night?" She asked.

"I don't think so. We don't sell that much of it. We keep a couple of cases around because it's a favorite of the owner's wife." She answered.

Catherine obtained permission to take the bottles to the lab. From Marcy, she got a description of the order in which the cases were most probably stacked. She numbered the cases with a red Sharpie before they were loaded so they could be reassembled, in exact order, back at the lab.

TBC