Richard Bathory sat looking at his lawyer a sly smirk covering his face as his pale eyes made the man across the table wither silently in his seat. Bathory had gone through a succession of lawyers since his arrest six plus years ago. At first he had tried to pick only female attorney’s enjoying their body’s reaction to him. The nervous shifting, the way they would pull on their clothes and try to hide the secrets held within. They had all eventually removed themselves from his case so that now he was left with the dark haired, slick lawyer sitting across from him.
Bathory could well imagine the man being a normally confident man. He had that swagger that came with men filled with self importance, which made Bathory enjoy his discomfort even more than usual. The man was nothing, his notions of his status nothing but delusions of grandeur. He thinks that my case will help him with his ambitions, Bathory thought amused by the notion.
Adam Matthews endeavored to proceed with Richard Bathory’s case as much as possible without meeting the man. Matthew’s prided himself in knowing which of his clients were guilty and which were innocent. The guilty one’s tended to pay better knowing that the scales of justice were already invisibly shifted by their culpability. The innocent ones were optimistic that justice would be served and they would be exonerated. Richard Bathory seemed optimistic but he was by no stretch of the imagination innocent.
“So,” Matthews began darting a brief look at his client. He didn’t want to make eye contact with the crystal eyed psychopath but didn’t want the monster to know it. “You will be transported to Clark County Jail at the end of the week. Unless the court docket is changed we will have you in the court and in front of the judge by Tuesday of next week.”
Bathory gave a single slow nod like a king to his subject. Leaning forward to place his elbows on the table, Bathory rested his chin on his clasped hands as his gaze drilled icily through Matthew’s calm. “You know Mr. Matthews; I have enjoyed your efficiency in this matter.”
Nervously standing to his feet as he placed papers haphazardly in his brief case Matthews tried to give the man a nonchalant smile. “I do my best,” he said, his smile looking more tentative than casual.
“Yesss, I bet you do.” Bathory hissed as he relaxed back in his chair. “You will let me know what I can do to repay you. Yessss,” he chuckled at some inner notion “I will have to come up with some way to repay you.”
Matthews froze in the process of locking his briefcase and for a fleeting moment in time he looked into the eyes of evil and knew he was traveling a very delicate line with consequences far reaching. With a smile that did not reach his eyes, Matthews nodded and left the man to his guards.
Richard Bathory rubbed his palms together eagerly. In three days he would be transported to Las Vegas and in one week’s time he would be free and reunited with his brother. Oh, and the bonus would be that he would be free to deal with Dr. Gilbert Grissom. Something he had been dreaming of for many years. Markus had let him know Grissom had gotten away but Grissom would not go far and this time Richard would take care of the great Gil Grissom!
*****************************************************************
After processing the mine for eight more hours after Grissom had left, Catherine and Brass headed to the house to check on Gil and Sara. Sara answered the front door her eyes puffy and red, her face pale. Immediately Catherine stepped in, her hand resting on her shoulder as she tried to both comfort her and find out what was wrong.
Brass placed a hand on Catherine’s shoulder, a light pat had her looking into the living room in complete astonishment. The room was destroyed. The end tables were in splinters, the television lay smashed on the floor with cable torn from the wall. The love seat had been upended and stood precariously in the far corner of the room.
“Are you okay?” Catherine immediately turned worried eyes on Sara, looking for any evidence that she may have been caught in the carnage.
Sara nodded weakly, “He didn’t hurt me.”
“Where is he?’ Brass asked sternly as he searched the nearby rooms.
Sara stood a little straighter trying to project a little more confidence. She had spent the rest of the day trying to get Gil to calm down. On the drive back to Vegas she had pleaded with him to stop and see Dr. Thoren. When he wouldn’t do that and had come completely unhinged Sara had called the doctor. To his credit Gerry Thoren had been at the front door to the safehouse in less than thirty minutes.
Grissom had screamed and railed at Thoren for thirty minutes before he had turned his wrath on Sara. Spitting rage filled venom at her; he had backed her up against the wall, never touching but by sheer intimidation.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he had hissed at her, his breath tickling the hair that framed her face. “You wanted THIS.”
“Gil,” Dr. Thoren had warned stepping forward in a gesture that said he would be prepared to protect Sara if need be.
Grissom had turned an angry, confused gaze on the man before a dawning realization washed over him. Looking back at Sara, fear and self-loathing warring on his face, he raised a trembling hand towards her face. Sara had waited with baited breath for the gentle caress she was certain would come but abruptly Grissom had dropped his hand and fled to the patio to stare trance like at the pool.
With some coaxing Dr. Thoren had gotten Grissom to take his medication. Not long after that Sara had been able to convince a more pliable Gil Grissom to head for bed.
Sara had spent some time with Gerry Thoren before the doctor had left, extracting a promise from her to call if she needed anything.
“Sara?” Catherine looked to Brass, concern furrowing her brow. “Sara!” she spoke more forcefully.
“Hum, sorry,” Sara said with start as she was pulled from the painful memory. “He’s asleep. Dr. Thoren came and was finally able to get him to take his medication.”
Under normal circumstance Catherine would be willing to bet that Las Vegas was going to turn its casinos into cathedrals before betting Grissom would physically harm Sara. A small niggling doubt had crept into her subconscious.
“I’m going to have Nick come over and help you later tonight,” Catherine began. Seeing that Sara was about to interject she held up a hand. “I’m not saying you can’t handle it. I’m not even saying that you have to go but you do need to get some rest and I would feel better if Nick were here.”
Sara didn’t protest but she felt the need to defend Grissom. “He won’t hurt me, Catherine. He’s more a danger to himself than me.”
Brass had steered the two women to the kitchen and poured three cups of coffee.
Sitting at the breakfast bar with Catherine, Sara explained, “He forgets to eat and when he does its barely enough to sustain a child. He won’t sleep. He rarely takes his meds. He has this perpetual headache which Dr. Thoren thinks is more psychological than physical and I think he has become phobic of water.”
“What?” Brass asked looking at Sara with an incredulous frown.
