It was day eight since Grissom’s disappearance and most of their lead’s had now run cold. Chandler had been, as Catherine had suspected, the unlucky bastard next door. The phone records had come up bust and the patent and latent evidence had slowly revealed itself to be worthless. Sure, it might help in a trial if anything ever came up in the future, a line of thinking Catherine did not want to consider, but nothing that would point them in a useful direction. They were all flapping in the wind and it was starting to have an effect.
Ecklie, for his part, had been very un-Ecklie like and had made day and swing take up the slack for the graveyard shift, allowing them to focus solely on Grissom’s abduction. Of course, what was the saying, a leopard can’t change its spots and Ecklie eventually had to allow his soulless self to reign free once more. He had, of course, tried his best at being human offering Catherine and the rest of graveyard the simple cases. Catherine couldn’t get completely bent out of shape since the egocentric man was at least trying.
The rest of the team did not see it that way when Catherine broke it to them at the beginning of their shift. Technically their shifts had no beginning or end since it had just run into days of chasing leads and examining evidence. Catherine had decided she wanted everyone to meet like usual at the beginning of the graveyard shift, just as if Grissom was there. She felt this was as good of a rendezvous point and time as any other. It was a way for everyone to hear of any new leads or to find out where some had died off.
“No way Catherine,” Nick vehemently argued “Graveyard’s case is Grissom, period” Nick jabbed his forefinger into the table in front of him, stressing the period.
“Nick’s right, we still have tons of leads that need to be run down. We have that Singer girl, Jacqui still isn’t done processing all the prints lifted at the neighbors place. There’s still plenty that needs to be done,” Warrick said, adding fuel to Nick’s argument.
“Look, guys…” Catherine began before being interrupted by Sara shooting from her chair and storming from the break room. “Ecklie is shooting us the quick and easy cases, the no brainers. It takes us an hour, tops, to go through the case and were back on to what is important.”
“But that is an hour away from Grissom’s case,” Greg complained swiveling his chair slowly back and forth.
“I know, don’t you think I know,” Catherine shot back “But if it only costs an hour’s worth of going through the motions to keep bureaucrats like Ecklie and the rest from stamping a big ugly UNSOLVED on a cardboard box full of evidence from Grissom’s case and shoving it on to some shelf,” she took a deep breath “then I am willing to do it.”
That thought had a chilling effect on the men’s arguments. Warrick propelled himself from his chair, snatching the slips of papers from Catherine’s hand he held one out to Greg and he kept the other. “Nick, stick with the old cases.” With that, Warrick left without another word to the scene of a Vegas CSI regular, the trick roll.
Greg and Nick followed suit, leaving the room without another word. Their intentions clear, to get back to the job of finding Grissom. Catherine leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. How had Grissom done it? How had he pulled us through the Holly Gribbs tragedy, fought to keep Warrick and Sara when their jobs were on the line, and kept us strong and focused on Nick when he was kidnapped? He’s Grissom, that’s how. He has tenacity like no other, Catherine thought answering her own question.
Rising from the chair, Catherine decided she should check on Sara. She didn’t know if she was up for a Sara fight. Her nerves and emotions were raw enough as it was, but she sure as Hell didn’t need another misfortune befalling them in the form of Sara losing it. They were all stretched pretty tight but Sara, Sara looked like she was ready to go off like a bad meth lab
As predicted and promised the night’s assignments had taken minimal time and had basically been procedural, allowing the CSI team to get on with the case that consumed their every waking moment. Warrick and Greg had returned and helped Nick in the stacks and stacks of never-ending case files before Catherine had ordered the two men home for a short while. It would do the no good if they all began dropping like overworked flies.
Nick leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands above his heads in an attempt to work the nasty kink that was forming in his upper back. “Damn, how many cases has Grissom had?” He asked, twisting and popping his neck.
Catherine shuffled another file to the NO pile. “Who knows? He’s been a CSI here in Vegas for fifteen years before that he was in the biz in L.A and Minneapolis.” She half answered, shrugging her shoulders.
“Yea,” Nick drawled in wonder at the possibilities.
“At least we can say our POSSIBLE pile is a heck of a lot smaller than our NO pile,” Catherine said, trying to find any silver lining in their otherwise shitty day.
“Cath,” Nick began tentatively “Grissom, he…” Nick swallowed hard. The worst was hard to think of, let alone say.
“I know,” Catherine said, reaching out to softly rub Nick’s shoulder,
Nick took a deep breath, “He’s… he saved my life. He’s…”
“Nicky, we’ll find him.” Catherine put all of her conviction into those three words. If it was with sheer willpower alone they would find Gil.
Nick nodded forcefully, trying to contain the tears that had started to form at the corners of his eyes.
“Hey, you two find anything in those cases?”
Brass had been riding around most of the night. His ass was probably permanently numb and he was prepared to kill for a cup of coffee.
“Where’s Sara?” Catherine asked. She had purposely paired Jim Brass with Sara, mostly to keep Sara moving so she didn’t sink into despair but also to keep her under control. With each passing day, Catherine could see Sara’s self control slip a little bit further out of her grasp.
“Trace, I think,” Brass answered pouring himself a cup of coffee. Taking a sip, Brass groaned and crinkled his face up, “Ack, the least you could have done is warn me, this coffee tasted like three day old ass!”
