Grissom watched the night sky. Even with his limited view the desert sky seemed vast, its darkness reaching down to him while the stars shone brightly out of reach. His body convulsed with uncontrolled tremors making his body ache even more than it already did. He tried not to think of his bodies spasms as it attempted to generate more body heat, focusing instead on the constellations he was able to make out through the iron grate above his head.
            Anchored by his wrists to the grate above, Grissom hung suspended, semi-floating in the cold water of “the Tank”. The blackness that surrounded him permeated his soul leaving him with nothing but the white lights of the stars above and his pain and terror. He tried not to wonder how deep the water was or what it was that occasionally brushed against him in the black waters. He wanted to forget the analogy of drowning and sleeping because he had gone beyond tired, beyond exhaustion. He wanted so desperately to give in to it all, to let life slip from his battered body but he couldn’t. It was not in him to quit so he began to recite the names of all the constellations that he could recall.
            “Andro-me-da, Aquar-ius, A-Aquila, Aries, Can-ce-cerr,” his voice was soft and shaky, his teeth chattering from the cold “Canis Ma-Major and Minor, Draco, Ge- Gemini.”
            How many was that? Eight? No, nine. I know more, I, I, I’m so cold. Cold. NO! Focus!
“Leo, Orion,” he listed a little more forcefully.
            “You babbling to yourself down there?” a voice laughed from above.
            There wasn’t enough light to illuminate the man bending over the grate looking down at him but Grissom recognized Scott’s voice. He knew them all now. He knew which one hit the hardest, kicked the truest and enjoyed Grissom’s agony the greatest. Grissom recognized the sounds of their footfalls as they came into his prison and could read in their facial features just how bad Bathory’s “lesson” would be for him.
            Once an investigator… Grissom let the thought float away as another tremor racked his body.
            He could hear Scott talking to someone else in the darkness above before he felt the pull of his arms raising him from his watery nightmare. The cold and continued drag of his body on his shoulders made the joint throb painfully. He wanted to scream out with the pain but allowed only a small groan to escape his throat. They’d have to work harder than that to get their jollies! Grissom’s thoughts raged.
            Grissom was deposited harshly on the ground outside the cistern. The dirt caked to his wet clothes, the side of his face and the hair at his temple. Curling into the fetal position for warmth Grissom shuddered uncontrollably, wrapping his arms around his chest.
            “Grab his arm,” Scott ordered.
            Hauling Grissom’s cold, wet body up by his aching shoulders, the two men drug him across the ground scraping the tops of his bare feet. Instinctively Grissom would attempt to get to his feet, trying to place one foot forward as he was pulled along. The endeavor was futile since his legs were numb and his body was weak. He couldn’t remember if he had been given anything to eat recently but in truth he didn’t care. The scientist in Grissom knew this was his body’s defense mechanism to starvation that his body was slowly turning on itself, feeding on itself.
            His devils deposited him harshly on the floor near his mattress. He         felt one of them roughly pulling on his left ankle, probably to chain him back up but Grissom felt to numb to tell. He just wanted to sleep but was afraid to let his defenses down enough to do so.
            “Kimmi!”
            It was Mick, Grissom thought without turning his head to identify Scott’s assistant. Unlike Donny and Scott who were natural bullies and excelled at the punishment they inflicted, Mick was a sycophant, a wannabe. He had no real talent in Bathory’s sick little circus other than to be a go to boy and a boost for the cretin’s ego.
            Mick was the youngest and smallest of the men holding Grissom. In most things he could control, Mick had emulated Donny. His brown hair had been cropped short; he wore similar clothing and had even picked up some of Donny’s mannerisms. But Mick didn’t have the natural sadistic nature that Donny had, he was just a kiss-ass and he didn’t have the stamina that Donny or Scott had. Early on he had learned to wait to get his licks in on Grissom until after the larger guys had worked him over for awhile. His broken nose was a reminder of that lesson.
            Grissom smiled weakly remembering Mick’s howling as blood poured from his nose. Scott had started to laugh at the other man’s pain but had quickly stopped when Bathory had come forward to comfort his injured man. Of course Grissom had been worked over twice as hard for his audacity to strike one of Bathory’s thugs but he’d do it again given the chance.
            His forehead rubbed heavily into the mattress as he turned his head in the direction of the soft footsteps that approached him. The only angel in this land of devils, Grissom thought. Kimmi, her head held low and her arms held tightly into her body, approached Mick tentatively.
            “Take care of him,” Mick ordered, shoving the girl in Grissom’s direction.
            Big man!  Grissom thought of the younger man. Easy to pick on a little girl. Just give me another chance at you and I’d be happy.