Sara tiredly pushed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. She looked utterly exhausted. It was the kind of fatigue that soaked into a person’s soul. If she wasn’t at work then she was Grissom who fought sleeping as if it was a mortal enemy.
Sara couldn’t completely blame him. The nightmares Grissom suffered every time he succumbed to his exhaustion were horrifying to witness. Sweat would drench his body. He would twist and thrash in a remembered agony that would have Sara desperately waking him in an attempt to save him from his nightmares.
Returning from his subconscious hell, Grissom would cling to Sara like a lifesaver in a hurricane. Sara would always offer to listen but Grissom’s hold would slowly turn sensual and the two of them would desperately seek turbulent waters of a different sort.
“Why do you think Grissom is afraid of water?” Catherine asked, slowly twisting the warm mug cup of coffee in her palms.
“He sits for hours next to the pool, just staring at the water. But if you ask him if he wants to go for a swim he’ll just storm off and…” Sara’s voice trailed off in uncertainty.
“Yes” Catherine’s voice was laced with a thread of apprehension.
“He has a recurring nightmare where he drowns in a black lake filled with snakes,” Sara continued. “He tried to tell me it is just his subconscious working overtime since it has named the lake Tank.”
“Tank?” Catherine’s eyes were wide as she looked between Sara and Brass.
Brass gave Catherine a look that said ‘give’ while Sara’s eyes only grew wide with more worry.
Processing Bathory’s little hell hole had been an eye opener for which Catherine was going to forever ungrateful for. The man had obviously researched and was well versed in a number of hellish techniques of pain. From some of the scars left on Grissom’s body, Catherine knew that Bathory had been a dedicated practitioner.
“There was a monitor in the observation room. It was labeled Tank and Nick and I didn’t know what it was right away but…” Catherine inhaled deeply before going on. “The Tank was the cistern that was out behind Bathory’s little torture shack. It looked like they would lower their victim,” she couldn’t quite bring herself to say Grissom’s name “into the cistern by their wrists.”
Brass blew out a breath while Sara hugged herself a little tighter.
“Greg got a sample of the well water for comparison with the Trace that Hodges pulled off Grissom’s clothes. He also took the manacles back to the lab,” Catherine explained. “I imagine it will all match up to Gil, since it looks like he was Bathory’s plaything of choice recently.”
A crash from the back room had all three of them running down the hall, Sara in the lead. Bursting through the bedroom door Sara immediately took in the thrashing man on the bed and the broken bedside lamp. Throwing herself into harm’s way, Sara rushed to the bed, crawling on top and grasping Grissom’s thrashing arms.
Catherine and Brass stood stock still just inside the room. Their faces twin masks of fear and horror as they watched Sara wrestle Grissom’s arms down.
“Gil, Gil, shhhh! It’s okay, you’re safe babe, shhh, you’re safe,” she tried to soothe the terrified man.
Grissom fought to sit up, half pushing Sara off the bed as his legs swung of the side of the bed, his feet landing heavily on the floor. His hair was plastered to his head and the gray shirt was drenched in sweat. Placing his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, Grissom worked to control his erratic breathing.
Catherine felt the tears building behind her eyes as Grissom quietly spoke Sara’s name and pulled her o him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head against her abdomen, hugging her like a frightened child.
Deciding the tender scene before them was too private, Catherine and Brass turned and left. With a backwards glance as she shut the door, Catherine watched as her friends quietly lay down on the bed, their arms wrapping around each other in gentle comfort.
Meeting an obviously hurting Jim Brass at the front door, Catherine said, “I want these assholes, Jim! I want them so bad I can taste it!”
Brass nodded his head. He was really hoping and praying that Bathory and his band of shitheads went down hard. “Yea, I’m hoping they save the taxpayers the cost of a trial and just eat a bullet or two,” Brass said with a sneer.
**************************************************************
Markus paced nervously within the confines of his room. Tomorrow his brother would be closer than he had been in more than six years. Everything was in place and aside from Grissom getting free and Scott catching the attention of the authorities; it had all gone relatively smoothly.
Markus would take care of Scott once he no longer had use of the man. Scott had fulfilled one mission but failed at taking Mickey out of the equation. Since the mousy young man was not overly bright Markus had to assume two possibilities. Either the police had gotten hold of him or he had died. Since Markus did not believe he was that lucky, his money was on the cops having caught up to the little sycophant.
He was terribly worried about Mickey. He had purposely kept the boy on the fringe. Markus had been more interested in the sister, Jeannie, and her friends. Vonna Singer and Toby Cray had fallen in quickly, Vonna more than Toby, but Jeannie had always kept herself just outside the group.
Jeannie had been of a pain in the ass for Markus but she had served her purpose. He had needed access to the vet clinics drugs and with a little coaxing from Scott; she had stolen and delivered just what Markus had wanted.
“Markus,” Donny called into the dark room from the doorway, his thick body a black shadow against the light of the other room. “Laney’s not looking so good.”
Markus turned to look at the younger man, his glowering features hidden in the darkness but Donny could sense the anger emanating towards him.
“What do you mean she’s not looking good?”
Donny pulled his short frame a little straighter as he slipped his hands into the front pockets of his work overalls. “I think Scott gave her too much of that stuff before he left.”
Markus marched out of his room, Donny following obediently behind. Crashing through the stained white sheet hung across the door frame of the second bedroom Markus could see the woman in question slumped against the far wall. Her short cropped dark hair was dirty and clung to her scalp and fell across her forehead. Her pale complexion made her lips seem especially red and her small frame seemed especially fragile.
“What’s wrong with her?” Markus barked at Jake who was trying to get the woman to drink some water.
“I don’t know,” Jake said rising to his feet. “She just kind of crashed.”
Markus knelt down next to the woman and checked her pulse before opening her eyes to examine her pupils. “Donny get my bag,” Markus ordered his voice barely more than a growl.
With Donny and Jake’s help Markus moved the woman to one of the cots in the room. Markus worked diligently to bring the wreck of a woman back from the brink of accidental overdose before relying on Jake to feed her gallons of coffee and keep her awake and moving. It wasn’t that he cared for the woman, in a matter of a week she would be nothing more than a side note of amusement. In a month she would, in all likelihood, be dead, having served her purpose.