Nick chuckled, while Catherine had to ask what three day old ass tasted like. In response Brass held out his Styrofoam cup.
“Never mind,” she said declining the cup with a wave of her hand. “Did you and Sara come up with anything?”
Brass took the chair to Catherine’s right and directly across from Nick. Pulling his notebook from his inside coat pocket he said, “Funny you should ask.”
Catherine and Nick darted quick, hopeful glances at each other before turning their full attention on to Brass and his little notebook.
“Well,” they said impatiently in unison.
Brass glanced up from his notes at the two CSIs outburst. “Well, the Naxa-whatever is a bust thus far. I have Vartaan hoofing what’s left of that lead down right now.”
Brass could almost here the air deflating out of Catherine and Nick. Not wanting to cause them any undo suffering it quickly went on.
“We had six vets on our original list, you know from the pharmaceutical company, and of the six we have been able to account for five.” Brass held up five fingers.
“What about the sixth?” Catherine silently prayed that this was the clue, the lead that they had been searching so long far.
“He’s dead” Brass said with a smirk.
“Dead when? Dead how?” Catherine was about to show Brass some old stripper hand-to-hand combat techniques if he didn’t get to the point fast enough.
“1993 and natural causes,” Brass answered not knowing how near to bodily harm he actually was. “Here’s the neat trick. Guy’s name was Max Bathory-Smythe, D-V-M, been dead for thirteen years BUT he has been making purchases for his clinic on and off for the past seven years. Can you guess what he bought six weeks ago?”
Catherine’s eyes swallowed her face, “Carfentanil!”
“Ding, ding, ding, Johnny tell her what she’s won” Brass chimed.
Nick stood up, this news revitalizing him. “Do we have an address?”
Brass flipped the page in his notebook. He and Sara had worn down some serious amount of foot leather trying to get any and all information they could on the late Dr. Bathory-Smythe.
“Several. Sara and I checked out one that ended up being a storage rental place. Nothing there so far and one was a fleabag motel a couple of miles off the strip. Zip!” Brass placed his notebook back in his inner pocket.
“Any others?” Catherine asked shaking her head. By Brass’s manner he had come across a solid follow-able lead but what he was saying…
“Sofia is running down the Doctor’s last known address and I’ve got O’Reilly checking an address out in Pahrump.” Forgetting that his coffee was not to his liking, Brass took another sip. Frowning at the cup in his hand, Brass took the offending beverage to the sink and poured it down the drain.
“Now, I know it sounds a little thin but hear me out,” Brass had lived in Vegas for almost twenty years but he still had his Jersey boy mannerisms. With his feet straddled slightly apart and his hands fully animated he explained all of his evidence. “Bathory-Smythe has been dead for thirteen years but somehow he sold his house here in Vegas six years ago and a clinic he ran in Spring Valley four years ago.”
“Jim, I don’t think dead people can sell property.” Catherine said sarcastically; hope beginning to raise her spirits.
Brass cocked his head and gave her a smirk. “No they don’t. They also don’t buy Carfentanil.”
While Catherine and Brass discussed the financial feats of the dead Dr. Bathory-Smythe, Nick was shuffling through the POSSIBLE stack of case files. A dim spark had gone of in the back of his mind as Brass had related his investigation into the veterinarian. Had he heard that name before? Yes, no, maybe… Nick started to shuffle more quickly. There was a nagging-half voice humming in the back of his head. Bathory, Bathory…
“Bingo!” He hollered grabbing and shaking a manila folder with both his hands.
Catherine and Brass stared at him. “You got something Nick?” Catherine asked excitedly.
Nick opened the file and began reading. “Maybe… I’ve got a Richard Merle Bathory, convicted in 1994 of the kidnapping, statutory rape and murder of Jessica Fielding.”
Nick laid the case file on top of the table his finger jabbing forcefully at it. Catherine and Brass positioned themselves to take a better look at the information contained on the many pieces of paper.
“Son of a…” Brass looked at the file. He could have gone the rest of his life never having to think about the case laid out in front of them. “Bathory-Smythe, Bathory…”
Catherine twisted the file and its contents so she could better see them. “Grissom was lead on this. Wait, I remember this case. Jessica Fielding, right? Chronic runaway…”
“Riiight,” Brass interrupted “this is the one that took Grissom three years to put a stake in.”
Catherine had been on maternity leave with Lindsey when the Fielding girl’s mutilated body had been discovered in the Meadow Valley Wash just north of Lake Mead. The girl had been physically and sexually tortured and had not been allowed to die easily in the end having died from exsanguination and exposure.
“Yea, Bathory had a TRO placed on him by Jessica’s mother but when the girl disappeared the investigating officer wrote it her off as a runaway,” Catherine explained to Nick.
“Jackass got a free pass out the door for it too,” Brass said distastefully. He’d back a good cop up all the way to the fence and beyond but he couldn’t stand bad cops and that included lazy bastards that didn’t want to do their jobs.
“So Bathory killed this girl and…” Nick knew there was more to the case since it had taken Grissom three years.
“Oh, the sick bastard did more than kill her, he mutilated her and didn’t wait until the poor girl was dead either,” Brass grimaced in recollection. He had responded with Grissom and a young CSI I named Gabe Parris. Parris had ended up quitting several months later having never gotten over the girl’s grisly death or his dealing with Bathory. “After he had her for several weeks and tortured her in every way he could possibly think of, he drug her out to the sticks, tied her to a cottonwood and disemboweled her. Took her awhile to die according to Robbins.”