            Grissom for some time couldn’t figure out what it was about the young girl that had him feeling protective over her. At first he had thought it was because she was the only one in his little slice of hell that didn’t torment and abuse him. Then he had wondered if it was because she was the one that was generally made to bring him food or water but finally he came to realize that she reminded him of Catherine’s daughter Lindsey.
            The two girls were about the same age and had someone seen them together might have taken them for sisters.  Although the two girls looked much a like physically, their personalities were very different. Lindsey was her mother’s daughter- strong, determined and in your face. He could still remember a nine year old Lindsey telling him he should date Sara. He had almost choked on the coffee he had been drinking.
            “What”, he had exclaimed.
            “Sara,” Lindsey had looked at him like he had gone feeble minded, “she should be your girlfriend. You both are workin’holics.”
Grissom had just stared at the little girl as she had shoveled cereal into her mouth, praying that Catherine’s early morning court appearance would be over quickly.
            He had known Lindsey all her life. She was the only child he had ever been placed in charge of, which always made him question Catherine’s judgment, and she still called him Uncle Gil. Although, now that Lindsey was a teenager she tended to call him Gil when there were others around.  Grissom had concluded it was only natural for him to transfer some of the protective feelings he had for Lindsey on to her look alike.
            Kimmi took in Grissom’s appearance and quickly shuffled off. Her sandal clad feet causing a scratching sound in the relative silence. Grissom felt the creeping exhaustion begin to enclose his mind and jerked in panic. He had come to fear sleep. In his weakened state his mind tortured him almost as much as Bathory and his devils did. Hypnos sends his sons when my eyes are closed. Was Grissom’s irrational thought as he held his eyes wide open, if by doing so he could hold off the exhaustion.
            Kimmi returned with her arms full. With her she carried a large green plastic bowl full of water, a dingy white hand towel and bottled water. Grissom watched her quietly as she used the towel and bowl of water to wash some of the filth from his face and neck. She tried to do everything possible not to look him in the eye but could not help the darting of her eyes.
            “Thanks,” Grissom said weakly as she handed him his drink. It was the first time he had ever spoken to her with anyone else around and Kimmi was momentarily startled by his quiet voice.
            She put the rag in the bowl of filthy water and rose to her feet still trying not to look him in the face. “I’ll bring you something to eat,” she told him in a voice barely above a whisper.
            Grissom nodded halfheartedly not really caring about the food. The hunger pains had gone away days ago along with his appetite, but he went through the motions when food was brought to him. His analytical mind told him he would need to eat to maintain his strength. Grissom had no intentions of helping Bathory kill him. If you want me dead you’re going to have to do it yourself!
            A cold foreboding stabbed through Grissom’s chest warning him that his chief tormentor and nemesis was in the room. Opening his heavy lids, Grissom’s bloodshot eyes sought out- Hypnos. Grissom cautiously leveraged himself up on to his hands and knees. His eyes never leaving his tormentor he cautiously backed himself up against the wall.
Markus Bathory had become interchangeable with Hypnos, the pseudo construct of Grissom’s exhausted, tortured mind. Standing half hidden in the shadows of Grissom’s prison, Markus grinned as he watched the wary, frightened look seep across Grissom’s heavily bruised face. The man’s guarded retreat to the wall had all the characteristics of a caged wolf. His black rimmed eyes frightened and feral, his nostrils flaring with his rapid, shallow breathing as Grissom’s mind shut down and he fell back on instinct.
            “Grisssssom,” Markus hissed softly, his teeth shining in the muted light of the room. “What would your vaunted courts think of you now?”
            Grissom raised himself to a crouch against the wall, eyeing Markus suspiciously as he entered farther into the room. He moves like a serpent, sounds like a serpent, were the erratic thoughts running through Grissom’s mind as he watched Bathory tap the single hanging bulb.
            The swinging of the light caused the shadows in the room to sway and dance causing the pressure in Grissom’s head to increase and his nausea to swell. With growing trepidation, Grissom knew he was losing his battle to stay alert and conscious. Taking in deep breaths through his nose and blowing them subtly out his mouth, Grissom fought the fuzzy grayness that threatened his periphery.
            “What about those friends of yours?” Bathory taunted on. “I know that Gabriel Parris abandoned you but what about Brass? I heard he made captain.”
            Grissom clenched and relaxed his hands at his side like claws itching for their prey.
