*******

            Days had now turned into weeks since the ill fated day of Grissom’s abduction. Nerves were getting short and tempers even shorter. Catherine had had to go above Ecklie, to the Sheriff, to request her team be given a little extra latitude to work Grissom’s case. What she wanted was to hermetically seal themselves away from Ecklie and the rest of the bureaucracy but she’d take a temporary “get off our ass card” for now. Every minute that past made it more unlikely they would find Grissom alive, so the last thing they wanted to do is waste time on egos, incompetents and bullshit.
            Warrick had had a few choice words with the day shift supervisor and Nick had had to physically pull Sara out of the building for some fresh air when Ecklie had suggested to her she’d need to catch up on her paperwork eventually. Neither Ecklie nor the day shift supervisor had meant anything by their statements; their words were just insensitive enough to set off a pair of over worked and frightened CSIs. Because that was what they were, scared. Scared that Gil might be suffering at the hands of his captors, scared that they may fail him and not get him free, scared that he may be dying or dead. Catherine pressed her fist into her forehead if by doing so would make the thought and the fear it evoked to go away.
Sara entered the break room and went straight for the coffee pot. Her hair was pulled back and secured in a ponytail, her sunglasses perched on top over her head. They were all exhausted and had to deal with the bitter disappointment of Grissom being out there somewhere every hour of every day but Sara was who Catherine was beginning to worry the most about. In order to get Sara to go home for a few hours, Catherine had had to use subterfuge, setting up a rotation that involved all the team members going home for a few hours of sleep. If she had mentioned it just to Sara, who had been the only one of them not to go home for some rest, Catherine would have been privy to one of Sara’s “Go to Hell” glares and left standing alone as the other woman walked off.
            Sara had gone home days ago and stuffed a duffle bag full of jeans, t-shirts, underwear and toiletries. Her locker was jammed with the stuff. When she slept, which was even rarer than usual, she did it standing up, sitting down or when possible on the break room couch. If anything happened, any news came in she had every intentions of being there and anyone that thought different, that included Catherine, could just try and get her out of the building.
            “How are you holding up, Sara?” Catherine asked. The dark circles under her eyes answered far more honestly than Sara.
            “I’m up,” Sara said a tight smile passing her lips tat matched her acidic tone. Catherine took the hint- Sara was not in the mood to talk!
            “Hey Catherine, hey Sara, ready for the scenic drive to Ely?” Brass asked bounding into the room. He twirled his keys in a single circle before he led the way out of lab. Their destination would be the Nevada State Prison and one Richard M. Bathory, murder, butcher, sadist, psychopath and possible link to the whereabouts of Gil Grissom.
            Warrick walked into the room; slipping by Brass he patted the police detective on the shoulder.
            “Hey “Rick,” Brass greeted “Anything come up on that Singer girl?”
            Warrick walked up to their ongoing evidence board and tacked a 4x6 photo of a teenage girl to the board under the black marker heading “possible suspects”.
            “Is that her?” Sara asked staring at the photograph. The girl in the pictured looked to be the average, ordinary teen, smiling while drinking a cola on a park bench.
            Warrick nodded, “Got it from her last foster mother. It’s about two years old but better then what we had.”
            “Hey guys,” Jacqui swung breathlessly into the room, one hand holding onto the steel doorframe “I got a hit on one of your prints from the found at Grissom’s.”
            “Really?” Sara asked following the fingerprint specialist along with Catherine and Nick.
            “Yep, it took awhile and I had to go old school to do it but it’s a match,” she said pointing to the prints on her work station.
            “Who is it?” Sara asked raising her head from inspecting the prints.
            Jacqui opened the file she had been carrying. On top was the owner of the fingerprints. “His name is Donald Kempler, 24. He was actually printed as a juvenile seven years ago. That’s why it took so long.”
            “Donald,” Warrick picked up the mug shot photo of a young man with bright red hair and a sour look upon his face “as in Donny.” He leveled a knowing look at Catherine and Sara.
            “Wasn’t that the name of the boyfriend?” Sara asked pointing to the photograph Warrick had just put on the board.
            Warrick raised his brows, “Yea.”
            Catherine’s mood was beginning to lighten. Maybe they were going to get this investigation rolling again. “Anything on that palm print Greg lifted from Grissom’s garage door?”
            “No,” Jacqui said a little disheartened “but if you find the guy I can match him.” Jacqui began to leave. “Oh, one other thing,” she said at the door “I have a possible hit on a smudged partial. CODIS threw out a half dozen possible hits but I knew to go through and check each one. There looks to be a scar or maybe a callous near the fifth digit. I’ll let you know.”
