XIX:

            The sixth floor of Desert Palms Hospital was for terminally ill patients that were not being cared for in hospices. The patients that resided on the ward had a slim to none chance at recovery and were generally in constant need of medical attention. No matter how bright the walls were painted or how cheery the art that hung from the walls was, there was a definite pall over the floor, a gray gloom that crept along the floor and had chills seeping into bones.

            Nick Stokes tried to shake the dreary thoughts from his mind as he remained steadfast at the nurse’s station, just off the main elevators. His search for Lucan Reith’s parents had gone from terrible to catastrophic, all within a six hour time frame.

            If Spider is Lucan Reith’s younger brother, then the kid just couldn’t cut a break, Nick though with sadly.

            The elevator doors opening had Nick turning from the Nurse’s desk, the somber look on his face catching Grissom’s attention immediately.

            “Nick,” Grissom greeted, not liking the look associated with the locale.

            “Hey, Gris, Sara,” Nick returned the greeting, coming to meet them. “I ran down the information I got on Lucan Reith from his emergency room visit here and from what little Butterfield Academy had on him. He was only there a year so…” Nick shrugged as he began to lead Grissom and Sara down one of the se hospital hallways.

            Sara glanced through one windowed door and decided that was the last of that. She dealt with death on a near daily routine but the near dead were another matter. Maybe it was because of her own close calls or the skeletons that continued to rattle around in her closets, even after she had aired them out but an unease descended heavily on her chest and Sara didn’t care for it one bit.

            “The insurance documents used for the emergency room visit were a little more helpful, even though I still had to do some hoof work.”

            “So what did you find?” Sara asked, feeling the ever present hanging shoe about to drop.

            Nick came to a stop in front of room 621. “Her,” he said, nodding his head at the patient seen through the door’s window.

            Grissom and Sara glanced through the window at the woman lying in the hospital bed. Her ashen complexion, gaunt features and dark ringed eyes made her look like she should be lying on one of Doc Robbins tables. She had a sheer, white stocking cap covering her head but it was obvious the woman was completely bald, even her eyebrows were missing.

            “I got a court order from Judge Merriman,” Nick produced the paper from his denim jacket.

            Look Grissom gave Nick told the younger man that he was both amazed and impressed, knowing Judge Merriman’s dislike with signing warrants he considered frivolous. The man’s jurisprudence pertaining to what constituted a worthy basis for any type of court order had led to many of Grissom’s migraines.

             “I told him we might have a danger imminent situation with a minor involved and he signed it on the spot.” Nick grinned.

            A slender man with graying, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail approached him. The white lab coat told Grissom he was most likely a physician. The identification badge hanging from the breast pocket of the coat confirmed.

            “I’m Kai Redmond, Mrs. Gates doctor,” he introduced, glancing in at his patient. “I understand from the head nurse that you wanted to speak with her.”

            “Yes, we have some questions concerning her two sons,” Grissom informed the physician.

            The man’s brows rose, wrinkling his forehead. “I, well, I’m sorry but it won’t be possible,” the doctor said, giving them an apologetic look.

            “We have a court order,” Sara explained, motioning for Nick to hand the doctor the document.

            Dr. Redmond held up his hand and shook it. “No, it’s not that. Mrs. Gates is in a coma.”

            Opening the room door, Dr. Redmond motioned for the investigators to follow him. “She fell into a coma, again, two days ago.”

            “Again, does that me there is a possibility she will come out of it again?” Sara asked, a hint of hope lacing her words.

            The doctor went about checking his patient’s vitals. Noting them down on the small computer terminal to the frail woman’s right. “No, there’s little chance of that.”

            “What’s wrong with her?” Nick asked looking at the shell of the woman, her boned prominently showing through pasty, papery skin.

            “Brain cancer,” the doctor said wistfully, looking at his patient. “Unfortunately the first physician treating her suspected that she was suffering from migraines and wasted a lot of time. Maybe…if we had had more time, gotten to her sooner.”