“Then the arrest,” Catherine said with a visible shudder that had Brass shaking his head energetically.
“What about the arrest?” Nick asked impatiently, hating not being in the know.
Brass looked heavenward as he recalled the near catastrophe. It was one of the moments that make a person wish fervently for time machines or crystal balls or something to give them an edge against the monsters that roam the world undetected. It seemed that fate was always skewed slightly in the bad guys favor because they always knew when the shit was going to happen.
“Grissom and Parris went to serve a warrant with a detective by the name of Demmer, he’s long since retired. Anyway, they get to Bathory’s house out near Lake Mead and it looks empty so Grissom and Parris start processing the place. The long and short of it…Bathory was hiding on the property. He knifed Demmer, guy can only eat liquids now and then snuck up on Grissom while he was on an upper balcony of the house, almost knifed him too but ended up going down some stairs that led to a patio…”
“Broke his arm!” Catherine interjected, pointing to both men.
“Yea,” Brass thought about what a pain in the rear Grissom had been for the six weeks he had been hampered with a cast. “Well, Parris heard the noise came running ended up chasing Bathory down to his little workshop in the woods where he liked to take his victims and nearly ended up getting himself killed.”
“If Grissom hadn’t come to in time and hobbled his butt down there…” Catherine left her words open ended knowing everyone knew what the other outcome would have been.
Nick rolled his eyes along with his head. “And they let this guy out on bail? Sounds like he should’ve been locked up with the rest of the freaks and right away.” Nick just shook his head at how blind justice could be at times.
Brass couldn’t argue that one bit. Bathory had been especially freakish, though, a psychopath with delusions of a higher purpose. Brass could still remember the nasty tingling sensation he had gotten sitting across from the man in interrogation. Like ants crawling across exposed nerve endings.
“There was a big deal made in the trial whether or not he was mentally incompetent, the whole insanity defense thing, right?” Catherine asked Brass as she turned a page in the file.
“Bathory’s lawyers played the crazy card but the jury didn’t bite. Me, personally, I think he slipped his leash at birth to be as twisted as he is.” Brass bounced his head from side to side, his eyes wide as he stated his opinion.
Nick examined some of the crime scene photos of thirteen years ago. The location of the body suggested that the killer had not intended her to be found. Maybe he had wanted some privacy with the girl to finish his gruesome deed, Nick had thought. Had the body been left out much longer the elements and animals that would have approached the water would have made quick work of her. It had been luck that a man out fishing had spotted her and called it in.
“Why did it take three years if Bathory was already on the radar with the TRO,” Nick asked shutting the folder on the photographs.
“I remember Grissom almost made himself sick with this one,” Catherine recalled unhappily. “He got so far into Bathory’s head I was starting to worry about him and that poor Gabe.”
“Hmm, had a bad case of the shakes after that,” Brass recalled “could never get back into the work.”
“So why three years?” Nick asked. He knew some cases could go cold for a lot longer before some evidence surfaced to solve it but this did not sound like that kind of case.
“Umm, it took three years,” Catherine began to explain “because it took awhile to get the evidence together and as I recalled Bathory had a rich uncle...”
“Godfather,” Brass cut in.
Catherine nodded, “Godfather that was pretty tight with a state senator and…he made bail, ran and wasn’t caught for almost three years.
“Wow!” Nick uttered, not sure what to think. In the nine years that Nick had worked with Grissom he could count on half a hand the number of times that he had seen the man become emotionally involved in a case. Grissom was the poster child for professional detachment. To know that there was a case that had affected his health was a little disconcerting for Nick.
“Yea,” Brass agreed with a flick of his brows.
“What’s this?” Nick asked pulling a piece of paper out and sliding it across the table towards Catherine.
Reaching out Catherine rotated the paper to give it the proper orientation for her to read. The paper contained a three column list that contained names, addresses and unique numbers. On the left hand side next to the names were hand written in notes in various colored ink.
“These were unsolved cases,” Catherine pointed to the numbers which Nick immediately assumed were case numbers “that Grissom thought may be linked to Bathory. The manner of death or disappearance made Bathory a strong candidate.”
Nick’s eyes widened slightly as he leant over to take another look at the list. “There has to be thirteen, fourteen names,” he said incredulously.
Catherine arched a single eyebrow as she glanced sideways at Nick. “Yea, well if Grissom is to be believed, which we all know is a fairly safe bet; this was only the tip of the iceberg for this whack job.”
Nick blew out a deep breath. “If this is our guy…” Nick did not even like thinking about the possibility that this could be the guy that had orchestrated Grissom’s abduction.
Brass tapped his forefinger to his chin in thought before pulling his cell from his pants pocket. “Let’s find out what ole’ Ritchie’s been up to,” he flipped the phone open “and who he’s been talking to.” Brass dialed the number that would shed some light on who and what had been occupying Richard Bathory’s time.
*******
Markus Bathory grinned evilly as he watched Grissom through a set of black and white monitors lining a long table. It had been a pleasurable surprise to find out that his adversary was such a fighter; it made it all the more sweeter. He could not recall the last time he had come against a will this strong. Too often it took only a matter of days before he was able to break their spirits. The anticipation of the battle of wills that would take place before he killed Grissom sent an arc of excitement through his body.