            “Thanks Jacqui,” Catherine said as Jacqui headed out in the hallway. “Nicky, go back through Richard Bathory’s file see if this Kempler kid is anywhere in it. Sara and I are taking a
            “Gotcha!” Nick said, marching off with knew determination.

 

*******

            Gil Grissom had never known the kind of pain that he had been forced to endure in the days since he had awoke to find himself at Markus Bathory’s mercy. There was no mercy, no clemency from his hell. Grissom got no reprieve from the devils that tormented him nor the games their master devised.
            His head throbbed to the point where he was sure his skull would crack under the pressure, his brains oozing from the fissures in his head. His left eye was swollen shut and matched the many black and purple bruises that had marked his face and body. His right eye was still good but the pain that stabbed through his skull anytime he opened it only made him nauseous.
            He was fairly certain that he had sustained a concussion in his last go around with Markus’s goons and wasn’t all uncertain that he might have ended up with a cracked rib or two. Between the beatings, the lack of food and sleep and Markus’s “lessons” Grissom knew his days were numbered. He had to find away to escape his prison and soon otherwise he might as well kick up his toes and write life off.
            A wave of nausea accompanied another intense pain in his head, causing him to double over and wretch. His captors had deigned not to feed him on this particular day, his body merely convulsed through the motions, his throat occasionally making a squeaking noise with the effort. White sparkles exploded behind his eyes with the effort before Grissom slowly slid sideways against the wall. His vision was covered in a white-gray fog as he lay on his side fighting for consciousness.
            From somewhere in the room Grissom could hear soft footsteps, not the heavy ones that accompanied a beating, but feather light steps. It reminded him of Sara as she walked across the hardwood and stone floors of his townhouse. He could see her, her bare feet scooting quickly along the cool surface, diving for the couch and blanket as she curled herself against his warmth and warmed her feet against his legs.
            “saraaa,” he whispered on half a breath as he felt the darkness dragging on his consciousness.
            “Hey,” a quiet voice pulled him from the black pool preparing to suck him in “are you hungry?”
            Grissom open his good eye and for a brief moment thought he was dreaming. Lindsay? Kneeling in front of him was a young girl with long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was probably fourteen or fifteen years old but her face still retained the endearing roundness of a child. Her blue eyes were a mixture of fear and worry as she brought a cool rag to his face cleaning the dried blood and dirt away.
            The feel of the cool wetness had Grissom licking his cracked lips. He had drank his water sparingly throughout most of the day but had run out sometime ago. “water,” he croaked trying to clear his throat.
            The girl nodded energetically reaching behind her for a clear, plastic bottle of water. She handed it to Grissom before she set out his meal for the day. If Grissom had not been starving he might have laughed at his meal. Lying on a plain paper plate was some trail mix and half an apple.
            Taking a small drink from his water he thanked the girl. She nodded and backed away from him before turning to leave. She had been in to take care of him once before. She always seemed timid, frightened and Grissom wondered if it was him that she was afraid of or the others. She did not seem to fit in this nightmare. Too kind, he thought as he devoured his food and drank his water.
            He had noticed that she had left behind the rag. Not knowing if he could use it at a later date, Grissom shifted his body so that his thigh covered the rag. He would wait until later to move it to his hiding spot between the mattress and the wall. Grissom had collected a handful of generally, innocuous items hoping that somehow soon he would come up with some McGuyver moment to get himself free and away from his captors.

 

*****

            Heavy manacles bound his ankles and wrists with chains attached to a thick leather belt strapped to his waist. Two muscular guards escorted, each holding an arm while a third followed with the palm of his hand resting on the head of his baton. The guards body language had said it all, this guy’s trouble.
            Bathory was of average height with a sinewy build. His hair was white-blonde, cut close along the sides and back but left longer on top. He leered at them as he entered the cell. The two escort guards roughly sat him in the heavy metal chair, placing heavy hands on his shoulders to hold him in place, while the third guard chained his waist to the back of the chair and strapped his ankles to the front legs. It was strikingly obvious that there was a lack of trust concerning Mr. Bathory’s good behavior.
            It had been his eyes that had initially disturbed Sara. Pale silver; almost see through, with an unnatural glimmer about them. When he had leveled his gaze at Sara she had felt like an ice cold needle had pierced her chest and she knew then and there that she was in the presence of true evil. This guy wasn’t misunderstood or insane; he was malevolence in human form.
            “Lieutenant, it is good to see you again,” Bathory effused seeming genuinely pleased to see Brass.
            “It’s captain now,” Brass informed the man casually. Brass had come up against this monster once before and knew how much he enjoyed twisting people in the wind with that icy stare of his. As discomforting as it was Brass was going to go eye to eye and toe to toe with the degenerate if need be. “They treating you good?” Brass asked his eyes darting to the guards.