Scott would be joining her in all likelihood. Perhaps she will be a treat for Scott before I have to send him on his way to hell, Markus thought with a hint of amusement. With a sneer on his face he followed Donny to their latest stolen vehicle, a late model Jeep Cherokee. They would be meeting with Cezar’s man in an hour to set up the place and time for payment and delivery of Markus’s handy work.
Markus found it amusing that he sold drugs to drug dealers but then he had a special talent. Chemistry was his art. Like Mozart and Degas, I can whip up a masterpiece. It was his chemically induced masterpiece that the club scene had been clamoring for of late, which had his old associates helping him out where they could. Cezar Elescu and Cassiopeia Melos were not going to get directly involved with his and Richard’s personal squabble with authorities but they didn’t have any qualms entering into a business transaction with them.
“Donny, you know they way,” Markus said almost cheerfully as he settled himself into the jeep.
Donny nodded before starting the vehicle and snaking his way out of the stacked metal drums that were used as cover. They would meet their contact, set up the first of two deliveries and prepare their next hide out before returning. The pace was quickening and Markus enjoyed the increased exhilaration that came with it.
************************************************************
Wendy Simms knew that her job would bring her great rewards. It would never make her independently wealthy or erase all her troubles but she knew that in some part, big or small, she helped balance out the world. Wendy also knew that her job would bring her great sorrows. With the electronic beep that signaled her DNA tests were finished, Wendy read the printout and felt such wounding sorrow.
“It’s Grissom, isn’t it?” Although Greg poised his words as a question it was more of a statement.
Wendy pinched her lips together and blinked several times in the hopes to stem the tears that were building in the corners of her eyes. Handing the printout to Greg, Wendy nodded solemnly.
“Both sets of manacles had blood and epithelials that matched Grissom. I’m still running all of those,” Wendy turned and gestured at the bags containing the various stainless steel tools that came from Bathory’s operation cart, “tools,” she said swallowing the disgust that rose up.
Greg looked at the bagged instruments before looking at the printout in his hands. He felt lost, unsure and it frightened him.
“Greg?” Wendy asked, concerned at the bewildered look on his face.
“Yea, yea,” he said snapping out of the shadows that threatened him “thanks.”
The glossy blue and silver halls of the lab were near empty. The swing shift techs were clearing their loads and preparing for quitting time. In two hours grave would be on deck with Grissom back at the helm, even if it was only in an abbreviated manner
He wanted so desperately to have something for Grissom. Something tangible, that would let him know that he would have justice. It ate at Greg to think that a man that had brought justice to so many may be denied his own justice by the fickleness of fate.
Catching his reflection in one of the many glass panes that lined the labs halls, Greg was startled by his own reflection. He looked older, harder, His grandmother had been right, evil wore heavy on a person’s soul and they had all come in contact with evil.
“Greg?”
Greg turned from his reflection and ruminations to find Nick approaching him.
“You okay?” Nick asked with a curious frown and slight smile on his face.
Greg gave the tiniest of snorts as he rolled his eyes. “I smell, I’m tired and I have to go pick up Grissom and Sara in an hour and bring them back here,” he paused, taking a deep breath he added, “I’m cool. How ‘bout you?”
Nick opened the door to the room Greg had been standing near. “Well, I can use some sleep but I don’t stink like you,” he teased as he slid into a chair and began plinking away at the black computer keyboard.
“Ha Ha,” Greg rolled his lips up into a snide smile before the printout that Nick had been carrying caught his attention. “Toxicology report?”
Nick stopped pecking at the keyboard long enough to slide the paper closer to Greg. Pulling a spare chair up to Nick’s workstation, Greg settled in momentarily as he read the report. “What case is this from?” Greg’s voice was full of astonishment as he quizzed Nick.
“Your boy Lopez went toes up yesterday,” Nick answered as his hand began clicking away at the mouse.
“Batrachotoxin?” Greg’s tone was slightly incredulous, “What, did he travel to South America recently?”
Nick stopped searching on the computer and looked at Greg. Taking the report from Greg’s hands he asked, “You know what this stuff is?”
“Sure. I am more than a pretty face, you know,” Greg gave Nick a huge toothy smile.
Nick gave Greg a dubious look before folding his arms across his chest.
“It’s a toxin,” Greg explained.
“Got that genius! What is it and what does South America have to do with it?”
Greg gave the older man a playful grin. “What goes hop, hop, hop and if a girl kisses it she gets her prince?”
“Frog?” Nick frowned.
Greg nodded. “Poison Dart frog to be exact. Although they have found batrachotoxin in beetles and birds from South America but whatever you find it in the stuff is nasty and if I remember right there is no antidote.”
“Lopez died of a suspected heart attack,” Nick informed him taking his report back and glancing over it quickly.
Greg stood up. “Probably did but if he did have this stuff in his system than it wasn’t natural.”
Watching Greg get ready to leave, Nick recalled the lost look Greg was sporting when he saw him in the hall. “What’ve you been working on?” Nick asked gesturing towards the report Greg still held in his hand.
With a sigh he handed the report to Nick. He needed to go grab a shower and head out to Grissom’s safehouse anyway, “Can you take care of this for me? It’s the DNA test on all of Bathory’s medical tools and the shackles at the well.”
Nick looked at Greg. “Sure,” he answered his solemn faced friend.
With a casual thanks Greg left Nick with the bitter knowledge contained within the seemingly innocuous piece of paper.
************************************************************
Brass had sought out Catherine at the beginning of the Graveyard shift. After leaving Sara with Gil, Jim had gone home and drank one too many scotches before drifting off into a troubled sleep. He hated cases that got to close to home. Cyrus Lockwood, Nick, Ellie had all been rough but this case, Gil’s case was taking an obvious toll. Cyrus was murdered but they had gained closure quickly and Ellie was what? Wrong place, wrong people, wrong…dad?