He watched as Grissom paced mechanically back and forth in his attempts to stave off the sleep his body and mind so desperately needed. Markus reached forward to turn up the audio to try and detect what it was that Grissom was mumbling to himself.
“He’s losing it,” Markus turned to look at the young man in the chair next to him. Donny sneered at the man on the monitors as he leaned back casually in his chair, crossing his arms across his thick chest.
“Really?” Markus asked as he alternated his cold silver gaze between the monitors and his brutal assistant.
A spark of uncertainty and dread flashed across Donny’s face as he looked to Markus. He lived to please Markus because it was what Richard wanted and Donny would carve open his own arteries if he thought it would please Richard Bathory.
“He’s babbling,” Donny said pointing a finger at the monitors, his voice hesitant.
Markus’s lips curled upward on one side of his mouth as he attempted to control his mirth. Richard picked them mean but stupid, he thought. “No, Donny,” Markus turned the volume up slightly “he’s speaking Latin.”
Donny gave Markus a look that told the older man he was sticking with his first opinion, that Grissom had lost it. “Latin? What for?” he asked scornfully.
Markus had come to realize he would need more than just physical abuse to break Grissom down. He would need to break the man’s mind, his strongest weapon. Once he was in Grissom’s mind he would burrow deep into his psyche, causing self doubt and despair and finally stroking his nightmare’s to a fever pitch to watch the man self combust in the flames of fear and anguish.
“Donny,” he said turning to his ever present helper “prepare the tank for Mr. Grissom.”
Donny sneered in appreciation of his master’s plan. The tank had broken everyone and Grissom would be no exception. “Yes, Markus,” he said with a tilt of his head as he left the room.
“Let’s see what you are made of then, huh, Grissom,” the man hissed at the monitors.
Fear is a great weapon, Markus thought. Fear could make the strong weak and the clever stupefied. He had had his people stage a most horrific scene at Grissom’s townhouse in the hopes the other CSIs would become sloppy and rattled. It was a matter of equilibrium. He would maintain his, while limiting theirs. Richard had taught him all about the importance of balance or lack there of. If his brother could simply grasp the necessary poise that was needed for anonymity in their diversions life would be far less difficult.
Markus had always been the steady one, the reliable one. He had for a short time tried to resist Richard and his entertainments, he had even gone off to college to study veterinarian medicine like his father. One of many things that Markus had done in hopes of getting his father’s much coveted attention. Somehow it never came to be and in the end Markus had not been willing to part or struggle with his twin brother. Together they were stronger than they were apart and it was time for him and Richard to be together again.
“Markus,” Donny had reentered the room his task complete “the tank is ready.”
Donny looked at Markus eagerly, his pink skin almost luminescent from the white glow of the monitors. He smiled at the young man who had become his most trusted follower. Although it was Richard that desired adherents and had cultivated them it was Markus who made the best use of the misguided youths. It worked fairly well for the Bathory brothers. One got the reverence his delusions required the other got eager servants to fulfill his needs.
“Ask Scott to help you with Mr. Grissom,” he said in a soft voice.
Donny nodded and left to fulfill his task, always keen to please. Donny had been a juvenile delinquent that had been one step away from prison. Richard had befriended Donny as a child, slowly sucking the thirteen year old street-running wild child under his spell. Markus had kept a loose eye on the boy after Richard had run and then got caught, mostly because Richard wanted him to but also because Donny was completely compliant and trustworthy. Markus could ask anything of Donny and it would be done without hesitation.
Following Donny from the room Markusbegan to cackle as he watched the two younger men stealthily approach Grissom, who had actually fallen asleep on his feet as he leaned into the corner of the room. Detecting the men’s approach, Grissom’s head flipped upwards, his eyes blinking madly as he tried to process the danger so near.
Throwing his back into the corner, Grissom raised his unbound leg and snapping it forward to catch Donny across his right hip, spinning the man back and away from Grissom. Scott halted his approach, throwing his arms wide, his palms outward as he attempted to circle to Grissom’s left as far as the wall would allow.
Donny growled as he gripped his wounded hip bone. “You are going to hate life…Grissom, I swear it.” He ground out between clenched teeth before charging into Grissom, catching the man in a bone jarring crash against the wall. Grissom struggled against Donny and Scott as the two beat and drug him from the room, cursing the man the whole time. A small cackle escaped Markus’s lips as he followed the men.
The tank was nothing more than an old cistern that Markus had modified for his own experiments and pleasure. In his youth Markus had read about sensory deprivation tanks and how subjects would hallucinate about pink tigers, ghosts, or anything else their minds could devise. He had been fascinated with the possibilities and had even tried the tank out for himself, a task he had know intentions of repeating. He reserved the tank as both a punishment and a last resort.
“Grissom, Grissom, I commend your spirit. Most of the time all we get is begging, pleading or bargaining. You,” Markus stepped out of the shadow of the building they had just exited, his pale silver eyes colorless, soulless in the moonlight “you just keep on fighting don’t you.”
Grissom fell to his knees, the throbbing in his jaw excruciating. Stabbing out his tongue, Grissom tasted the blood covering his lower lip before spitting it to the dusty ground. His first impulse was to spit it in Markus’s direction, as uncouth as it was Grissom could spit a good distance, but Grissom didn’t feel like getting beat again so had let the impulse slowly die.