            Bathory looked to his left and then his right in a slow scrutiny. The somber, square jawed guards stayed just out of Bathory’s reach but close enough to take charge of the situation should their ward decide to misbehave himself. “They love me,” Bathory said with a grin before settling his gaze first on Catherine, who was sitting next to Brass and then Sara, standing at the opposite side of the room.
            “Who have you brought cap-tain?” Bathory asked inflecting the last, his gaze settling back on Catherine.
            Brass gave Catherine silent praise to the woman next to her. She was tough, he’d never doubted it but the fact that she maintained her casual indifference to the man, even under his unnerving gaze and his licking lips, spoke volumes to her fortitude. Catherine held her own, staring straight back at the man as if he was more nuisance than danger.
            “This is Catherine Willows,” Brass looked to Catherine and then tilted his head in the direction of Sara behind them “and Sara Sidle. They work for the crime lab. You remember the crime lab don’t you Richard?”
            Bathory turned his gaze from the two women back to Brass his lascivious grin faltering. “How is my good friend Gil Grissom these days?” he asked with mock pleasantness, his wolf’s grin returning at the spark of anger that lit in each of their faces.
            “Well, it just so happens that is why we came to see,” Catherine said behind a social façade.
            Bathory ducked his head obviously having difficulty keeping up his pretenses. Leaning forward in his chair he raised his eyes to Catherine in said in an overly dramatical manner, “Please don’t tell me something has happened to him.”
            It took every ounce of willpower Sara had to remain where she was, when all she wanted to do was go across that table and use bodily harm to extract the answers she needed to find Gil.
            “Were not sure,” Catherine leaned forward not allowing the man the satisfaction of physical intimidation. She saw the flicker of annoyance pass over Bathory’s face and smiled inwardly. Play your games sicko, she thought defiantly.
            Sliding back into his seat, Bathory tried to regain the upper hand. Looking from Catherine to Brass, who raised an eyebrow knowingly, he said, “Don’t tell me you’ve lost the poor man.”
             “Not so much lost as had stolen from us,” Brass said feeling the tension slowly nibbling away at his casual veneer.
            “Nooo,” Bathory’s pseudo concern had Sara’s finger’s itching to go for one of the guard’s batons. Her dark eyes could not hide the hatred that she felt brewing in her chest. He knew. She knew he knew just as she knew he would never help them willingly. He was the epitome of cooperation and he lied the whole time. His answers were smooth, flawless but false.
            “We thought maybe you could help us out,” Catherine could see how easily this man could get under a person’s skin.
            “So quiet,” he whisper-hissed. His attention falling on Sara as he ignored Catherine. “Is she always like this?”
            Brass glanced back at Sara. She was leaning against the wall in an attempt to appear casual, but her folded arms said she was seeking protection from the monster sitting across the table. Brass shrugged his shoulders in response and tried to return Bathory’s attention back to the point at hand. The last thing he needed was for the sicko set Sara off. It wouldn’t be pretty!
            “I always liked the quiet ones,” Bathory said. He placed his manacled hands on the table, his fingers slowly stoking the surface as if it was a beloved pet. His eyes never wavering as he held Sara’s gaze. “They were so very responsive to me.”
            Brass, seeing that Bathory had done a Louganis into the deep end, tapped his knuckles on the table. “Where’s that brother of yours?” Brass asked.
            At the mention of his brother, Richard returned his attention back to the police captain. The sly smile momentarily lost as he searched Brass’s face intently, trying to size up the man and what he knew.
            Brass realized he had hit on something. “Markus, wasn’t it?” he pseudo questioned already knowing the answer but wanting to see what other reactions he might be able to elicit from the man across the table.
            “I haven’t seen my brother since I was imprisoned,” Bathory stated flatly. His face showing the indignity that he felt. He truly believed he was being held on unworthy charges.
Brass pursed his lips in mock thought. “Geez…if my twin brother didn’t come to visit me, I’d be a little pissed too.”
            “I’m not angry with Markus,” Bathory snapped.
            Catherine kept her smile to herself even as Jim egged the man on further. This was a special talent and Jim Brass excelled in pissing suspects off until they started tripping over their on tongues and hung themselves with their own words.
            “Hey, don’t try and defend the guy,” Brass put up hand as if to say “stop”.
            “I’m not,” Richard hated it went he knew he was being manipulated but couldn’t quite get control of the situation or himself. As far as he was concerned he was smarter than every person in the room and should be easily dominating the conversation. His problem had always been a matter of control. Markus had tried to teach him, train him but Richard would eventually stumble no matter how hard he tried. His ego was always his downfall. Even as he headed for the cliff’s edge he could not stop himself.