Nick’s kidnapping had been harrowing but it had been so fast. The team ran on adrenaline to beat the ticking clock and it almost masked the fear but with Gil’s kidnapping everything seemed to be going at half speed. Every desperate moment was elongated, padded by a fear of the unknown. They knew the bones of their enemy but had yet to flesh him out, to see his true evil in its entirety.
“I think whether he wants it or not, one or more of us should be glued to him at all times,” Brass stated as he walked with Catherine to the AV Lab.
“Do you think he might hurt himself?” Catherine asked alarm entering her voice as she began to fathom what Brass’s line of thought was skirting.
Brass seemed uncertain as to how to answer her. “I’ve seen cops that have gone through a fraction of what he must have gone through crack under it all.” Brass parted his hands, palms up in an open gesture that said he truthfully did not know.
They had been summoned to the Audio Visual Lab by an insistent Archie Johnson. Warrick had recovered a mountain of DV cassettes and VHS tapes at Bathory’s ranch house. Archie had been staggered at the task piled before him but had made steady progress with some help from Warrick.
When Catherine and Brass had entered the lab, Archie asked for them to shut the door, his tone catching their attention. He and Warrick had already shuttered the room away from passing eyes. Catherine felt the butterflies in her stomach increase as she took in the intense look covering Warrick’s face.
“We haven’t viewed all of them but I think we have them in chronological order based on the dates on the cases,” Warrick informed them as Archie sat down next to him. “The VHS are older, looks to be between ’90 and ’94. There are few Hi-8 cassettes that cover 1996 and then there is nothing until the DV cassettes that start back up in 2003.”
“We decided to work our way back once we had them in order,” Archie explained sitting next to Warrick.
“Grissom showed up immediately, so we tried to isolate all the tapes with him on them,” Warrick pointed to five stacks of mini-cassettes, seven to eight deep. “We think this is the first one.”
Archie clicked the button on his mouse and the tape began. The tape bobbed with the operator as he or she rushed in to Grissom’s prison with several others. It was immediately apparent that they were witnessing a beatdown. The attack was brutal and Grissom was severely outnumbered and before long unconscious, sprawled out on the dirty mattress they had collected from his prison.
The camera operator followed as Grissom’s lifeless body was carried roughly into the next room. Throwing the poor man’s beaten body against the ominous metal bedframe that had sent a chill down Catherine’s spine. With Grissom strapped in, a small, slight framed young man placed Grissom’s feet in a plastic dish tub full of water.
“That is Mickey Etts,” Brass snarled standing behind Archie.
The four occupants of the room watched in horror as Markus taunted and tortured Grissom until the man blacked out, only to revive the poor man with smelling salts.
“Probably why Griss had that reaction to Pechota and the smelling salts,” Warrick guessed with a sneer of disgust etched across his handsome face.
By the end of the tape Catherine felt physically ill and knew that the same effect was overcoming all of them.
“Maybe we should take a break,” Catherine ventured.
“Look Cath,” Warrick said turning to look at her and Brass “I promise, if I need a break I will take one but right now I want these son of bitches so bad.” Warrick shook his head and pinched his lips together in an attempt to control the rage that was threatening to boil over.
“Okay but I think I am going to have Dr. Thoren review some of these tapes,” Catherine said patting Warrick on the shoulder. “I also think we need to have a more private lab. I don’t know what is on those tapes but I don’t want it to become common knowledge is that clear.”
All three men agreed with nods of their heads.
“I can set up a temporary AV suite anywhere if you give me a place to do it,” Archie volunteered.
Brass perked up. “Give me a half hour and I’ll have your spot,” he said before hurrying off.
“Archie, can you excuse us for a moment?” Catherine asked.
“Sure,” Archie stepped out of the room, giving Catherine and Warrick some privacy.
Warrick watched and waited for Catherine to begin.
“If you need help, get it. Use me, Nick, Greg even Brass or Sofia but do not use anyone outside of our team and definitely keep Sara at arms length if at all possible,” Catherine half plead.
Warrick understood without further explanation and pulled Catherine into a one armed hug before she left him and Archie to their daunting task.
***************************************************************
Thankfully the Sheriff had limited Grissom’s field time and had expressly told him if he didn’t take it easy Grissom would find himself back on medical leave. A threat that would have most workaholics dying to come back to work taking very seriously but Gil was never good with threats from higher ups; the Strip Strangler case had proved that one decisively.
He was relegated to mostly administrative tasks but was able to do some hands on as long as he remained one step removed. Sitting in his office with Sara and Greg, Grissom was debriefed on his kidnapping case. It felt odd to discuss a case that affected him personally, when he still had more blank spots than memories. What memories he had seemed disjointed and off, like they were infected with a surreal virus that mutated everything.
“So we have three DBs not found at the ranch but in some way connected to Markus and Richard Bathory, the prime suspects in my abduction,” Grissom stated looking at the duplicate file Greg had brought in with him.
“Yes,” Greg jumped in eager to get some forward momentum building on this case. “Jeannie Etts, sister to Mickey Etts. She is the one we believe helped steal the Carfentanil that was used to initially subdue you. It looked like she was getting ready to run but was stopped and murdered by another of Bathory’s cronies.”
“Scott Abrams,” Grissom supplied, reading the information from the pages within the file. Grissom had a vague recollection of man with a cruel laugh but when he concentrated the image slowly obliterated.
“Scott Abrams ties our first victim, Jeannie Etts, with our third DB, Derek Lopez,” Greg handed a black and white photo to Grissom. It was obviously a surveillance picture of Derek Lopez talking with another young man and in the background was a beautiful young woman. She had a smile that hinted at mild amusement and slight boredom. “According to Sofia’s narco contacts he his hooked into that woman, Daciana Hila who is the cousin of Cezar Elescu.”
Both Grissom and Sara stared at him blankly. “Good,” Greg heaved out “I didn’t know him either but Brass and Sofia claim he’s the Romanian equivalent of Pablo Escobar. Suppose to be wicked smart.”
Grissom studying the photograph carefully but the three people in it were complete strangers to him. With a frustrated sigh he tossed the photo on his desk. “What about the last victim? Roderick Karns, how is he tied into our iniquitous little web of depravity?”