            Sara gazed at the woman and wondered what she had looked like in good health. Did she have blonde curly hair and blue eyes the color of a perfect summer’s day? “How long has she been here, Dr. Redmond?”

            “Mmm, this stay…I would say, approximately three weeks going on four,” he told them, pulling a penlight from his breast pocket. “The time before that she was here nearly two months but that required the removal of a lesion near her occipital lobe.”

            Grissom watched as the doctor shone the tiny light into the woman’s left eye, checking her pupillary response. “Is there something wrong with her right eye?” Grissom asked, noting the doctor had not checked it.

            Dr. Redmond nodded, opening her right eyelid. Where her eye would have been was an empty socket, the eye missing. “We had to remove it about six months ago. A tumor had wrapped around the optic nerve and the blood vessels feeding the eye and virtually strangled the eye to death.”

            “Damn,” Nick hissed under his breath, fighting the urge to cover his eye.

            Grissom twisted his lips, as he mentally tried to make a simple time frame. “Doctor, how long has she been diagnosed with brain cancer?

            “I diagnosed her in the summer of 2004. She’d been a single car accident and had been taken to the emergency room here. Initially the x-ray tech in the ER thought it was a blood mass caused by the accident but was smart enough to have his work double checked.”

            Grissom looked to Sara and Nick. “Doc Robbins put Lucan’s TOD around March 1st 2005,” Nick offered.

            “Yes, it was a tragedy, what happened to her sons,” the doctor said softly, looking at his patient out of habit, still worrying she might over hear them speak of her dead son.

            “What tragedy is that?’ Sara asked, slightly confused. The doctor acted as if he knew about Lucan’s murder, yet the boy had lain unclaimed for over two years.

            “I believe the boys were visiting with their grandparents and there was some sort of car accident,” Dr. Redmond frowned as he shook his head as he spoke.

            “Umm, where did you hear that?” Grissom asked, his head cocking to one side.

            Dr. Redmond shifted his weight, his eyes searching the ceiling as he tried to recall the memory that would answer Grissom’s question. Scratching his forehead, the doctor finally said. “Well, I think it was from her husband…the boy’s step-father but it could have been one of the nurses.”

            Grissom glanced sideways at his CSIs. He could see they had caught the scent too. “The husband, can you give us his name?”

            Dr. Redmond could feel the undercurrent in the room, the unspoken language between the investigators. “Yes, certainly. Byron Gates,” he told them. “He is very dedicated to his wife. He tries to keep her at home as much as possible with a private nurse but when she gets like this we take care of her.”

            “Thank you, doctor.” Grissom shook the man’s hand. They would get little more, not unless Mrs. Gates miraculously recovered.

            As the three investigators prepared to leave, Sara turned at the door and asked, “Dr. Redmond, does she…when she is awake, ever talk about her sons?”

            “I guess the one silver lining to the tumors is that they have taken away the memory of her son’s deaths,” Dr. Redmond smiled sadly. “She thinks they are in school when she doesn’t see them.”

            Sara looked to the woman and wondered if that was a blessing and hoped that it was. Nodding, Sara followed Grissom and Nick to the elevators.

            “Nick, you find out about the husband and let us know what’s going on there,” Grissom said, punching the button that would take them to the ground floor. “Sara and I need to get back to the lab. I don’t want Beo giving Catherine the slip. Catherine’s is clever as hell but that kid doesn’t stay anywhere long if he doesn’t want to.”

            Twin nodding heads was Grissom’s only answer.

            * * * * * * * * * *

            George peered through the master bedroom window at the street below. There was no traffic. There rarely was. The street had been relatively silent twenty years ago and was virtually dead now. As developers worked their way east towards Lake Mead and north towards the mountains, this part of Las Vegas, his part, had slowly disappeared. And it was exactly how he wanted it.

            He had busted his ass off in college, nothing legitimate of course, but, still, hard work was hard work, George always liked to think. With twenty-thousand dollars he had been able to buy the house he now stood in, the house that he and Aaron Giels would come to drink beer and smoke pot. It was a place where he felt connected, where the constant feeling of numbness didn’t infuse his every molecule and the residual energy of life still resided. Where they resided.