            “Richard and I never got to meet Catherine all those years ago but I have enjoyed getting to know her through the years,” Markus paced slowly, just outside of Grissom’s reach. Seeing the flare of anger and fear erupt in the man’s bloodshot gaze, Bathory continued on. “Not personally, mind you, through your many cases. She appears to be quite a formidable lady, quite beautiful too,” Bathory grinned evilly as he momentarily glanced sideways at his victim “Do you think she would enjoy some of our gaaayyym-“
            Bathory’s questioned was drowned out by Grissom’s howl of rage. Launching himself up and away from the wall with speed born of adrenaline and hatred, Grissom crossed the distance separating him from Markus in less than a blink of an eye. His hands just barely grasping the man’s shirt before the chain around his ankle yanked him painfully to the floor.
            Grissom’s momentum was enough to knock the startled Markus backwards, making the man fall ungraciously on his rear. Scrambling back on his hands and feet, Markus stared wide eyed at the thrashing, clawing man desperately trying to get to him. The fear had vanished from his eyes and left nothing but unadulterated hatred and rage as he screamed and howled at Markus, his hands lashing out angrily seeking purchase.
            It all erupted in a matter of seconds and just as quickly Donny charged into the room with Scott. The two younger men crashed into Grissom on the floor, lying across his back in attempt to control the crazed man.
            “HOLD HIM!” Markus shouted angrily as he left the room only to return a few moments later, syringe in his hand.
            Grissom growled and screamed at his captors as he fought to free himself from their grasps. Both Donny and Scott had wrestled his arms behind his back and now struggled to keep them there.
            “Hold him,” Markus growled approaching the three men on the floor. Kneeling down and pressing his knee into Grissom’s upper back, Bathory pinched the skin just below his neck and injected the needle. “I do enjoy your spirit but,” Markus paused as he rose from Grissom’s back “you need to learn who’s in charge here.”
            Grissom felt the thick, foggy feeling ooze over his mind and his body. He knew that Bathory would not be merciful, that he would remain conscious for the punishment that was certainly coming next.
            “Bring him,” Markus barked leading the way through the door Grissom had come to dread more than death itself.
            Rough hands jerked him from the floor. The initial jolt of adrenaline that had given him such strength had dissipated and Bathory’s drug was beginning to take full effect. His limbs were worthless too heavy to move and his head dropped like a dead weight off his neck, rolling unnaturally as he was tossed onto Bathory’s stainless steel examining table.
            Grissom could feel the hard, cold metal beneath him. He could feel the bruising grips of Donny and Scott and without a doubt he would feel every last agonizing second of Markus’s experimentation. Grissom swallowed thickly. He was both terrified and resigned as to what was to come next. He would suffer, there was no doubt, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. With a muted whimper, Grissom watched Markus approach.
            “Let’s see what we can do to wean some of that excess spirit off,” Markus said with a sneer, his latex covered hand twisting a nasty looking medical probe.

 

           
            Nick jogged into the conference room being the last one to arrive. Sara stood at the board that had become the focus of most of their days and nights, Grissom’s board.  It sometimes struck Nick how much similar Sara and Grissom were. Grissom was the man, he was a genius and Sara was his star pupil. They all learned from Grissom, everyday he’d been on the job he had learned something new from Grissom, but of them all Sara was the only one to come close to their mentor. Nick had once told her if any of them surpassed Grissom as an investigator it would be her.
            Watching her standing in front of the evidence board, her eyes scanning the photos, documents, post its, maps and notes he was struck by the fact that she even had some of Grissom’s mannerisms down. Too many doubles and triples, Nick thought.
            “Hey ya’ll sorry I’m late,” he said taking the open chair next to Warrick.
            Greg sat on the opposite side of Catherine across from Warrick. Nick noted that he seemed to be in better shape then yesterday and hoped the younger man had gotten himself some sleep in the interim.
            “No problem, Nick,” Catherine said. Nick noted that Catherine was dressed in black jeans, black tee and her CSI vest and then it dawned on him that they were all dressed down. He had put on a similar outfit on to Catherine’s except his t-shirt was white. He wondered if Catherine’s choice of wardrobe was designated by the same problems his was- nothing clean at home.
            Catherine took in a deep breath. She wasn’t prepared for the mutiny that was going to erupt in the next couple of minutes. Hell, I am one of the mutineers!
            “Greg, you have an arson case at a car dealership,” she said handing Greg a slip of paper. Greg took it slowly his mind not fully registering what was going on.
            “Nick, you have a DB out on Paralta,” she handed Nick’s assignment to Warrick to pass down. “According to the officer on scene it looks like a hit and run.”
            “Another one,” Nick said shaking his head incredulously.
            Catherine braced herself for the storm.
            “Warrick, you and I have the autopsy with Doc Robbins on the Etts girl.” Here it comes, Catherine thought.
            Four sets of eyes turned on her. Since Gil had been taken no more than one or two had been taken from his case to work on another, now all but one had.
            “Cath?” Warrick asked fear and worry covering his handsome face.     