It was Sara’s turn to run with the ball. “Karns knew Abrams from the old neighborhood. He had dated Abrams older sister in high school,” Sara explained. “Both Karns and Lopez raced semi-professionally for Boots Roy but according to Roy he cut Lopez loose a couple of years ago, suspicion of theft among other things.”
“Does Karns have a rap sheet?” Grissom asked as he licked his fingers before turning through the pages of the file.
“Not much of one, minor stuff that mostly had to do with a problem with the speed limit,” Sara leaned back in her chair and clasped her fingers across her abdomen. “Not even a parking ticket for the last two years… according to Roy that had everything to do with his wife.”
“So let’s hear it,” Grissom relaxed back into his chair, his gaze traveling between his two CSIs.
“Run it?” Sara asked.
Grissom nodded.
Sara glanced at Greg who gave her a silent go ahead. “Alright, Jeannie Etts helps Scott Abrams steal the Carfentanil from Enderly Stables. She has second thoughts about the company she is keeping and decides to run. Abrams finds out or maybe Bathory decides to clean house, either way Jeannie is now disposable,” Sara cocked her head in a semi apologetic manner “Abrams kills her; blood DNA Greg collected in her bathroom sink and a partial print on the exterior of her door puts him at Jeannie’s.”
“The blood sample from the sink was mixture of Jeannie Etts and Abrams,” Greg cut in “putting him there when she died.”
Sara nodded. “We also collected prints off the metal awning over the motorcycle shop’s backdoor that are a match to Abrams. I think he used the awning brace to steady himself as he pulled the missing surveillance camera from the wall.”
Grissom swiveled slowly in his chair as he thought over the evidence and Sara’s hypothesis. “Alright, so we have him at two crimes scenes. Can we place him Lopez?”
“No,” Greg said his face showing his annoyance at this fact. “But I can tell you Lopez was poisoned and not your run of the mill poisoning. Whoever wanted him dead wanted to make sure there was no chance at a miraculous recovering.”
At Grissom’s questioning, arched brow Greg continued on. “He was poisoned with batachotoxin, it’s-“
“Found in South America,” Grissom finished. “Poison Dart Frog is the animal it is most known for but most scientists believe it is a byproduct of the frog’s diet, possibly a beetle or some other insect.”
Sara dipped her head down to try and hide the smile growing on her face at Greg’s look of annoyed disbelief.
“You do know everything,” Greg said only slightly teasing. He truly did belief the man collected the most eclectic bits of rare trivia of anybody Greg had ever known. Grissom had once told him it was alright to say when he didn’t know something but Greg wondered how many times Grissom had been forced to say those particular words.
“Not hardly but I have been to South America,” Grissom said his lips curling into a smirk. “Any leads on who and how Lopez was poisoned?”
“Jim thinks it was one of Elescu’s people but there’s nothing that points to him or anyone for that manner,” Sara informed him. As Brass had explained it to her, there wasn’t a lot of knowledge on Elescu’s organization. There were suspicions and rumors but not much else. The man apparently ran his operation as tight as the NSA but with more perks.
“Alright, who’s running the Lopez investigation?” Grissom asked pushing himself to his feet. A sense of light headedness had him frowning.
“Nick,” Greg supplied as he too rose from his seat.
Grissom nodded. “Greg, see if there is anything else with the Etts girl’s case you can dig up. If it runs dry leave it for now and help Nick.”
“On it,” Greg said leaving Grissom and Sara alone.
Turning to Sara, “I’ll help you with the Karns case as much as I can,” Grissom said.
“Are you alright?” Sara asked, a worried frown covering her face. She had noted the momentary hesitation and frown and immediately had become concerned.
“Yea,” Grissom looked sheepish “I don’t think I’ve eaten recently.”
Sara sighed, a mixture of annoyance and relief. Dr. Mutzengarr had told her and Catherine to make sure Grissom ate properly, having noted his lack of food intake at the hospital. The doctor had told him his normal appetite would eventually return but Sara was beginning to have her doubts.
“Gris,” she admonished him.
“I know,” he held up his hand in a stop gesture as he made his way to his office door “come on you can feed me.” Grissom winked at her as she passed him into the hall.
Sara couldn’t repress the smile that broke out across her lips. When Grissom poured on the charm there were very few women that Sara knew that could resist it. Even Catherine, if not swayed completely by Grissom, at least bent a little.
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Warrick had taken on the responsibility of viewing and cataloging the tapes from Bathory’s little ranch of horrors. He had multiple reasons and they all seemed good at the time but after sixteen hours of analyzing and documenting the vile footage he was beginning to feel the effects. He’d had trouble sleeping after getting off shift this morning or was it afternoon, time was starting to lose its definition. He could have blamed it on the fact that he had slept on the couch at Grissom’s safe house or the fact that Grissom’s constant stalking about the house and pool had unnerved him but that would have only been a half truth. Every time he closed his eyes he was reminded of the tapes and all their gory details.
Warrick looked to the man sitting next to him. Dr. Gerald Thoren sat, his left arm rested across his belly bracing his right elbow as his fingertips rubbed his forehead. His brows were furrowed in consternation as he watched the latest tape. As near as Warrick could figure he had one more tape in him after that he’d have to hand it off to one of the others for awhile. It was beginning to take a serious toll on him.
“This man has made certain that there is a connection between Kimmy and Grissom. She is terrified of Bathory and the others and Grissom is safe, where as for Grissom she is the only one that shows him kindness in his daily suffering.” Thoren thought out loud.
“Why?” Warrick couldn’t imagine a sick bastard like Markus Bathory offering anything close to human kindness to Grissom. The man had done everything in his power to break Grissom down both physically and mentally and although Warrick knew Gil was doing alright physically he was beginning to worry about the man’s mental and emotional state.
“I can’t say with any certainty but I can guarantee you that everything he has done thus far has been textbook torture 101.” Thoren shifted his weight in the chair as he looked at Warrick. “Everything he has done has had a purpose, this bond he is creating does too.”