George sighed. His only regret was that Lucan was not here with him, like the others. His beautiful, carefree Lucan, who smiled brightly each time he saw George and would run up to greet him happily and look sadly when he had to part from the boy.

            Lucan, Lucan…beautiful Lucan. The boy had loved him, George knew it without doubt. The boy had told him once and even after, after the time that George did not like to remember, when Lucan had run from him, taking his tiny look-a-like brother with him, trying to hide from him, George knew that Lucan had still loved him.

            The boy was only confused, frightened, George could understand that. He had not meant for Lucan and Beo to see him as they did, covered in the blood of one of his victims, the dead boys staring wide eyed at them as they entered the room. How they had gotten out to the house George would never know but they had and when they walked in with George half naked, his chest covered in blood, he had momentarily frozen, the unbeating heart still grasped in his gory hand. 

            George could not have said which noise was louder in his ears, the heavy beating of his own heart or the shrill scream that emanated from Beowulf’s mouth, what he could say with certainty was that Lucan had turned and fled, pushing his younger brother ahead of him.

 

            “Run, Beo, run!”

            George fumbled out of the bed, the sheets tangling at his bare feet, like grasping, ghostly hands trying to thwart him from his pursuit. Hopping, tripping, he finally made his way to the door rushing down the open staircase that descended into the small parlor of the house.

            “Luc! Beo! Wait!” George shouted, knowing they were heading for the backdoor by the loud crash in the kitchen.

            Everywhere in Las Vegas there was light, except in his part of that world. Street lights were scarce and he had liked it that way until the moment he had stepped out into the hot humid evening. It was dusk and everything had that ethereal quality as the day faded away into night, making it difficult to see.

            But he was a hunter, The Hunter, and he had honed his skills to a precision fine point. His mind was inundated with input as he went about zeroing in on his prey. They would go to what they know, follow their path back, the only path they knew to the house. George rounded the house, stomping through the side garden as he busted through the high, wooden, privacy gate as he made his way to the front of the house.

            Immediately his eyes caught the open chain link gate that separated the front yard from the crumbling sidewalk. Mindful of his appearance, George ran to the open gate and hurriedly checked the street before dashing off in the direction he was certain the boys had headed. The rough texture of the asphalt street cut into his feet, the built up heat from the day’s sun nearly burning his flesh as he ran. He needed to catch up to Luc, to Beo, to explain what, why…he needed to stop them.

            George had four blocks to catch the boys, four blocks before the half-dead neighborhood gave way to a small commercial district that still thrived despite the surrounding neighborhoods more difficult times. If they got there, he would never be able to explain to them what it was he was doing, he’d never make them understand.

            They have to understand!

            His heightened senses picked up Lucan calling for his brother. Slowing he tried to determine where the boy was from the sound of his voice. It was only half a beat before he heard Beo call for Lucan.

            Beo! He was near!

            George ran in the direction of Beo. The five year old boy had become separated from his brother and stood near the corner of two streets crying, calling for Lucan. His proximity to several houses had George running quickly, snatching the boy up before he realized that danger had been so near.

            With his hand clamped firmly over Beo’s mouth, George ran into an overgrown alley that separated an empty lot from a small ranch style home. Hunkering down with the terrified boy who fought to free himself, George’s wild eyes searched for any witnesses. He was not prepared to dispose of more bodies and he did not want this neighborhood crawling with unwanted police.

            “Shhh! Shhh!” George hissed, shaking the little boy violently. “Listen to me Beo. Listen to me.”

            George tried to control his racing heart but could not help the thrill of excitement that ran through him coursing neck and neck with fear and adrenaline. It was like free-basing life and he loved it!

            “Beo, you must be quiet, you hear me.” George turned the boy in his arms, his small form like twisting a doll. “You must never tell what you saw. You don’t understand what it is I was doing. You must never speak of this. Do you hear me?”

            Giant blue eyes stared at him through tears falling, falling, falling. “No one Beo. You don’t want something to happen to your mom or brother, do you?”