            Sara placed her palms on the table, leaning forward almost threateningly. The faces around the table were identical masks of fear and anger. She had known that this moment would come and had dreaded it from the moment she had walked into work earlier.
            She had come in to work early, like she had done for the last three weeks, and that was assuming she even left the building. Judy, the secretary would always hail her down and hand her the graveyard shift papers from Grissom’s departmental mailbox. Every night, regardless of the fact that all knew he had not been found yet, there were the papers. When Ecklie had started shooting them a few non-Grissom cases, there they had been- in Grissom’s box!  But tonight, when she had arrived, Judy had pulled the paperwork and assignments, not from Grissom’s box, but from hers.
            Catherine had yelled at Judy, that if there was paperwork for graveyard it went in the graveyard super’s box. “AND THAT,” she had growled her finger pointing in the direction of Gil’s box “IS GIL GRISSOM!”
            Judy had only nodded her head in fright as Catherine had marched to the women’s restroom. Part of her mind register the fact there had been tears in Judy’s eyes as she had spun away but she just didn’t care. How dare her! NO! How dare any of them write Gil off like that! Catherine paced the sage colored tile floor as her mind raged at everyone and no one. “Gil made this place!” Catherine whispered angrily.
            Catching her reflection in the mirror, Catherine realized she had been crying. What was she going to tell the guys? Sara? She toppled on to the bench near the sink and gave way to her tears.
            Catherine’s numb mind had come up with nothing plausible that she knew would placate them. What am I going to do? Say?
“Sara will work Grissom’s case,” she stated after clearing her throat.
            Nothing but worried stares.
            “Anyone that gets their case done early knows what to do,” she tried to project confidence in her voice but her ears did not hear it.
            “Catherine,” Sara’s tone was almost accusing as she launched herself upright.
            The men’s gaze turned towards the menacing sound of Sara’s voice. Warrick prayed that he didn’t have to come between Catherine and the fuming brunette at the other end of the table.
            “Look, Cath,” Warrick began, “Why don’t I take the autopsy. We don’t both need to do it. If I need help, I’ll call.” Warrick was already heading for the door, trying to negate any arguments Catherine might have. To his joy she just nodded, a grateful look on her face.
            “Okay, then,” Nick said hopping from his seat. “I’ll be back.” The inflection in his voice made his statement a promise to the women at opposite ends of the table. Taking a second glance at Sara to make sure she was calm enough to leave alone with Catherine, Nick left with Greg following closely behind.
            “Sara?” Catherine’s voice was low, almost devoid of emotion as she watched the other woman. Sara had turned her back to Catherine. Her arms circled her chest, a gesture of self protection and comfort, as she looked at the evidence board once more.
            Sara dropped her chin to her chest. “I won’t believe that he is dead, Catherine,” she told Catherine without looking at her “I won’t believe it. Not until I see him on Doc Robbins table and even then…”
            Sara gulped in air in an attempt to stop the tears that had become easier and easier to shed. She had never been a big crier, sure she had cried before but it had always taken a lot but now she felt like that was all she did. She cried in her car at her apartment, in the locker room or the ladies washroom. She cried when she was making coffee, doing laundry, watering her plants. Everything reminded her of him.
            “He’s not dead!” Catherine said reassuringly. She stood slowly, not sure what her next move was. Catherine didn’t like this feeling of uncertainty and fear that hung with her day and night. She prided herself on being confident, cool and collected at all times. So why am I losing it now, she mused sadly.
            Sara continued to stare silently at the board as Catherine made her way to the other end of the table. She didn’t move and Catherine was starting to become startled by her lack of movement and sound.
            “Sara?” Catherine leaned forward to get a better look at Sara’s face and was amazed at what she saw. Sara stood staring her mouth slightly agape, her eyes wide.
            “What?” Catherine looked from Sara to the board to Sara again. “What do you see?”
            Sara’s hand tentatively reached out, her index finger gently touching the photocopy of Jeanie Etts driver’s license.
            “WHAT?” Catherine exclaimed, her nerves too raw to deal with the silence.
            Sara’s eyes darted over the board looking, looking, looking…
            There! Sara grabbed the list of names that Dr. Molina had supplied from Enderly Stables.
            “Brass found Jeanie Etts off her employment records from Enderly.” Sara said looking at the list in her hand. “But, the address on her outdated driver’s license is a Henderson address.”
            Catherine took the list from Sara’s hand her eyes going from one piece of paper to another.
            1221B Vawter Drive, I know that address. Why?  Catherine thought her brows furrowed. “I’ve seen this address before,” she told Sara.
            Sara spun with lightening speed to look directly at Catherine. “Why? Where?”