Even if he had not acted on it, his eyes had shown Markus his defiant thoughts making the man laugh hardily. “Oh Grissom, you are indeed a joy. I am almost considering keeping you for myself.”
Grissom tried to split his ragged attention between the jovial Markus and the two men bent on manacling his hands with heavy iron cuffs. “What the hell are you talking about?” Grissom huffed trying to keep from being bound.
“Mmm?” Markus had been lost in his own sadistic thoughts, his face serene as he looked to Grissom.
Donny and Scott yanked Grissom to his feet with a collective grunt. A thick chain was hooked through his manacles. Grissom’s eyes rushed along the chain, following the short length to a circular iron grate suspended over what looked to be a well. Adrenaline surged through Grissom as Markus’s intent became clear. He reared away from the black opening, pulling painfully against the chain, the manacles biting painfully into his wrists and drawing blood.
“Get him in! Quickly!” Markus ordered momentarily fearing that the man might succeed in upending his contraption.
“Donny rushed forward slamming his thick fist into the back of Grissom’s skull as Scott worked the hoist mechanism to pull Grissom off his feet and over the opening of the cistern. Grissom fought for consciousness as he felt himself leave his feet. It was disorienting. He couldn’t tell if he was floating or falling the only thing his muddled mind was able to fully grasp was the fear rising up into his throat, threatening to choke him as the world began to shrink and go black.
Grissom hissed as he sucked in a breath at the first touch of the icy black waters slowly crept up his body. The water stung like tiny daggers against his flesh as he went lower and lower. He reached out with one foot trying to determine how far the sides were from him. If the opening was any indication of the size it was about five foot wide, could he brace himself across using the stones as footholds? He sure as Hell wasn’t going to let Bathory drown him without a fight.
His bare foot slid across the slime encrusted stones but before he could fully think through his options or plan, his descent halted.
“Well Grissom, I am going to leave you in very capable hands.” Markus was nothing more than a shadow in darkness hovering up Grissom. Still, Grissom could almost envision the sneer on the man’s face.
Grissom tried stretching his legs out in an attempt to straddle the well. The water was bitterly cold and at the moment that was what bothered Grissom more than the total blackness.
“Hey Grissom,” Scott called from above his voice full of sadistic humor “Don’t let the snakes get you.” Scott’s laugh dwindled away telling Grissom the man was leaving. Was Donny still up there? Grissom tried again to span his legs across the icy divide trying to catch a foothold in the stones hidden in the blackness below.
Little shivers began to sporadically course through his body making it more difficult as he leaned forward in an attempt to use his manacled hands. His descent into the frigid blackness had the water stopping just below his sternum. With each trembling step he raised himself slightly farther out of the water. His toes dug deeply into the crevices between the stones, making the arches of his feet strain like overstretched rubberbands as his bound hands clawed at the slick wall in front of him. His climb was made all by touch because no matter how wide he tried to make his eyes everything remained darkness.
Grissom had raised himself out of the bone chilling water as far as his waist when he felt his right foot begin to slip along the slime covered stones. With a whoosh of held breath Grissom slipped back down into the water, his arms being yanked painfully by the weight of his falling body. Grissom groaned in the darkness, the sound echoing of the stone walls surrounding him and startling him. He have spun in the blackness expecting someone else to be there before realizing it was his own voice that he had heard.
With a sigh he began his tentative climb once again. Grissom was surprised at the trembling of his muscles as he worked his way upward. Most people did not think of him as athletic and in truth he had not been so in many years but he had been blessed with an athlete’s body without having to do all the hard work that goes with it. Of course nature could do only so much and over the course of the last few years Grissom realized he was going to have to pay the exercise piper a little if he didn’t want to end up a slug. It was the same understanding he came to when he was thirty-five and switched to drinking light beer realizing his metabolism wasn’t quite as fast as it had been in his younger days.
This was different though. Grissom knew that the trembling his body was experiencing as he worked to lift himself out of the water was due to forced fatigue. His captors had kept him awake and on edge for hours, upon hours running into days. They had fed him sparingly, generally something in a wrapper. Beef jerky and trail mix seemed to be their meals of choice for him. God! What I wouldn’t give for hot pizza with everything from Jimmy Palermo’s Pizzeria! Grissom recalled the last time he and Sara had ordered from Jimmy’s. Neither one of them had been in the mood to cook so take out had been decided. Sara had wanted Thai, Grissom had wanted Mexican they had compromised and ordered a large half and half. Was that three days before…
Grissom tried to recall the time line that he had been struggling with. His days and nights had begun to swirl together in a mixture of aching body parts and fuzzy thoughts. Everything was getting fuzzy. He could hear his heart racing in his ears with a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. His head was getting heavy and his limbs began to ignore his brain’s directives. Loosing his footing once again, Grissom crashed back into the water with a galurp sound. The icy waters sucking the air from his lungs as his body tried fruitlessly to curl into a ball for warmth. His head lolled backwards looking upwards for any sign of hope before his head flopped forward. The blackness that surrounded him now seeping into his mind as oblivion took him.
*******
If Warrick had been working any other case he may have questioned or maybe even complained how he had ended up being the evidence runner. He ran down Greg’s van evidence, he had run down the phone logs and now he was running down a print Jacqui had identified from Grissom’s case. As it was, Warrick was just happy there were clues to run down. He’d be happy to run a marathon of evidence as long as it brought Grissom home alive and well.