            Beo turned shook his head, knocking the tears that hung to his small cheeks loose, falling onto George’s bare forearms. “Good, good, I don’t want to hurt you Beo,” George told him, loosening his painful grip on the boy’s arms. “I love you and Lucan, only you two. I-“

            George was too preoccupied in trying to win over Beo that he had not seen or heard Lucan sneak up from the alleyway, a split and weathered 2x4 held firmly in both hands. With a heavy swing, Lucan brought the wood down are hard on the back of George’s head, crumpling the man to the ground with a muffled groan.

            With his world going gray, George’s grip loosened on Beo and with Lucan tugging and pulling at his brother’s hand the two boys ran off into the night. George slowly recovered and headed back to the house, washing quickly before disposing of the body. This one would not be put with the others. He had been beautiful to behold but George had found him ugly inside, still he had lived life fully and George had his trophy, pulled from the young man’s chest.

            Lucan and Beo would return home but it would take them at least an hour to do so, since George suspected they had used public transit to get to the house. He would dispose of the body in the desert and let the coyotes take care of it. It seemed a bit of waste but he was in a hurry and the desert creatures were helpful in ridding the world of the evidence of his dark deeds.

            Then he would catch up with Lucan and Beo. Once he had explained to them they had nothing to fear from him, they would understand. They had to because they loved him, he was certain of it. 

 

            George growled in his hidden sanctuary.  The memory still had the ability to bring him to anger. Angry that Lucan had run from him, angry that the boy had made him lose his temper. When he had finally found Lucan months later, living on the streets, George had wanted to explain everything but more than anything he wanted Lucan to tell him that he still loved him. If he would have just been quiet, listened, George thought, gritting his teeth. But no, he had to scream at me, tell me I was sick and evil and…and…

            George clawed at his chest, just above his heart. Angry red marks gave way to slowly weeping wounds as he repeated the action over and over again.

 

            “You’re sick! You’re evil!” Lucan screamed.

 

He had made the mistake of thinking George no longer looked for him or Beowulf. As much as Beo and he had wanted to go home, they couldn’t. Lucan had tried to sneak back home the morning after they had discovered George bathed in blood, sitting atop a dead teenage boy, only to find the man arguing with their step-father. The submissive nodding of their step-father’s head had made Lucan suspicious. He had felt trapped.

            When he had tried to call his mother, he found the numbers had been changed. And even though he had thought about going to the authorities, George’s threats to harm their loved one had kept Lucan and Beo silent. Lucan had resolved himself to take care of and protect his little brother as best he could.

 

            “I don’t love you! I hate you! Lucan screamed bucking and fighting against George’s iron grip.

            George shook the boy violently. “Don’t say that! Don’t you ever say that!”

            “It’s true! I hate you!” the boy screamed twisting partially free but still held by a single grasping hand. “You’ve ruined my life! Beo’s life!”

            George’s vision began to narrow, the blood pounding in his brain. “Shut up,” he growled in warning. He could sense his control slipping.

            “I wish I’d never met you!”

            “Shut up.”

            “I wish you were dead! I hate you, I hate-“

            A vicious backhand against Lucan’s temple stunned the boy into silence. His beautiful blue eyes opening wide as he covered his injured face with one hand while staring up at George. The moment Lucan realized his mistake was but a half-second, sandwiched in between the first set of ferocious blows. The second one staggered the teenager to the wet concrete, his mind spitting out random thoughts with each successive blow.

            He had told Beo he would meet him at the bridge that went over the culvert near where they had been living. His little brother was to meet him there when the street lights came on. Lucan’s battered brain wondered if Beo had gotten to the bridge.

            I have to go, Lucan thought, his mind no longer registering the cruel beating. I have to see Beo.

            George’s fists rained down on Lucan until the boy’s movements all but stopped. With each pounding fist George made a breathy screeching noise, his teeth bared as tears soaked his angry, red face. Lucan’s words rang in his ears over and over again.

            “Shut up! Shut up!” George hissed. “Lies…lying tongue, lying tongue.”

