Grissom located Catherine, standing in front of a formidable stack of cases of beer. He silently crept up behind her as she figured on a notepad then marked black X's on four of the cases.

"Are we having a party? What's the occasion?" He inquired; his face inches from her ear, then smirked as she jumped.

"One of these days, buddy! To the moon." She muttered, regaining her composure.

"So?" He prompted.

"Alas, no party, they're empty. From the `Grill'em' sports bar where Frank Leland had a couple of beers with a brunette last night. Best I can figure, those four cases are the best place to start looking."

"For?"

"A Budweiser long neck and a Pyramid Apricot Ale. They should be together. The bartender said she put them in the last two spots, more or less, center of an outer row. Hopefully, we'll find prints and DNA from the vic."

"And, from a likely suspect, as well."

"Yep. Oh, and by the way, Brass thinks the ID for Vanessa Thomas is fake." She stated as she wrestled one of the marked cases out of the stack and carried it to the lab bench. Once they had all four cases out, they began a meticulous search.

"Ah, hah!" Catherine exclaimed, holding up two beer bottles. "Lipstick on the rim."

"Backwash." Grissom pointed out the liquid remaining in the bottom of each bottle.

"Damn, I'm Good!" Catherine happily pronounced.

"Yes, you are." Grissom agreed, sharing her excitement.

"I'll take these to Greg and get a rush on the analysis." Grissom said as they carefully swabbed the rim of each bottle. "We'll see what else we have when I get back, okay?"

"Sure." Catherine responded. She transferred the fluid remaining in the bottles to vials; after that, she carefully dusted the exposed glass surfaces of each bottle and lifted a few prints. She was fuming the Bud bottle, hoping to expose prints on the paper label, when he returned.

"Got anything?" He asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"Oh, yeah." She answered. She lifted a partial, then repeated the procedure with the ale bottle, two more partials. Grissom sifted through the various lab reports he'd picked on his return trip.

"I'll take these prints to Jacqui, see what she can do with'em."

Grissom had the bloody sheets laid out on a lab bench by the time she returned. They silently studied the sheets, the computer-generated layout and various photographs of the scene. Catherine picked up the knife. "Did this thing just fly through the air and stab him, repeatedly? Look at the pillow, there should be some transfer from the bloody hand that laid it there."

"Unless, it was dropped or lightly tossed into place. There could've been transfer around the body that was covered as he bled out. We're both assuming a medium height and weight woman was straddling him, naked."

"Well, the spatter indicates a right-handed arc, like this." She mimicked the stabbing motions above the sheet. "She had to be on top of him, probably naked. How else would she distract him enough to pick up a knife and stab him without a fight?"

"What if…" He paused. "She wasn't completely naked? Maybe, had something on?"

"The bartender said she had on a tank top and skirt. His shirt was on the floor by the bed so she didn't put it on."

"Why would she put on his shirt?" Grissom asked, perplexed.

"Oh, I don't know. I've done that on occasion." She shrugged, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Really?" He was decidedly curious but let it drop.

"Brass still hasn't located the ex-wife." She stated to change the subject.

"The description doesn't match her." He responded as he fished out the DMV report.

"Well, we don't have any proof he actually left with the woman from the bar. He could've left to hook up with the ex."

"The description of the bar woman better matches `Vanessa Thomas'."

"Maybe, she got the room and the ex met them there."

"You're implying two people. What's with the ex?"

"Well, it's usually someone with an axe to grind, often an ex. He was recently divorced; besides, two would make it easier to clean up. Maybe the ex was hiding in the bathroom."

"Okay, let's go back to what the evidence indicates. Say, one woman, and she's astride him. It was premeditated; no one carries around a knife like that just for the heck of it. It would have to be hidden, but where? Under the pillow, maybe? If she had something on and dropped the knife, her feet probably wouldn't have blood on them. So she could've used, whatever she had on, to wipe off most of the blood. Got the towels, cleaned up some more; then, packed up her stuff, turned on the TV and put out the `Do No Disturb' sign as she left."

"I can buy that; but, why the beer in the trash can?"

"Maybe a cheap, convenient, alternative to an ice chest; there's plenty of ice at a motel. Probably, wouldn't want to chance more than one trip out of the room; someone might see, so she's gotta carry out, everything she brought in. If you figure at least one suitcase and a trash bag containing the evidence; even a small cooler would be encumbering." He replied as his pager buzzed. "Greg has something on the DNA. I'll be right back."

"No ID from the ale bottle, DNA matches an unsolved in LA, from two years ago." He informed as he returned, somewhat disappointed. "How about we pack this stuff up and call it a night?"

"You gotta hot date?" She replied with a smirk.

"Could be." He smirked back.

TBC