            Catherine put her hand up in front of her to stop Sara’s list of single word questions. Her eyes searched the evidence board for some clue as to why she had that annoying tickle in the back of her mind. Teasing her with knowledge that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
            Argh!” Catherine said handing the list back to Sara and throwing her hands in the air. “I’ve seen it, I know I have.”
            Sara turned her dark gaze onto the board, looking for another reference to the Vawter address. Nothing, nothing, “When did you see?”
            “I,” Catherine looked at the photos of their suspects. “I,” she stuttered again. There was something there, in the back of her mind. What is it? Catherine turned to one of the cases that lined the glass wall. They had placed anything too big for the evidence board on the top of the gray metal book case. Grabbing the files she dropped the heavy load on to the top of the glossy table.
            Sara looked from the files to Catherine before grabbing one and opening it. If Catherine had seen the address before, which Sara doubted very little, then maybe…
            “Here! Here!” Catherine yelped in excitement placing the file on the table for Sara to see.
            Sara noted that it was a copy of Richard Bathory’s prison records. Under the heading of Correspondence was a list of approved names and addresses for Richard Bathory. 
            “Jenine Etts, 1221B Vawter Drive,” Catherine recited, a smile on her face as she looked to Sara.
            “I’ll drive,” Sara told her heading out the conference door.
            “I’ll call Brass,” Catherine said following her.

 

            “Hi, Warrick,” David Phillips greeted in the hall leading to the morgue “any news on Grissom?”  The junior coroner’s face and voice was laced heavily with hope as Warrick followed him through the double swinging doors.
            “Not yet,” Warrick said shaking his head a little sadly. What he wouldn’t give to be able to tell David, anybody, that they had found Grissom alive and that everything would be okay.
            David nodded, understanding that that was all that needed to be said. He wasn’t part of Dr. Grissom’s team but he had worked with the man for years. He respected Grissom’s intelligence and dry wit, his uncompromising sense of right and wrong and his tenacity in the search for answers for the victims and their families. David had also come to like the CSI supervisor, unlike Ecklie, Grissom had always treated him with respect.
            “Hey Doc,” Warrick called out approaching the shiny metal table where Dr. Albert Robbins was busy stapling up the “Y” incision in Jenine Etts torso.
            “Warrick,” Al said finishing up his task and placing his instrument on the table nearby “sorry I started without you.”
            Warrick shook his head letting the coroner it was not a problem. “Have anything useful for me?”
            “Nothing probative yet, but something interesting.” Al shuffled to his side, motioning with his hand he outlined the fatal cut across the woman’s neck.
            “C.O.D. was obvious. A seven inch cut from left to right that severed both carotids. No hesitation on this one, whoever did this almost decapitated the girl, the spinal cord was nicked.” He slid down to the girl’s hands, picking one up from where it lay on the table. “The thing that caught my attention was that she doesn’t appear to have any defensive wounds.” He showed Warrick the hand that he held, both back and palm.
            Warrick reached for the hand that lay closest to him. “Well, she was tied up,” Warrick said thinking out loud.
            “True. But on a hunch I had a full tox screen run on her and we came up with something interesting.” He handed Warrick the file containing the tox screen.
            “Telazol?” Warrick shook his head.
            “It’s a tiletamine, zolazepam cocktail similar to PCP,” he informed Warrick.
            Warrick glanced from the file he held in his hand to the man across the dead body from him. “She was dusted?”
            Al cocked his head to one side. Normally he would have inserted a little morgue humor into that statement but he hadn’t felt very witty of late. “The interesting thing about Telazol is that it is meant for veterinarian use only.”
            Warrick rolled his head slightly taking in the implication of this new information. “Like Carfentanyl.”
            “Exactly,” Al Robbins said with all seriousness. “One more thing, this isn’t the first girl I’ve had on my table with this particular mix of drugs in her system.”
            Warrick gave the coroner a curious frown.
            “Had a young woman O.D. at a nightclub with the exact same tox screen two weeks ago,” Al informed him as he removed his latex gloves.
            “Thanks Doc,” Warrick almost bounced from the autopsy table as he hurried back to the lab with this new evidence.
            Bounding through the double doors he almost knocked Nick down. Reaching out quickly he caught the other man’s arm before he went down.
            “Whoa, sorry Nicky,” he exclaimed trying to right them both. “Hey, I thought you had a hit and run?”
            Nick shook his head, a slightly annoyed look on his face. “Naw, it wasn’t a hit run. Cops were chasing this chickenhead and by the time they caught up with him they found him dead in the street. So they thought he had been run down.” Nick shrugged as he followed Warrick down the hall. “Turned out the moron thought he could hide from the cops by climbing up an electrical pole.”