Brass had asked Sofia Curtis to hunt down parents, family, last known address, anything she could find on Vonna Singer. Almost everything the detective could find on the girl was years old. The last known grade she had completed was the eighth grade at McKinley Middle School and that had been six years ago. Both her parents were serving time and her maternal great-grandmother had relinquished control of the girl shortly after she dropped out of school. Somewhere between the numerous foster homes and multiple run away attempts, Vonna Singer had fallen through the safety nets and slipped between the cracks of society to disappear.
The great-grandmother appeared to be the girl’s only family which made her apartment the most logical starting point for Warrick and Sofia to start. Warrick spotted Sofia speaking with a young man near the main entrance to the apartment complex. She looked to be showing him a photograph, possibly of Vonna Singer, and asking him a few questions.
“Sofia,” Warrick greeted her as he came to stand next to her, his eyes falling on the teenager standing across from him.
“Warrick, this is Jeremy,” Sofia gestured to the young man “Jeremy this is Warrick Brown from the Crime Lab. Jeremy was telling me that he and Vonna used to go to school together.”
Warrick’s eyes widened slightly behind the dark sunglasses, “Really,” he said with hint of interest.
“Yea, it was back in middle school,” Jeremy offered as he adjusted the baseball cap that sat backwards on his head. “She didn’t go to high school, kept skippin’, caused her gramma bunch of grief.”
Warrick nodded. “Has she been around here lately?”
The boy gave a non-committal shrug. “I seen her couple of times ‘round here. I think she comes to pester her grams for money or something.”
“When was the last time you saw her pestering her grams?” Sofia asked.
Warrick smiled at the leggy blonde’s use of the boy’s words. He knew she wasn’t trying to be hip but Sofia did have a sense of humor that ran a little on the sarcastic side. Warrick wondered if that could be a side effect from working to many hours with Brass. Now there’s the Mac Daddy of sarcasm!
“Not real recent,” the kid said bouncing from leg to leg obviously becoming bored with Sofia and Warrick. “Maybe two or three months ago…I know, it was right after the fire at Zwickie’s Tavern…whenever that was. I remember because she asked me about it when I saw her.”
“Okay,” Sofia said pushing her dark glasses higher on the bridge of her nose “thanks for all your help.” She handed him one of her cards, “If you think of anything just give me a call at that number, okay.”
“Sure,” Jeremy said taking the card before heading across the apartment courtyard to disappear into one of the many tan, brick apartment buildings.
Sofia glanced at Warrick has they made there way through the overgrown courtyard. “I’ll check to find out when the fire took place to give us some sort of timeline,” she informed Warrick as the two stopped in front apartment C121. Reaching out Sofia knocked on the apartment door, noting the wood laminate was starting to pull away. Movement could be heard within the apartment. Sofia looked to Warrick and raised her hand to knock a second time. Before her knuckles had a chance to announce their presence the door began to open slowly.
“Yes?” came a soft, jovial voice from within.
Sofia slipped her sunglasses on top of her blonde head as she looked through the opening that the security chain allowed. “Mrs. Gaines?”
“Yes,” replied the tiny woman standing behind the door. Even half hidden behind the door Sofia could tell the woman was very slight and frail. The pale skin on the hand holding the door was tissue paper thin showing the criss-cross network of blue veins underneath. Looking into the woman’s face Sofia could see that the old woman was almost completely blinded by the foggy gray cataracts that covered her eyes.
“Mrs. Gaines my name is Sofia Curtis, I am a police detective,” Sofia pulled the gold badge from her breast pocket and brought it closer knowing the old woman would not be able to see it unless she did so.
Mrs. Gaines small, thin hand reached out to touch the badge. “Who’s with you?” she asked her eyes squinting behind her useless glasses as she gazed in Warrick’s direction.
“My name is Warrick Brown, ma’am, I work with Detective Curtis,” Warrick answered pulling his sunglasses off his face and slipping the ear piece into the collar of his t-shirt.
The old woman hesitated briefly before shutting her door to slide the brass chain off. Opening the door wide she invited the two of them in before closing the door behind them. It was a small, tidy place. The living room and dining room were one room with a tiny kitchen jutting off the dining room end of the room. It was furnished sparingly in attempt to maximize what little room there was. A door directly across from the front door most likely led to the apartments only other rooms, a bedroom and bathroom.
Mrs. Gaines shuffled over to an antique wood and wicker rocking chair and eased herself down into a well worn cushion. “Please sit,” she said extending her arm to the small sofa lining the wall near the door.
Sofia sidestepped past the small television table filled with magazines to take a seat at the end of the dark green floral couch. Warrick hesitated momentarily the apartment giving him a sense of claustrophobia that he felt rarely. The place was made for a single occupant and with the three of them there is felt like the walls were just a little to close for comfort.
Sitting on the couch next to Sofia Warrick asked, “Mrs. Gaines, we wanted to know if you had seen Vonna recently?”
The woman’s near sightless eyes widened at her great-granddaughter’s name. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you are asking about Vonna. She’s the only one I can think of that would have the police at my door.”
“Has Vonna had a lot of trouble with the police?” Sofia asked. From what she had been able to cull from Vonna Singer’s records the girl was mostly a chronic run away.