            Brass made a face that suggested he did not belief the man. “Really,” he turned to look at Catherine who played right along with the police captain casting a faux look of sympathy at Bathory. “Sounds like you’re trying to make excuses to me, Catherine? Sara?” Brass glanced at both women.
            Bathory remained silent.
            “Well, I guess, what can you expect really? It’s not like you’re getting lose in this life time,” Brass tapped the table in front of him.
            “He probably just wrote him off,” Catherine offered.
            Bathory ground his teeth trying to remain quiet.
            “I would,” Sara quietly vowed from her spot against the wall. Her dark eyes glared at the man, her loathing apparent.
            Bathory leveled his bitter gaze on Sara his eyes roaming up and down her ample length, purposely licking his lips as his eyes lingered on her covered breasts. Sara pushed herself off the wall by her shoulder, raising herself to her full height and dropped her arms that had been folded across her chest. He could lick his lips, drool, howl at the moon for all she cared but he wasn’t going to intimidate her. She’d go toe to toe with the psychopath. Sara knew she probably wasn’t at Grissom’s level of expertise regarding the twisted and deranged but she’d watch his art form plenty.
            “You know…Catherine, Brass…I’m beginning to wonder if Grissom had this guy all wrong.” Sara came forward and rested a hand on each of her companion’s chairs.
            Brass glanced over his left shoulder. It looked like Sara was going to play bad cop to his and Catherine’s good cop. Of course, Brass had little doubt that Sara would go way bad if she was allowed to have her way. The woman had turned downright scary since Grissom had been taken. He wasn’t surprised though, Sara had always been a passionate investigator and it had never been difficult to see that she felt more than friendship for Grissom.
            “Tell me something Richard, was it Markus all along?” Sara asked with a condescending smirk “I know you think your a genius but…well,” She looked at Bathory, dark brown clashing with icy silver. She shook her head as if she had pondered some great thought and then dismissed it.  “This guy wants to be Leopold to Markus’s Loeb but we all know what happened to them. Those mental cripples got caught, tried and convicted in three months.” Sara said sarcastically, walking aimlessly behind Brass and Catherine.
            Bathory’s hands clenched into fists on top of the table and Catherine allowed a smile to escape across her face. This guys temper and ego were his Achilles’ heel and Sara’s marksmanship seemed as true as Paris’.
            “I thought I read that Loeb was the mastermind?” Catherine questioned Sara who continued to pace slowly her eyes daring Bathory. “Mastermind is a term I’d use lightly around most of these sociopathic, effete, snobs.” Sara again shook her head with a slight chuckle. She would attack the man’s intellect, his prized possession.
            Catherine raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to one side as if considering Sara’s point for the first time. She could see the rising color in Bathory’s neck and knew that Sara’s dismissal of his mental prowess was almost more than the man could bear.
            “Yea,” Catherine began “I have a funny feeling that guys that squawk about being geniuses are kind of like those guys that brag about their sex life…no stroke.” Catherine eyed Bathory suspiciously.
            Sara went through an obvious pretense at hiding her mirth. She wanted her ridicule to be obvious but not overt, all the more insulting to a man with a low threshold to criticism. “You know…I’ve always suspected Grissom was a genius.”
            “He did catch our boy here,” Catherine inclined her head towards the man in question.
            Brass watched the two women. Their discourse was beginning to have an obvious effect on Bathory. His fingers stretched and curled in agitation and his jaw would clench and relax at sporadic intervals. Even though he had witnessed it many years before, it still startled him to see the pale, icy gaze blaze brighter with hatred and immeasurable evil.
            “That was luck,” Bathory spit out bouncing restlessly in his chair, his agitation causing the guard’s stance to become more alert.
            “Luck!” Sara huffed in disbelief. “Try skill. There was no mystery to you…Grissom had you pegged…before you even knew it.”
            With a resounding thud, Bathory smashed his fists against the table top. “You-know-nothing!” he hissed, grinding each word out as he stabbed Sara with his steely gaze.
            At his outburst the two guards standing directly behind him came forward, placing large hands on his shoulders and forcing him back against the chair. Bathory tried to shake their grips with a jerk of his shoulders but the large men were well used to the hostilities of the local residents. “Knock it off,” one of them warned before they returned to their posts directly behind Bathory.
            Sara smiled broadly. “I know plenty,” she challenged as she came to stand between Brass and Catherine, her hands resting on the backs of their chairs. “I know a wannabe when I see one…a poser.” Sara stared intently at the man for a moment, a silent duel of wills taking place before she shrugged and moved off to slowly pace again.
            Bathory’s breathing was becoming ragged his eyes raged as his fingers clawed at the table top. His attention was trained solely on Sara as he tracked her movements in the room.