            George couldn’t remember how the knife had gotten from his coat pocket to his hand. He couldn’t remember anything until much later. Sitting in the wet basin, hands bloody he slowly became cognizant of something cold and sticky in his left hand. Dropping his gaze to his hand, George quickly dropped the bloody tongue to the ground, his startled eyes hastily seeking out the unmoving boy next to him.

            From somewhere in the distance he could hear the distinct sound of footfalls splashing in the tiny river that crawled and meander at the bottom of the concrete waterway. His mind only cataloged it as background noise, as it was too consumed by the grotesque vision before him.

            Lying on the cold, wet ground, his beautiful face marred by the beating George had given him in his rage and by the blood smeared across his lips was Lucan.

            “No,” George whispered, not believing what he was seeing. “What have I done?”

            His Lucan, his beautiful Lucan! Why? Why? Why? George’s mind chanted.

            “LUCAN!”

            George turned at the child’s scream, watching Beo run head long into evil’s path.

            Slamming his hands down against the small table in front of the bedroom window, George banished the memory from his mind. He had more important things to focus on at the moment. The first being Bryton Kopec’s apparent incarceration. He needed to know what the pompous ass had got pinched for and if there was any danger to him.

            He needed a go between. Someone that could walk into the bowels of justice, visit with Kopec without setting off any police alarms and was smart enough not to give themselves away and more importantly, not give George away. With a grin slowly oozing on to George’s face he realized just the perfect man for the job.

            Little bastard can even make himself some false credentials just to be on the safe side, George thought with a chuckle.

            Secondly, he needed to light a fire under Tartarus Rex’s ass. The Lord of Las Vegas’ sewers had not been very productive at finding Beowulf and if he found he needed to flee Vegas, Beo was coming with him. Beowulf Reith was the spitting image of his brother, he was George’s second chance and he would have him.

 

            * * * * * * * * * *

            Entering the conference room, Nick was surprised to find the entire night crew plus a few extras. His mildly confused gaze traveled the length of the table before settling on Grissom at one end.

            “Hey, boss,” he called out as he looked tentatively at the two strangers in matching his and hers blue suits. Look like Feds, Nick thought before traveling down to the opposite end of the table to see Austin Olbermann, his head bent over some reports.

            “Nick, this is Special Agent Mallory Kennon and Agent Joe Pak,” Grissom introduced. They’re with CASMIRC and are here to help us with the Jesse Burdette murder and possibly the Lucan Reith one as well. They also came baring gifts for Warrick and Greg on their case.”

            “Hey,” Nick nodded taking up the seat across from Warrick, who was sitting next to the FBI agents. Turning his attention back to Grissom, Nick said, “I got that information on the husband for you.”

            “Good, let’s get everyone on the same page,” Grissom began. “We have identified the remains of our unknown male victim in this case as Lucan Reith, age 14 and older brother to the street child known as Spider Monkey.”

            “His real name is Beowulf Michael Reith and he just turned eight years old,” Sara interjected, feeling a little uneasy at how the little boy was being addressed so clinically.

            Grissom nodded. “Jesse Burdette and Lucan Reith were known to each other, ran in similar circles at one time and we believe they were murdered by the same perpetrator. Agents Kennon and Pak have been tracking a serial killer with the same M.O. and signature for over two years and have been able to place twelve murders to this guy with a certain degree of certitude.”

            “Twelve?” Greg interjected, a look of horrified surprise creasing his face.

            “Twelve,” Pak stated emphatically. “He has worked in a number of states but we now believe, from information we have obtained from Ms. Willows that are man may have established international hunting grounds, possibly Thailand.”

            Greg looked wide eyed to Grissom, who arched a single brow, affirming the agent’s information.

            “I believe that Beo witnessed both murders and from what Nick and I were able to get out of Jello Osterbachen, the killer is known to Beowulf,” Grissom let the information sink in.

            “What about these boys’ parents?” Warrick asked. “Could the killer be a parent or family member? Is that why they ended up on the street?”

            “Good question,” Grissom said before asking, “Nick?”