“Oh, you know the usual wayward teen stuff, but you know…how sometimes God gives you a peek at a person’s future…how you can tell that they’re blessed and going to do great things with their life or…” the old woman seemed lost in her words, her fuzzy eyes looking sadly into the space above Sofia and Warrick’s head “cursed to waste the time that God has given them? Vonna was like her mother, cursed.”
Sofia wasn’t really certain how to respond to what the old woman had told them, so instead chose to ask the questions they had come to ask. “Has Vonna been by to see you recently?”
Mrs. Gaines attention drifted back to the two people sitting on her couch. “Recently, no. She came by with her latest boyfriend about three months ago. I thought she was going to ask me for money or a place for them to stay but she never did. Just sat where you two are sitting and talked for awhile. Told me she was working for a veterinarian who was starting up a new clinic. I kind of hoped she was getting herself together.”
“Do you remember the boyfriend’s name or the vet she was working for?” Sofia continues trying to glean any information they could.
“Mmm, maybe Donny or Davey? I’m not really certain. She’s had so many and I don’t think she ever said the doctor’s name. The clinic’s name was something with two names in it. Smith might have been the last name. Something and Smith or maybe it was Smythe…I’m sorry,” the old woman apologized.
“Would you happen to know where Vonna is living now?” Warrick asked hoping for something more definitive.
“No but she did give me a phone number I could reach her at,” the woman said with a smile as she raised herself from the rocking chair to paddle over to the kitchen area.
Hanging on the wall next to the dark yellow phone was a corkboard littered with various scraps of paper. Mrs. Gaines leaned towards the corkboard her nose a mere inch or two from the messages and notes. “Here it is,” she said triumphantly pulling the paper from its place and returning with it.
She handed the small scrap of paper to Sofia who quickly copied the number down in her notes before handing the paper back to the smiling woman.
“Here ma’am,” Warrick said coming to his feet and intercepting the scrap of paper “allow me.” Taking the paper back to its place on the corkboard Warrick made a cursory check of the bedroom through the slightly open door and finally the tiny kitchen. Everything appeared as it should. With a nod to Sofia he made his way back to living room.
“Well,” Sofia began getting to her feet “if you think of anything or hear from Vonna could you contact me?” Sofia handed Mrs. Gaines her card.
“Of course Detective,” she answered taking the card and following them to the front door.
“Ma’am?” Warrick turned to face the old woman after exiting the apartment. “Can I ask you why you’re not curious about our questions concerning Vonna?”
The woman almost looked dejected. “Mr. Brown I have very few illusions concerning my great-granddaughter but can you fault me if I tried to hold on to one or two?”
Warrick nodded in understanding before thanking her and following Sofia to their parked vehicles. At Sofia’s car he said, “So we have a possible boyfriend.”
“Donny or Davey,” Sofia stated opening the door to her car.
Warrick gave a nod. “A veterinarian named something like Smith or Smythe…”
“Maybe”
“And a phone number,” Warrick added slipping his sunglasses back onto his face with a lopsided grin.
“And a phone number,” Sofia mimicked. “I’ll meet you at the lab as soon as I get a date on that fire Jeremy told us about.”
Warrick nodded, “I’ll get to work on the phone number.” Opening the door to his Denali, “After that I am going to run down Vonna’s foster families, see if there are any Donny’s, Davey’s, Smiths or Smythes.”
Sofia nodded before entering her car and heading back to the police station. Hopefully between the two of them they would be able to amass enough information to point them in the direction of Vonna Singer and hopefully beyond her, Gil Grissom.
*******
It was strange how if a person altered their perspectives slightly they could see the world just as they wanted, not as it was. Sitting in the darkened cab of a black Denali in the driveway of Grissom’s townhouse Sara could almost imagine everything had been a bad dream. That, if she walked up to his door and slid the key hidden on her key ring into the lock she could turn the lock, open the door and find him there safe within.
If she ignored the crime scene tape covering his front door and the cruiser parked out on the street she could imagine it was one of those rare nights when she and Grissom were off together. Missing him she would come over, he never called for her to come over but always knew she would. Sometimes he would be waiting at the door, opening it as she mounted the step, his hand reaching out to her and pulling her into his embrace as their bodies circled to shut the outside world away.
It was comfortable the way they meshed so well together. Grissom was a mystery to most but to Sara he was perfect. Neither one of them was great at relationships yet they made theirs work because it was meant to work. Because Fate had a sense of humor was all Sara could ever fathom and maybe the slightest of soft spots for two driven, workaholic investigators.
Sara gave a curt wave to the uniformed officer sitting out in the black and white as she approached the darkened townhouse. Reaching into her right hip pocket she pulled her key to Grissom’s townhouse out and unlocked the front door. Pulling her flashlight out of her vest pocket, Sara ducked under the offensive yellow tape and entered his home.
She wasn’t sure why she had come here. The team had spent hours upon hours processing the townhouse, looking for clues as to the what and where that surrounded Grissom’s disappearance. Maybe they had overlooked something in their initial shock, something that would help her find him, bring him home safely.
“God!” Sara exclaimed in a rush of breath. She folded her arms across her chest, hugging her body. Her arms ached to hold him, to feel his warm body pressed to hers, to delight in the way his hands possessively roamed her lower back and the gentle swell of her hips. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and hold his beloved face in her hands. To search his exquisite blue eyes for the love that she knew was there.