            “No way!” Warrick was still amazed at the number of truly stupid people that wandered the world with him.
            “Way,” Nick smiled his eyebrows arching. “Anyway, I got back and Sara and Catherine are gone so…”
            Catherine had paged Warrick to let him know that she and Sara were checking into a possible lead and that she wouldn’t be around for the autopsy. “Yea, they came up with a possible lead and are dragging Brass out to Henderson. But I might have come up with something interesting with our girl back there,” he said gesturing in the direction of the morgue.
            Nick took the folder that Warrick handed him, his eyes darting from the paper to the hall in front of him. “Telazol? What’s that?”
            “According to Doc Robbins, it’s like PCP only for animals.” Warrick said raising one eyebrow as if to accentuate the information.
            Nick frowned at Warrick as they rounded the corner that led the back to the lab. “Like the stuff they used at Grissom’s townhouse!”
            “In one,” Warrick said as he went to hunt down some information on his latest clue.

 

            Catherine snapped her cell phone shut after thanking Warrick for the information Doc Robbins had come up with during the autopsy. Looking to Brass behind the steering wheel and Sara who sat behind the police captain she relayed Warrick’s information.
            “Telazol? What’s the hell is that?” Brass asked as he pulled up to 1221B Vawter Drive and turning off the car.
            “According to Warrick it is a veterinarian drug that is similar to PCP,” Catherine said looking at the brick duplex they had arrived at.
            “More animal pharmaceuticals,” Brass gave a cynical smile as he exited the car and headed up the old driveway. Rather than a single car wide concrete drive leading to the garage there were two tire wide concrete paths separated by neatly trimmed weeds and dirt.
            Catherine and Sara fell into step behind him as they walked up to the aluminum screen door with italicized letter E on it. Brass had learned the duplex was owned by a woman named Dora Etts who happened to be the grandmother to one Jeanie Etts, deceased. Ringing the doorbell the three waited.
            Brass had done a quick once over as they had approached the door and now kept himself occupied by leisurely taking in the front of the residence. It was an understated vigilance that had kept him above ground for all the years he had been a cop and if it worked, well no use in fixing it.
The door opened to reveal a plump woman with short gray-white hair wearing a Mickey Mouse tye dye shirt that had seen its day come and go. She gazed at Brass, Catherine and Sara with a wary look at finding three strangers at her door.
            “Yesss,” she said tentatively not opening the screen door.
            “Dora Etts?” Brass asked, his eyes traveling from the woman’s face to the living room behind her.
            “I’m Dora Etts,” she claimed her eyes looking from Brass to the two women standing to his right. The black vests with the white lettering identified Catherine and Sara which made the woman’s look of suspicion slowly morph to one of guarded concern as her eyes traveled back to Brass. This time she noticed the gold shield hanging from the lapel of his breast pocket.
            “My name is Jim Brass, I’m with the Las Vegas Police Department,” his hand indicated Catherine and Sara “this is Catherine Willows and Sara Sidle, they’re from the crime lab.”
            The woman mechanically opened the screen door and stood back, wordlessly inviting the three into her home. She didn’t know what they wanted but instinctively she knew it could not be good. Quietly she closed the door behind them and led the three to the nearby kitchen. Indicating the chairs around the table she invited them to sit.
            “Is this about Mickey?” she asked taking the seat at the head of the table between Brass and Catherine.
            Brass looked to the cartoon character on her shirt.
            “My grandson,” the woman explained, seeing the police captain’s perplexed look.
            Sara raised her eyebrows at the woman’s explanation. She had been momentarily concerned the woman might have been feeble minded. It wouldn’t have been the first time. She had once had to interrogate a woman who thought she was Amelia Earhart and had been kidnapped by Charles Lindbergh because he was jealous of her. When Sara noted to her that she was not old enough to be Amelia Earhart, the woman had explained that she was made to take drugs that kept her youthful.
            “No, it has to do with Jeanie,” Brass answered the woman.
            “Jeanie? No…wait, has Mickey drug her into somethin’ again?” Mrs. Etts sat up a little straighter, her tone telling Brass that she had obviously had trouble with the grandson before but not the granddaughter.
            Brass looked across the table at Catherine. It was a knowing look. The grandson may be a clue worth following. Jeanie could have gotten herself mixed up in something that her brother was in and in the end it at crossed her path with the Bathory’s, Brass considered.
            “Mrs. Etts… is this your granddaughter?” Catherine pushed a photocopy of the Jeanie’s driver’s license across the table to the older woman.