The door to the room clicked open and Warrick turned to see Nick poking his head in before sliding into the room, not wanting to open the door fully to the hall outside. They were hidden away on the second floor of the police station, something Brass had secured and after all that Warrick had seen he was thankful.
“Hey man, how you holding up?” Nick asked his face grim as he glanced at the monitors.
Warrick gave him a look that suggested he was just barely holding up. “I figure there are three more tapes after this one, which might have a week’s worth of footage… if I had my way I’d burn them but…”
Nick shook his head. “How long have they had him sitting there?” Nick asked his head inclining towards the monitor.
Warrick looked at his video log and at the time code ticking away on the monitor. “Two hours, roughly.”
On the monitor Grissom sat bound to an old gray metal office chair. His eyes moved about his surroundings as his lips moved silently. Warrick and Nick had watched him do the same routine several times in previous tapes. Occasionally he would speak out loud, reciting Shakespeare, Homer, Aesop and other writers the two CSIs had no clue of. They had been pretty certain he had recited Julius Caesar in Latin but since neither one of their Latin was that good they were left to guess.
If it wasn’t literature Grissom would enumerate the periodic table, alphabetize insects native to Nevada, recall obscure historical dates and at one point started speaking in a language that Warrick had said sounded a little like Spanish but Nick knew enough Spanish to know that wasn’t it. “Italian, maybe?” Nick had thrown out not sure.
“Doc, why does he do that?” Nick asked watching Grissom rock his head slowly up and down.
“The nodding of his head?” Dr. Thoren asked
Nick gave a little shrug, “Yea, that and the speaking without speaking. Warrick and I have listened to him list the rulers of every single country in the world just about.”
Glancing at the two men, “Normally I would say it is a comfort mechanism but in this case I think he’s trying to stay focused and…awake.”
“Yea, I suppose I wouldn’t much want to go to sleep either,” Nick said leaning his hand against the back of Warrick’s chair.
“Well, Bathory has made it more than just a whim or want. He’s induced insomnia.”
“I think Grissom already had it, Doc.” The whole team, minus Sara, had all marveled or complained, depending on the circumstances, at Grissom’s ability to go without sleep for long periods of time.
“Yes, well this has progressed into what I would hazard a guess at saying is somniphobic in nature.” Dr. Thoren glanced sideways at Nick while still trying to watch the monitor.
“What the Hell is this?” Warrick muttered angrily, sitting up in his seat a little straighter.
On the monitor Grissom was turning his head trying to see something behind him. He had obviously heard something and was now very wary, his body language telling the viewers of the tape that a danger had entered the room with him. It didn’t take long for the three men to see what had gotten Grissom alarmed.
From the shadows directly behind the bound Grissom came one of his captors hidden behind a devil’s mask. He carried something in his hands low; it was dark and indistinguishable in the low light of the background.
“What is this asshole doing?” Warrick asked to no one in particular as he leaned forward. He felt edgy, even though he knew Grissom had escaped.
Warrick stood up out of his chair at the same time the Devil through a plastic garbage bag over Grissom’s head. His heart was racing as he watched Grissom struggle against his attacker, his hands balled into fists. How he prayed he’d get a chance at the guy laughing behind the mask.
“Son of a …” Nick cursed angrily his lips curling into a snarl.
Grissom’s head thrashed back and forth in an attempt to be free of the suffocating black plastic, his arms straining against his bonds, his bound feet useless as he tried to find any leverage in his fight. It seemed like forever but less than a minute had passed before Grissom’s thrashing ceased. The only movement Warrick and the other two men could see was Grissom flexing his left wrist and hand until even that stopped.
The Devil leaned his head down near Grissom’s ear. “That’s right Grissom,” he whispered “Stay calm, relax, you’ll last longer.” He laughed at the last.
One minute, a minute-ten, a minute-thirty! And still Grissom had not moved. Warrick kept telling himself that Grissom was alive and well in the lab that he just needed to relax. It was a difficult task, though, when confronted by the terror on the screen.
Finally, when it looked like Grissom could take no more they heard a voice hidden of camera. “Release him,” it commanded. Pulling the bag from Grissom sweat drenched head the Devil couldn’t stop himself from taking a cheap shot and smacking the back of Grissom’s lolling head. Grissom jerked away from the strike before the poor man wretched what little he had in his stomach on his stained and ripped shirt.
“Grissom, Grissom, Grissom,” Markus Bathory hissed coming into the range of the camera “Are you not feeling well?”
Grissom’s breathing was still labored his body periodically twitching as he watched Bathory circle him. He did not answer Bathory’s question of mock concern as he snapped his head in the direction of the Devil before returning to Bathory. Grissom was trying desperately to keep an eye on both his tormentors when his task was made more difficult by the arrival of a second masked devil.
“I think it is time for a something new, Grissom.” Bathory motioned towards Grissom. The devil masked henchmenworked the straps at his ankles and wrists before hauling him roughly to his feet. Dragging him across the room, Grissom bucked and fought against the two men struggling to keep a hold of him. At one point he got a fist loose to land a solid punch across the temple of one of the two Devils, knocking the man’s mask from his face.
“Donny Kempler,” Warrick almost growled as he recognized the man beneath the mask.
Grissom was quickly subdued against the massive column that they had found in Bathory’s torture hut. The metal grid above Grissom’s head barely on screen as Markus Bathory wheeled a shiny chromed cart up to Grissom. The red headed young man that had lost his mask was the first to succeed in getting a leather strap wrapped around Grissom’s wrist, his partner having more difficulty.
The camera bobbled briefly before yet another masked Devil was seen on the monitor. He must’ve been behind the camera, Warrick thought. With the third Devil they bound Grissom’s ankle to the bottom of the column. The straps around Grissom’s wrists were laced into ropes on either side of him. Without care his arms were yanked painfully wide from his body.
“His ssshhirt,” Bathory hissed as he picked through the sparkling metal objects on the cart.
“What is that he’s messing with?” Nick asked almost afraid to know.
There was no reply just stunned silence as they watched Bathory approach Grissom. Grissom’s breathing was quick and shallow, his struggles continued even though they were fruitless and his gaze tried to focus on anything but the instrument Bathory had in his hand.