Sara closed her eyes. Sucking in a deep breath to stem the rising anguish, Sara shone the flashlight through the entryway. She knew Grissom’s townhouse well having lived there more then at her own apartment in the last year and a half. Sara wondered if it had been any other crime scene, would her friends and coworkers have noticed the small feminine details that had infused their way into Grissom’s home. Had they not been distracted by fear and worry would they have noticed that the bottom two drawers of Grissom’s dresser were stuffed full of women’s clothing. Sara had no doubt that if they had not been terrified for Grissom they would have caught that and much more.
Using the butt of her flashlight, Sara flipped the light switch nearest the front door illuminating the entryway and casting heavy shadows into the livingroom area. Even with the remnants of carnage left behind, the place still vibrated with Grissom’s presence- strong, masculine, subtle, silent. There was a hint of both scientist and artist in his butterfly displays hanging on the wall that made Sara’s heart ache even more. How surprised would their coworkers be if she told them Grissom would recite love sonnets while brushing her hair lovingly before bed, or that he had a lovely singing voice and would sing softly to some slow tune while dancing slowly with her in the moonlight on his deck. Very surprised, was what Sara thought.
Sara tried to think of Grissom, his habits, what he would have done that morning as he entered his home. She looked back at the front door.
“Sara, honey?”
He would have called out to see if she had come home to his place instead of her own neglected apartment. She had thought about it had wished fervently that she had. If she had been there would they have stood a chance?
Recalling Grissom’s habits upon arriving home she followed his movements in her mind’s eye. He’d gather his mail and brief case and head for the kitchen, throwing the briefcase in one of the round backed stools, his keys and mail on the counter. He’d head for his stereo, debate what it was he wanted to listen to before grabbing one of the fruit and yogurt cups she had gotten him hooked on from the fridge. He’d make himself comfortable on the couch as he read his mail and ate his yogurt, shirking his jacket and shoes and pulling his shirttails from the waistband of his slacks.
The light beam of Sara’s flashlight passed over the broken couch. How many hours had they spent talking, touching, feeling and loving on that couch? Not enough, Sara wanted more, a lifetime’s more. She wanted him back with feverish desire.
“If you want him back then think, Sidle, think!” Sara berated herself.
She had processed the kitchen and found a yogurt cup and a half gallon container of orange juice in the kitchen waste basket. She knew it had to be from that morning because she had left him the last of the orange juice from the day before. He would have gathered his briefcase up and placed it in his workspace off the livingroom and wondered upstairs to take a shower. He’d…
Sara’s mental journey through Grissom’s morning halted with a single realization. “He would have called me,” she whispered. He always called her if she wasn’t at the townhouse or if she hadn’t called him first. Even when he had a rotten night and wasn’t interested in talking he would call.
“Sweet dreams,” he would say before “I love you.”
Sara grabbed her cell phone from her hip and dialed her home number. She had been running errands that morning, planning on cooking him dinner that night before shift but then had gotten called in by Ecklie to help on a limo accident that involved a group of high priced tourist, one of which ended up dead. Apparently no one on days was mechanically inclined and Sara’s talents were needed.
Sara quickly jabbed in the code to her voicemail. Three messages, why hadn’t she checked her messages? Because I’ve barely been home since that day! The computerized voice rattled off the date and time stamp:
“Sara…”
It was Grissom, the sound of his voice breathing life back into her weary soul. She swayed on her feet almost hugging the phone in her hand.
“I’m sorry I missed you after shift, usual bureaucratic quicksand,” Sara could tell that he had been moving about the townhouse as he had spoke “Anyway, listen honey, I’m going to wash up and grab some sleep. I’d make a spot for you if you decided to come over.”
Sara smiled as she envisioned his naughty boy smile.
“If you don’t make it by I’ll call you around four. Sweet dreams, I love you.”
Sara fought the impulse to play the message over and over just to hear his voice. The second message was the car dealership that she had bought her car reminding her of an upcoming oil change and the third was him again. Sara noted the time on the message 5:13pm.
“Hey Sara, it’s me (yawns) are you there? Sorry I didn’t call at four, I must be more run down than I thought (yawns again). I’ll give your…” Sara listened as a long pause filled the time. “I’ll give your cell a call. I…” another pause before the computerized voice told her it was the end of her messages.
Sara snapped her phone shut absentmindedly. Something had distracted Grissom at the end of the message. She could hear it in his voice. Could his attackers have come in then? Did Grissom hear something? Did he just know that something wasn’t right?
“5:13,” Sara mumbled to herself. The call to the neighbors had come in at 10:58pm. Somewhere in the five plus hours someone had taken Grissom. Sara wasn’t sure if it would help her find Grissom or not but it gave her a timeline to work with, which sometimes was the little thing that could make big cracks in cases.
Sara hesitated momentarily not wanting to leave his place, wanting to be close to him. She sucked in a long breath trying to absorb any dormant energy he may have left behind. She wanted to soak herself in his essence, his smell and energy. She wanted to remember everything, every touch, every whispered word and stolen moment because they were all going to pale in comparison when she got him back.
With determined strides Sara made her way to the front door. Flipping the light off as she left she could have sworn she heard Grissom whisper, sweet dreams…I love you. “I love you too, babe,” she whispered back into the darkness before shutting and locking the door.