            Mrs. Etts looked at the picture; Catherine could see fear slowly creeping into her eyes as the woman looked back at her. “Yes,” she answered in a whisper. It was strange how people whispered when they feared bad news was coming. It was as if they kept quite some how the tragedy could not find them, so they spoke in hushed tones and barely audible whispers.
            Catherine looked to Brass and unspoken communication going on as Mrs. Etts looked between the two in fear and confusion.
            “Mrs. Etts, I ‘m afraid I have to inform you that Jeanie was found dead at her apartment yesterday morning,” Brass didn’t like this part of his job much. It had gotten relatively easier over the years but he equated it to a proctology exam. It was pretty rough the first couple of times but got easier the more you had to endure it. It didn’t mean he had to like it.
            The woman just stared at him, as if he had sprouted a second head right before her. Her mouth hung open without any words coming out, while her eyes blinked incredulously.
            “Mrs. Etts?” Catherine was a little concerned for the old woman. It was never easy hearing that a loved one had died and some people took it better than others.
            Mrs. Etts turned to look at Catherine, her eyes still wide and unbelieving. “How? Who?” She hiccupped on a broken sob, “Why?”
            “That is what we are trying to find out, Mrs. Etts,” Catherine’s tone was reassuring as she placed the photocopy back in her file. “Could you tell us if Jeanie had any enemies, a boyfriend, ex-boyfriend…anyone that might want to hurt her?”
            Mrs. Etts sniffed and shook her head energetically at Catherine’s questions. “No, Jeanie’s a good girl. Everybody likes her…liked her.”
            Brass gave Catherine and Sara a warning look, letting them know he was going into unknown territory. “What about Jeanie’s brother, Mickey?”
            “No, Mickey would never hurt Jeanie. He might…Mickey always has bad ideas, choices and Jeanie always takes care of ’im.” Mrs. Etts rose from her chair with nervous energy born from bottled up misery. Catherine knew that when they were gone the poor woman would cry herself into exhaustion.
            “Do you know where we might find Mickey? Maybe he would know more…” Brass didn’t finish sometimes that was the best way to handle questions where victim’s loved ones were concerned.
            “Mickey comes and goes,” Mrs. Etts disappointment in her grandson was barely masked. “He doesn’t have his own place as far as I know, just kind of bums from friend to friend.”
            “Could these be some of his friends?” Catherine asked sliding a paper over with a photographic line up on it. The top row of three pictures showed juvenile mug shots of Donald Kempler, Scott Abrams and Vonna Singer. The bottom row contained an old driver’s license photo of Markus Bathory dated several years ago, a prison photograph of Richard Bathory and high school yearbook picture of their latest cast member in this macabre play, Toby Cray.
            “Well, yes,” Mrs. Etts pointed to Vonna Singer and Toby Cray’s photographs. “Vonna and Toby both went to school with Jeanie. Well Vonna did until she quit.”
            Knowing glances darted across the table. The web between their roster of suspects was getting stronger and stronger. Now all they had to do is get that to relate to a clue as to where Grissom was being held.
            “Do you know where we can find Toby or Vonna?” Catherine asked hopefully.
            Mrs. Etts got up and left the kitchen, heading down a hall that appeared to go to the home’s bedrooms. Upon her return she had a Sketchers shoebox in hand.
            “When Jeanie was at community college she had email,” Mrs. Etts opened the box “but she couldn’t really afford it when she was on her own…but she loved to write letters.” Mrs. Etts pulled ribbon wrapped letters from the box. “The ribbons always meant who the letter was from…color coded I guess. It was just how she was.”
            Brass remembered the neat stacks at the apartment and nodded in understanding.
            “These are from Toby,” she handed the red ribbon tied letters to Catherine. “He’s a good boy. A little lost sometimes but that’s not to be unexpected.”
            “Why’s that?” Catherine asked looking at the postmarks.
            “Oh, Toby was abused by his daddy when he was little. The state put him in foster care and he would’ve probably ended up in the boys home if it wasn’t for Steffi Berhardt.” Mrs. Etts threw a thumb over her shoulder, “She lives near the elementary school on Pickerly Drive,” she informed them.
            Brass jotted down the name and approximate address. “Was Ms. Berhardt a relative?” he asked looking up from his notes, his pen ready.
            “No, Steffi is a foster mother,” Mrs. Etts explained “that’s how he and Vonna knew each other. He was sooo good with the girls…sooo protective…”
            Mrs. Etts eyes took on a far away look. She was obviously lost in fond memories and that was how Brass wanted to leave her. They had come and given her the worst news anyone could get, might as well let her have solace in the memories that brought the wistful smile to her face.
            Brass reached for his card as he stood to leave, telling the woman to contact him if she thought of anything that might help in the investigation or if Mickey came by and remembered anything. Brass had a suspicion that the brother may be involved somehow but would rather keep that to himself until after they left the grandmother’s house.