The maskless man tried to rip the sleeveless thermal shirt from Grissom but only managed in stretching the collar.
“Never mind,” Bathory said as he waved the man out of his way. “Now, Grissom let’s have that lesson I spoke of.”
Three sets of horrified eyes watched the grisly scene play out on the monitors. Grissom gritted his teeth a quite, broken moan escaping his throat as Bathory used his serrated, hook shaped probe to pierce Grissom’s side
“Don’t worry, Grissom, I’m missing all your important organs,” Bathory chuckled. Grissom groans mutated to cries and would dwindle to whimpers before he would lose consciousness.
Bathory kept up his “lesson” for what seemed like an eternity. When Grissom would slip unconscious the man would cackle and bring Grissom back again.
“This bastard is done when I get hold of him,” Nick whispered through clenched teeth, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists.
Sweat and blood ran down Grissom’s chest, seeping into the dark denim of his jeans. Bathory busied himself with tiding up his cart. “We are not quite finished Grissom,” Bathory’s voice gleefully whispered. “Come on, we only have one more thing to do now.” Bathory said motioning his hands at his accomplices who went about the task of freeing Grissom from his restraints.
Grissom groaned as his arms were released. When his ankles were loose he fell forward onto one knee his left hand barely catching his fall as he was yanked up by his tormentors.
“Rest,” he said as Grissom was placed in a simple wooden chair. Bathory gently petted Grissom’s sweat plastered hair. ”I know you are tired. We should get your wounds cleaned, hunh!”
Bathory moved away from Grissom only to return with Kimmy, a blonde haired waif of a girl. Warrick wondered if she was the dead girl from the ranch since her general size and age was consistent.
Bathory walked behind her, his long slender hands grasping her shoulders as he led her to stand in front of Grissom who swayed from side to side. The only thing keeping his sitting up right were the two hands on his shoulders from the men standing behind him. His eyes were downcast, his head hung low, as the girl came to stand before him.
Chewing on the black sleeve of her hooded sweatshirt Kimmy shuffled nervously from foot to foot. Her eyes darted from the half conscious Grissom to the Devils standing behind him before she turned questioningly to Bathory
“What the hell is he up to now,” Nick cursed. He wanted this to be over his nerves are edgy and raw as he was sucked into video.
“Gris-som,” she stammered in a voice barely above a whisper, her hands twisting her shirt sleeves over and over again.
Grissom heard her soft voice and raised his head, his eyes glossy as he squinted to focus them on the girl in front of him.
“Kimmy?” His voice was heavy with pain and confusion.
“You want to make me happy don’t you?” Bathory came up behind the girl and gave her a gentle bear hug, rocking her back and forth like a doting father.
The girl tried to turn and face Bathory, unsure of what to say but he held her tight. “Don’t you?” he asked again.
“Yes-s-s” she was shaking her lips quivering. Her hands kept twisting the fabric of her shirtsleeves over and over in an attempt to hide her fear.
“Oh, good, good,” Bathory gave her a squeeze before stepping back. “I need you to do one thing for me. You can do that, right?”
Kimmy turned her head quickly to see where Bathory had gone before snapping her frightened gaze back upon Grissom. She was lost, didn’t understand what was going on and she looked to the wounded man for an answer.
Grissom looked even more wary than before but tried to keep his voice level and reassuring for the girl. “It’s okay,” he told her trying to smile but it looked more like a grimace. Grissom tried to stand but the two thugs behind reapplied pressure to his shoulders forcibly holding him in his seat.
Markus Bathory returned to the girl sliding up on her like a cobra to its prey. She did not see the silver glint of the revolver he held in his hand but she felt the cold steel as he pressed it into the palm of her hand. The sensation startled her and she nearly dropped the gun.
“Shhh,” Bathory hissed at her ear holding the gun in her small hand. “I want you to show me.”
Kimmy looked back confused and startled. She tried to pull her hand from Bathory’s grasp and away from the gun as realization set in. Bathory pulled her tightly against his chest. There was no escape.
“It is him or me, Kimmy.” It was a warning veiled in an option without choice.
Gerald Thoren watched almost mesmerized by the cruelty of it all. “This is what he has been building up to,” he whispered leaning in, his elbows resting on his knees.
Nick and Warrick glanced at the man but gave him no more of their attention, their eyes magnetically seeking out the monitors. Grissom was alive and Warrick was certain this was the girl they found dead at the mine. What had happened?
Kimmy was trying to hide her sobs, the tears running unchecked down her pale skin as she watched Grissom. Grissom gave her a wan smile but said nothing to her as he looked to the man behind her.
“Hey asshole, if you want me dead so bad do it yourself,” Grissom challenged angrily, renewing his struggles to stand.
Bathory pushed the girl to arms length, prodding her to close the distance between her and Grissom. The gun that he had helped level at Grissom’s face dropped slightly, Kimmy’s hands shaking visibly. No longer able to hide the deep sobs, Kimmy tried to hold the gun up with both hands.
“Kimmy,” Grissom said his voice calm and low “it’s alright. I’ve led a good life. I’ve seen amazing things and have been blessed with friends…” Grissom’s emotions began to get the best of him as he began to choke up. Taking a deep, trembling breath he continued, “Friends that I love and” thinking of Sara “I am happy that I never left anything too late.”
Kimmy could barely hold the pistol up her sobs wracking her body. “I can’t” she whimpered.
Grissom swallowed hard trying to remain calm for the girl but his emotions were starting to get the better of him, “You…you’ll …be fine,” he stumbled.
“Kimmy?” Bathory came up to stand behind her.
Grissom struggled to get out of the chair. “LEAVE HER ALONE, BATHORY!”
Bathory laughed. It was one of the most evil sounds that Warrick had ever heard full of malevolence and the promise of misery.
“Hmmm?” Bathory placed his left hand on Kimmy’s shaking shoulder before taking the pistol from her slackened grip. “You know Grissom,” he stared directly into Grissom’s eyes “you have yet to disappoint me.”