            “I know you’re a waste of time…Grissom was smarter than you then and,” she looked pointedly at the silently seething man a dare sparkling in her eyes as she smiled in mock pity “he’s too smart for you now.” Sara placed the palms of both her hands on the table and leaned forward challenging the man.
            With a roar of rage Bathory attempted to lunge for the woman, the straps and chains keeping him on his side of the table. Sara stood and placed her hands on her hips, a knowing smirk covering her face as the man raged.
            “YOU STUPID BITCH! I’LL KILL YOU!” spittle erupted from Barthory’s lips like cobra venom dotting the table’s surface.
            The guard’s shot concerned glances towards Brass, who gave a tiny shake of his head and raised his palm up from where it rested at the edge of the table. Let Bathory self-combust as long as he gave up his brother or better still, where Grissom was. The evidence against them was thin but every bone in his body, every fiber in his being and twenty plus years of police work told him the Bathory brothers were behind Grissom’s kidnapping.
            “You wish,” Sara laughed softly.
            Catherine scooted her chair back imperceptively preparing for the moment when the man ignited under Sara’s taunts. Under normal circumstances she would question the inspiration behind taunting a psychotic mass murderer but Catherine was well aware of what was driving Sara and watched and waited.
            “YOU’RE DEAD…I’M GOING TO SUCK YOUR INTESTINES OUT WITH A STRAW WHILE FUCKING YOU RAW!” Bathory screamed at her his fists beating away at the table.
            Sara shook her head in dismissal, appearing not the least bit concerned by his threat.
            “I’LL PLUCK THOSE PRETTY BROWN EYES FROM YOUR HEAD-“
            “Give it up!” Sara interrupted.
            “But I’ll make sure… Grissom gets to watch first,” he hissed at her, his handcuffs screeching across the metal tabletop.
            There it was. Sara hesitated just a moment before looking at the shrieking man, not wanting to give herself away. She would continue to push and hopefully he would continue to let things slip. As long as he wasn’t aware of what he was doing Sara felt she had a good chance of learning more. “You can’t do anything to anyone,” she gestured to the bars of the room.
            “Let alone let them watch,” Brass cut in sounding bored.
            Bathory huffed, his omnipotent desires being shredded by every word and gesture. He had held the power of life and death in his hands countless times. His victims had begged for their lives and eventually had begged for their deaths but they had always begged him. He had always been the one in charge.
            “You think these walls can stop me? These walls are NOTH-ING, you are NOTH-ING” he whispered, elongating the last. “Grissom is NOTH-ING! And when I will it he’ll beg for my mercy before I feed his dead, bloated carcass to his beloved bugs!”
            The man’s eyes burned with an insane fire as he dreamt his hideous dream. All the gory details flashing before his mind’s eye, causing his voice to rise in pitch until Bathory was almost screeching. His head tilted upward rocking back and forth as if soaking up the relaxing, warm spray of a shower after a long, hard day. “Markus is making his life hell, he’s probably already asked for death… it will be miiine to give…Ahhh, the games they mussst be playing,” Bathory whispered dreamily, his eyes closing in imagined rapture.
            Brass and the two women exchanged startled, knowing glances as they watched Bathory sink into his morbid daydreams of delight. His bound hands folded onto his chest as his fingertips stoked his neck absentmindedly while he gently swayed in his seat.
            Sara looked to Catherine; she was at a loss as to how to proceed and could feel the first hint of panic beginning to creep into her chest. If this man was somehow connected to Grissom’s abduction, Sara was more concerned then ever for his safety and wellbeing. She could not and would not imagine what might be happening to him.
            Catherine could see that Sara had lost her momentum against Bathory. They needed more information from the swaying, egomaniacal mass murderer and Catherine wanted to keep him off his game.
            “We don’t believe Markus or you had anything to do with Grissom’s disappearance.” Bathory’s sense of self-worth was more inflated than a dot.com bubble. Catherine decided that Sara had had success going down that route, might as well see where it would lead.
            Bathory opened his eyes and stared at Catherine, his swaying ceasing as his hands dropped slowly to the table. He seemed momentarily perplexed before a mask of indignation fell across his face. “What?” he asked angrily.
            Catherine acted as if she were dealing with a child. “We,” she gestured to herself and Brass and Sara “do not believe Markus or you,” she added fuel to the insult by pointing to Bathory “had anything to do with Grissom.”
            A bright red flush rose in Bathory’s face as full blooded anger washed away his earlier annoyance. His eyes darted to Sara who had resumed her post against the wall and Brass who gave the man a shrug and roll of his eyes.
            “Sorry man,” Brass said “looks like our bad guys this time are a bunch of young punks…probably trying to make a name for themselves.” He turned to Catherine for the last. Catherine nodded at this possibility, never believing it for a second. Their suspect was sitting right in front of them huffing and puffing away. Even if the man was locked away he still had dark and sinister hands helping him on the outside.
            Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Bathory tried to regain control over himself. When he opened his eyes again, Bathory was almost serene as he pierced them with his cold, dead eyes, the specter of a smile teasing his lips.
            “I will send you his head, minus his tricky tongue,” Bathory raised his fingertips to gently caress his lips as he spoke.
            Catherine was afraid they were losing the upper hand with the man. She wanted to provoke him into revealing Grissom’s whereabouts but not in some how getting Grissom killed. It was a fine line they were traversing, slipping would have devastating consequences.
            “Richard,” Catherine began tentatively “it’s not that I want to doubt you but...I have photographs of two men who…” Catherine let her sentence drop not wanting to allow the man to much information.
            Bathory chuckled, his eyes lighting up at what he believed to be Catherine’s confusion. “Ahhh, don’t tell me Grissom has surrounded himself with beauty but no brains…your photos are my men-“
            “Pleeeze,” Sara muttered just loud enough for Bathory to hear.
            Bathory shot her an evil, angry stare. “Donny is mine, Scott is mine, Jake is mine… THEY ARE ALL MINE YOU BITCH!” Bathory screamed at her, beating his fists against the table as he tried to surge up and forward against his restraints. “Markus knows it, you’ll know it too!”
            “Donny Kempler and Scott?” Brass asked trying to keep his tone of voice somewhere between disbelieving and unimpressed.
            Richard Bathory decided he would play his own game and began eyeing Catherine and Sara lasciviously. “Are you Grissom’s woman?” he looked at Catherine and licked his lips “maybe it’s you?” he turned his creepy gaze on Sara seeing her discomforted. “Do you miss his grunting on top of you? His hands fumbling…”
            Brass motioned for the guards to take Bathory away.
            The guards came forward and began to release him from the chair..
            “Are we finished Captain Brass?” he had asked inclining his head as he was pulled roughly to his feet
            Brass had arched his brows and simply gave the psychotic a nod. Bathory had given them more information than what they had come with but it was obvious the man was no longer going to be goaded into any more lapses. And Brass had no intentions of listening to the man attempt to embarrass or degrade Catherine or Sara, especially when it didn’t serve their purpose.
            “I hope we get to meet again,” the silver eyed monster hissed staring sidelong at Sara as he was hauled up from his chair. “Tell Mr. Grissom I am eager to see him again.”
            The three turned startled gazes on the man being lead from the room.
            “In court,” he added but his eyes, with their sinister glint said far more.
            Walking out to the SUV the three had said little. The whole episode had been disconcerting and the need to get away very urgent.
            Heading for Brass’s Charger in the prison parking lot Catherine noted, “Well we know that Donny Kempler is definitely linked to the Bathory brothers.”
            “Yea, and he rolls with a Scott and Jake,” he added as he got behind the wheel and prepared to leave Richard Bathory behind, hopefully not to be seen for sometime.

*******

            The small ranch style home had that look about it, like most of the neighborhood it had once been a place of pride. It was one of those communities that had sprung up after all the men had come home from duty after World War II. Small single family homes for a simpler time.
            Six decades later found the house and neighborhood on hard times. Although, technically not the poorest or nastiest neighborhood in Vegas it still had its less than desirable qualities. Drugs were pretty prevalent and a month didn’t go by that Sofia or one of the other homicide detectives were not in the vicinity once or twice.
            Warrick held open the squeaky gate to the chain link fence that surrounded the overgrown front yard. Sofia had sent the uniformed officer that had accompanied them to the alley behind the house should they need an escape route cut off.
            “According to my records, this was the last known address for Kempler before he went to Juvie seven years ago.” Sofia informed Warrick. Mounting the single concrete step to the front door Sofia rapped three times on the aluminum screen door.
            “What was he sent up for?” Warrick asked examining the exterior of the premises.
            Sofia was peering through the screen into the living room. The contrast between the morning sunlight outside and the incandescent light inside made it difficult to see much. With raised eyebrows she looked at Warrick. “Domestic abuse,” she answered.
            Warrick shifted his weight and shook his head. A gesture that said without words just what he thought of Donny Kempler. “Damn, only seventeen!”
            “Mmmm,”
            Sofia noticed a woman approaching the door. She looked to be in her late forties but had that old before her time look about her. On one of her wide hips set a half dressed little boy, who looked to be no more than two to Sofia. His light brown hair lying in limp waves around his dirty face as he sucked on a well used pacifier.
            The woman her gray-brown hair pulled into a lose ponytail eyed Sofia and Warrick warily. “Yes,” she said somewhat hesitantly, not opening the screen door.
            Sofia motioned to the badge at her waist before she spoke.
            “Mrs. Kempler?” she asked.