            “What do you think?” Sara asked getting into the backset of Brass’s car.
            Brass turned the keys in the ignition while looking out at the duplex they had just exited. Turning to look at the women he gave them a cynical half smile as the edge of one side of his mouth raise nearly imperceptibly. “M-I-C…K-E-Y,” Brass sang out the letters making both women grin before chorusing without consultation, “S-U-S-P-E-C-T.”

 

            “Hey Greg,” Jacqui Franco called hanging from the doorjamb of the break room, “You seen Catherine or Sara?”
            Greg looked over his shoulder at Jacqui as he washed out his coffee cup with the picture of Einstein dressed as Juan Valdez. “They’re out with Brass,” he said setting the cup on a towel to dry next to the sink. “Why? What ya got?”
            “I finally got something on that partial you pulled from Grissom’s garage door.” Jacqui walked into the break room to hand the print I.D. to Greg. “Guys name is Derek Lopez, did sometime on a drug related charge in 2002.”
            Greg tapped the paper Jacqui gave him in the palm of his hand. “Thanks Jacqui, I’ll let Cath and Sara know.”
            Jacqui nodded as she headed out the break room door. The information having been handed off to a CSI, she would return to her backlog of two dozen prints spread out over eight different cases.
            Greg flipped open his cell phone to punch in Catherine’s number as he went to find Sofia. He had seen her earlier when he had come up bust on the mystery van that had been spotted near Grissom’s place. If Catherine gave him the go he’d see if he could get Sofia to help him track down Derek Lopez and bring him in along with Scott Abrams. If he had something to do with the Etts girl’s murder there was a good chance he was involved in Grissom’s abduction just like Abrams. Or at least that was the line of thought that Greg was going to run with at the moment.
            “Willows” Greg heard Catherine’s greeting. It was the same business greeting that they all seemed use.
            “Hey Cath, it’s me. Jacqui got a hit on that partial from Grissom’s garage.” Greg began as he weaved his way through the busy halls of the lab towards the sheriff’s department. “Derek Lopez is the guy’s name. Also, might have found a lead on Toby Cray, looks like he worked in Mesa, Arizona four months ago for a carpenter named Lyle Tjarks. Sofia got a hold of the guy, looks like Cray moved on but he thought he may be heading to the Denver area. Sofia’s checking on it.”           
            Greg could hear Catherine relaying the information to Brass and Sara before she answered him.
            “We’re checking on Jeanie Etts’ brother, might have a lead on his last whereabouts, but keep in touch okay.”
“Got ya,” Greg flipped his cell phone shut as he slid up to Sofia’s desk before flopping into the lone guest chair.
            Sofia looked up from the file she had on her desk. She had three assignments running simultaneously, which was not unusual it just generated a lot of paperwork.
            With a bemused smile she looked at the young man sprawled out in the chair in front of her. Greg Sanders was a ball of energy and this occasion was no exception but Sofia was a good enough judge of people that she could feel more than see that there was something more than the usual excitement buzzing under the surface. “Greg?”
            “I got an  I.D. on a partial from Grissom’s place, I was wondering if you could help me out?” Greg raised his eyebrows and sat up a little straighter, his energy was too high to sit for long.
            “Sure, let’s see who’ve you got?” Sofia asked reaching out to grab the paper Greg was offering her across the desk. Her long fingers danced across the keyboard as she entered the information Jacqui had been able to come up with.
            “Derek Lopez…” Sofia paused as she read the information “looks like he has done sometime both juvie and big boy prison”
            Greg hated it when they came out worse then when they started. Some wised up; some just got tougher skins and upped the violence quotient. “What’s Lopez look like?”
            “Hmm,” Sofia hummed to herself as her monitor displayed Derek Lopez’s record. “Looks like Lopez enjoyed the drug scene and robbery. Hey…” Sofia’s fingers tapped quickly across the keyboard. “This is interesting he shares the same last known address as Scott Abrams.”
            “What’s Abrams’ story?”
            Sofia looked away from the monitor. “Has a number of assaults, was pulled in on suspicion of intent to deliver a couple of times, some more unsolved assault and battery cases, oh, and he was looked at in a carjacking that ended up with a sixteen year old kid getting shot. Definite bad apple.”
            “Well, you know what my Poppa Olaf said?” Greg rose from the chair ready to leave. “A bad apple makes even badder apple sauce.”
            Sofia smiled and grabbed her keys from the desk. “Let’s check out Mr. Abrams last known,” she said following Greg from her office and shutting the door behind them.
            “Badder?” Sofia said questioning the young man’s choice of words.