The loud retort of a single pistol shot echoed in the room making the three men jump at the sound.
“SON OF A…” Nick yelled his face a mask of rage as he watched Grissom pull away from his captors to catch the falling body of the girl.
“No,” Grissom muttered lowering her to floor. He frantically tried to apply pressure to the blood gushing out of her body just below her right breast. The shot had been a through and through, entering dorsally near the bottom of her ribcage and exiting ventrally causing a gaping wound.
The girl moved in slow agony, her brain sending confusing signals to her dying body. She gulped in shallow breaths as her eyes fell on Grissom, who encouraged her to hang on as his eyes searched around the room. Her flopping hands found purchase in the blood stained shirt on Grissom’ chest, grabbing hold she pulled him closer. “P..p..pleeezz,” she stuttered her body jerking sporadically. Her mouth moved several times more without any sound before she gasped her final breath; her hands losing their grip on his shirt fell across her chest and abdomen.
“No,” Grissom whispered reaching down to tilt her head back he tried breathing life back into the girl before the realization set in and he bowed his head in defeat.
“No great loss,” Bathory said handing his gun to the Devil behind him.
“YOU BASTARD!” Grissom howled coming to his feet with lightening speed, his shoulder catching Bathory in the midsection as he picked him up and tackled him on to his back. Landing on top of the killer, his fists swung wildly about the man’s face. Grissom was crazed. He howled and screamed as he fought the Devils that were pulling him off of Bathory.
The three men rolled about the floor in a flurry of swinging fists and kicking feet before Grissom got the upper hand of the remaining masked man. Sitting on the man’s chest, Grissom ripped the mask from his head and ground his fists into the man’s exposed face. The man’s arms flailed in a futile effort to protect himself against Grissom’s rage.
From behind Grissom Kempler grabbed him in a giant bear hug and wrestled him from his half unconscious partner. Grissom’s arms were pinned to his side as he was hauled backwards. Not having the use of his hands, he reared his head back smashing the man’s nose in a vicious head butt. Free, Grissom spun on the man and threw a hard swinging elbow crashing across the man’s jaw.
“GET HIM!” Bathory screamed as the view bounced on the monitor and a third manran on to the screen and got into the fray
All three of the thugs fighting Grissom were much younger than Grissom but all but one was much smaller than him. But it wasn’t age or size that was determining the outcome of the battle unfolding on the monitors it was something far more primitive. It was rage and hatred and pure survival that were barbarically unfolding before the three men standing with shocked expressions on their faces.
For his efforts, the man behind the camera nearly got his head tore off when Grissom had spun from a howling Donny Kempler and caught the rushing man with a vicious kick to the crotch. Grissom’s arm shot out grabbing the man’s lowered head under his arm and yanked backwards. With the sudden stop of his head, the Devil’s feet shot out from under him landing the man with a heavy thud on the floor near the dead girl’s body.
Before Grissom was able to do the man more bodily harm he was tackled to the ground by two very angry men cursing at him. With great difficulty the two held Grissom’s bucking form down on the ground as Bathory approached with a hypodermic needle.
“Hold him,” Bathory growled uncertain if it was safe to approach the thrashing man on the floor.
“You better kill me Bathory,” Grissom’s voice was raw, harsh as he struggled to get to Bathory “because I’m going to kill you and I’m going to kill that pisshead brother of yours!” Grissom’s voice was almost a shriek. Blood mixed with spittle at the corners of his mouth.
Kempler gave Grissom a punch in the mouth for his defiance. Grissom’s head bounced of the floor with the blow to his face momentarily stunning but he was full of rage and hate and had abandoned all reason. Grissom snapped his head forward as he spit the blood that had pooled in his mouth at his attacker.
“Shit!”
Grissom laughed as the man tried to wipe the blood from his eyes on his shirtsleeve.
Bathory looked at the two men holding Grissom down, a silent confirmation they had a good hold on the cackling man beneath them. They both nodded to their boss before he reached in and gave Grissom the shot in the top of his thigh.
“You’re going to enjoy this Grissom,” Bathory spit out as he tenderly touched his discolored eye. “Put him in the tank,” Bathory ordered throwing his arm wide as he indicated the direction they were to take Grissom.
The video kept rolling for a few more minutes. Bathory and his thugs moved about doing their dastardly deeds while none of them bothered with the body of the dead girl. When the video ran out and began to automatically rewind, it was the only sound in the room.
Dr. Thoren slowly turned his gaze on the two men in the room with him. Warrick had sunk back down in his chair. Slouching down he rested the back of his head on the back of the chair, his eyes closed as his face pointed to the ceiling or Heaven- who was to say. Nick ran his fingers across the stubble of his hair as he grabbed the back of his head; his forearms squeezing in across his ears as he tried to regain his composure.
“Are you two alright?” Thoren asked with growing concern. Even though they had been removed by the horror by time and distance and the fact that they knew Grissom had survived it was still a horrific scene on so many levels.
Warrick swallowed and raised himself up in the chair. “Yea Doc,” he said coming to his feet. He knew he was going to have to let Catherine and Sara know about this, Brass too since the tape was evidence in a murder, but he didn’t relish any of it. More than ever he was worried- No, scared for Grissom. “I think I need a break,” Warrick muttered looking to Nick
“Yea, yea definitely,” Nick was all for walking as far away from the box of videos as possible.
“If you need to talk…” Thoren leveled the two men a sincere gaze that let them know the end of the sentence. “I think I need to find Catherine.” Dr. Thoren informed them as he tightened the tie around his neck and picked up his suit jacket from the back of the chair he had been sitting in. Turning at the door he said, “Remember… if you need to talk my door is always open.”
The two men nodded.
“What d’ya think?” Nick asked once the psychiatrist was gone.
Warrick inhaled deeply. “What do I think?” He ran his right hand along the side of his hand, “I don’t know what I think Nicky Boy, but I can tell you I am scared, scared for Grissom.”
Nick nodded, “Yea,” he said following Warrick to the door “I feel like we are sitting on a powder keg that’s about to go off.”
“A powder keg named Grissom,” Warrick added locking the room up behind them.
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