            “I was at one time,” the woman answered bouncing the toddler on her hip to get a better hold of him.
            “My name is Sofia Curtis, I’m a Detective for Las Vegas PD and this is Warrick Brown. We wanted to ask you a few questions about Donald.”
            The woman’s weary eyes seemed to grow even more tired if that was possible. “Donny doesn’t live here anymore,” she stated without emotion.
            “Do you know where we might find him?” Sofia asked noting a young girl approaching the door.
            The girl looked to be about fourteen with pretty red-blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her features were quite perfect until her head turned to look at Warrick. Her left eye had a slight droop to it, not uncommon with victims of continued violent beatings and most of her left ear was missing. There was a portion of her hair that she had obviously grown long to hide a hideously thick scar that ran up and back from her ear in her scalp.
            “Momma?” the girl said apprehensively glancing between Sofia and Warrick.
            “Calli take Toby for me, please” Mrs. Kempler handed the wiggling toddler to her daughter,
            Once the girl and her bundle were out of earshot, Mrs. Kempler turned to the two people standing on her doorstep.
            “Look, Donny went away seven years ago. I never went to see him, I never wrote to him and I hope to God I never cross paths with him again.” The woman stated forcefully, making Warrick’s brows rise in surprise. “Does that make me a terrible mother? I don’t know. I have three other children and I need to take care of them. Donny…” she paused the guilt and anguish evident on her face “he was just born bad.” The last she said with a grimace, bowing her head.
            Warrick sucked in a long breath. He had seen mother’s like Mrs. Kempler, single mothers with too many burdens and very little help. Try as they might sometimes these mom’s just couldn’t keep their kids from going down the dark and sinister road.
            “Would you happen to remember any of Donny’s friends back then? Anyone he might have hooked up with after getting out?” Warrick asked hoping for any kind of lead on this guy.
            Mrs. Kempler sighed. “His partner in crime was a kid named Scott Abrams, his family use to live three blocks over,” she pointed in the direction of the back of her house “but I don’t know if they still live there.”
            “What about a man by the name of Bathory, Richard Bathory?” Sofia asked.
            Mrs. Kempler’s intake of breath told them she was acquainted with Bathory.
            “My son was a bad kid, bad temper and enjoyed taking it out on whoever was closest but…” she paused and Sofia could swear she saw the woman shiver “that man was evil, plain through and through evil.”
            “Was he from the neighborhood? Sofia asked.
            Mrs. Kempler shook her head. “No, I swear he just appeared like the devil spat him up from Hell.” The woman had become very animated while talking about Bathory. “He had these cold eyes, dead eyes. I never was able to look him in the face and I think he got off on that too.”
            Warrick nodded. “Thank you Mrs. Kempler,” Sofia said before leaving the woman’s doorstep to follow Warrick back to the car.
            “We going to check on Scott Abrams?’ Warrick asked pulling the gate back to let Sofia out.
            Sofia gave him a smirk and a tilt of her head as she rounded the front of her car. “Three blocks that way, right?” she pointed in the direction Mrs. Kempler had.
            Warrick gave her his ultra smooth smile, “let’s bounce.”

 

*******

            Jim Brass popped a couple of generic white aspirin tablets in his mouth before gulping some water from the plastic bottle he had been carrying. He was too old to be pulling doubles and since he wasn’t a mad scientist, insomniac like Grissom, it started to show towards the end of his second shift.
            “You okay Jim?” Nick asked setting his case down on the ground next to his feet.
            “Headache,” Brass answered not feeling like elaborating further. He could count on one hand the number of cases that had put this much strain on him. They seemed to be doing a sick little dance of one step forward two steps back and Brass could see he wasn’t the only one being effected. Falling into place next to Nick was a subdued Greg Sanders. His normal energy and jubilance diminished by a large margin.
            “Sanders,” Brass greeted the young man. “Was it where your official gear day?” Brass asked noting that every time he saw one of the graveyard crew they were wearing their CSI vests.
            Nick gave a small chuckle. “It’s called neglected laundry attire,” he informed the detective.
            “My laundry hamper is a giant HAZMAT site,” Greg grumbled turning in the direction of the man approaching them.
            Vartann met Brass, Nick and Greg half way across the dusty parking lot of a two story motel-turned- apartment complex. It was the kind of place you could pay by the week or month and a certain amount of anonymity was either a bonus or a bad break, just depended on who you were.
            Detective Vartaan had tracked down one of the names on Dr. Molina’s list. The girl had been a veterinary tech for the good doctor until about eight weeks ago. It could be coincidence that she quit shortly after the veterinarian’s stock of Naltrexone had been reduced but to Brass coincidences smelled like decomp, always worth checking out.
            “Who we looking at?” Brass asked as Vartann fell in to step with his boss.
            “Jeanie Etts, 24, was a tech at Enderly Stables for about year before she quit.” Vartann pulled out his notebook to see what else he needed to relate. “Only family that pops up is a younger brother, Michael Etts. No address on him so far.” Vartann paused as he mounted the exterior staircase that led to the second floor. “No car registered, pretty much the only thing she had was that job.”
            Brass liked people with anchors, connections; it made them easier to track down.
            “Do we know if she is home?”
            “The manager told the first uniform on seen that he had seen her yesterday carrying boxes.” Vartann put his notebook away. “Think she is skipping town?”
            “Skipping, running, who knows?” Brass said mounting the stairs that led to Jeanie Etts apartment. He motioned for Nick and Greg to stay behind. Brass knew that both CSIs knew the drill but it was always good to reiterate the drill when emotions could be clouding people’s actions.
            “Number 28,” Vartann informed him without being asked.
            Brass placed himself in line with the door frame as he knocked.
            “Jeanie Etts, this is Las Vegas PD. We’d like to have a word with you.” Brass stated loudly.
            No answer.
            Nodding to the uniformed officer across the door from him, Brass turned the doorknob and let the door swing wide. The apartment was dark inside but the smell that wafted out the open door let Brass know that somewhere in the darkness was a dead body. Pulling his gun and motioning to Vartann and the uniform to follow he entered the apartment.
            “Jesus!” the uniformed cop expelled, covering his mouth and nose with his free hand.
            Jeanie Etts wasn’t skipping town. The only place she was headed was to a slab. Brass motioned for Vartann to check the other two rooms as he pulled his phone from his coat pocket and called the scene in.
            Brass blew out a breath and holstered his weapon as Vartann motioned all clear.
            “She didn’t get to go easy, did she?” Vartann said in a hushed voice.
            Brass glanced at the detective but did not answer. No, Jeanie Etts had not gone easy. Kneeling in a pool of dark red blood, almost transformed black in the shadows, was Jeanie. She had been placed at the foot of her bed, her arms spread wide, tied to the bed behind her. Her head was thrown backwards almost touching the mattress, her long brown hair fanned out from her face. Her eyes were half closed her mouth half open in a gruesome pose of erotic supplication.
            So much for coincidences, Brass thought sardonically. Noticing Nick and Greg entering the room he said, “Looks like you’ve got some work to do.”
            Not even looking at Brass, Nick nodded his head as he slipped on his latex gloves.        “Coroner en route?” Greg asked mirroring Nick’s actions.
            Brass nodded. They would have to wait until someone from the coroner’s office came out to release the body. In the meantime they could poke around the room and start questioning the neighbors. Brass motioned for Vartann. “Check with the neighbors. See if anyone heard or saw anything,” he said walking the detective to the door.
            Greg had gone to process the bathroom, while Nick began work in the small kitchenette area.
            “I think I have blood here,” Greg hollered from the bathroom as he swabbed the sink basin. With a drop of the clear phenotyping liquid his assumption was confirmed. “Yep, it’s blood.”
            Brass listened to the two CSIs as they discovered and processed evidence. A stack of papers had drawn his attention to the small round table that sat underneath the only window in the room. If nothing else the girl was very fastidious when it came to her mail. In one pile she had stacked her bills that were paid, another pile was for junk mail and a third looked to be the “in box”. Pulling his ballpoint pen from his inner breast pocket, Brass began examining Jeanie Etts’ correspondence. It all seemed mundane. Credit card applications, rent, student loan payment, nothing looked out of the ordinary except…
            Pulling out his handkerchief Brass reached down to carefully pick up an envelope that had slipped onto the seat tucked under the table. His eyebrow arched as he read who it was addressed to.
            “Vonna Singer,” he said in thought, a sly smile growing. It was maddening that they couldn’t seem to get any closer to Grissom but it looked like they were getting a clear picture of the other team’s roster.
            It took David Phillips thirty minutes to get to the scene, not a bad time considering the distance from the morgue and traffic. As soon as he had gotten a whiff that the body maybe connected to Grissom’s case he made it a priority to get out to scene as soon as possible.
            Cause of death had been pretty obvious but he had stated it anyway, also giving Nick and Greg and approximate T.O.D.. “I’ll wait to post,” he had informed the two CSIs before removing the body from the premises. With another thirty minutes of processing, Nick and Greg were ready to head back to the lab as well. They had plenty of work for Hodges and some of the other techs and they were itching for the results.
            “Let’s try three steps forward this time,” Brass had mumbled before leaving the room with the two other men and for some reason they knew what he was referring to without having to ask. Everyone felt the constant drag of a white cardboard box sitting on a shelf reserved for cold cases and wanted nothing more than to shirk the weight.