            “Right,” Nick said, taking his cue and flipping open the folder he had brought with him. “The boys’ father, Tennyson Reith-“

            “Explains the boys’ names,” Sara piped in.

            Grissom nodded while Nick continued.

            “Died in a single car accident in Utah in December of 2002. He had gone skiing with his cousin, the cousin lost control of the Jeep Cherokee he had been driving and ended up crashing into a bridge abutment. Reith died at the scene but,” Nick continued elongated his last word, his expression telling the people around the table he had found a juicy tidbit of information. “The cousin ends up marrying the widow twenty months later, names…”Nick glanced down at the file in front of him. “Byron Gates.”

            “Wait!”

            “Whoa!”

            Warrick and Greg were the recipients of everyone’s attention in the room. A pregnant pause hung in the air as Warrick and Greg exchanged incredulous glances.

            “Byron Gates? CEO of Bacchus International?” Warrick asked pointedly.

            Nick looked down, double checking his facts. “Yeah,” he answered with a confused frown, wondering how Warrick knew about the man’s occupation.

            Warrick cocked his head to one side. Swiveling his chair his gaze went from Greg to Grissom. “Byron Gates showed up on our radar in the Andrew Graves murder Bacchus International was why we pulled Austin in on the investigation and he’s run into a lot of hinky stuff.”

            “For example?” Catherine asked, wanting a definition of what constituted “hinky”.

            Austin Olbermann had been so busy reviewing the information that the FBI agents had given him earlier that he hadn’t even noticed he had become the center of the conversation. The tip of his pen following the flow of numbers that represented tens of thousands of transactions spanning the entire globe, Austin was unaware of the eyes that were now directed at him.

            “Austin.”

            “Hmm, what?” Olbermann stammered at Warrick’s insistent voice.

            Warrick eyed him before nodding to the report he had been so engrossed in. The man can certainly get lost in his work, Warrick thought.

            “Oh, yes, I, umm,” Olbermann took a deep breath, trying to regain his balance. “Bacchus International is loaded but what I was having a problem with was where all the real money was coming from. They have a handful of sex shops in the area and they do alright for themselves but you couldn’t sell enough blow-up dolls and dildos to make the kind of cash that Bacchus is making. So…”

            Olbermann bent down and pulled out several folders from his satchel, sitting alongside his chair. Most of the folders were thick, overflowing with papers and littered with post-it notes of varying colors on the front. “I followed the money.”

            Olbermann placed his left hand on the file to his left. It was the smallest of the set of four. “This represents the various shops. There are invoices, transactions, shipping receipts, tax returns, the like,” Austin explained, placing his hand on the next folder. “This is money made from their pornos and as we all know sex sells. These two ventures would appear to be legitimate, at least on paper, if they weren’t camouflaging this one.”

            Olbermann put his hand on the fattest folder of the four. “This is where all the real money is coming from and it is coming from all over the world. Money comes in but I can not find anything to support why it is coming in. On paper it is as if thousands and thousands of people are just giving their money to this company. There is no exchange of goods, at least not on paper, and no hint to any services but I was able to connect this,” he tapped the large folder, “with this,” he tapped the last folder. “Bryton Kopec’s business. And from these to this…”

            Olbermann pulled out copies of his findings on the company known as KG2 and passed them out to the CSIs, the FBI agents already having a copy.

            “The company is called KG2 and it has come up on a memo in INTERPOL,” Agent Kennon supplied.

            She had been called at bright o’clock by an agent in Washington, DC that wasn’t aware of the difference in time zones. Filling her in on Olbermann’s request for information and what he had uncovered, the agent had faxed information that had been compiled about KG2 to Kennon and Pak, reciting the importance of fighting human trafficking wherever it might be. Dumbass! Kennon had thought as she rose from bed. Like I didn’t know that!

            “The company’s name came up when the Armenian police had a shootout with a lesser nephew of some crime boss. Guy was running Bari Kisher Hyuranots, I guess it means Good Night Hotels which were just dives used as transit points for sex slaves coming in from Uzbekistan mostly.”

            “So what, are you saying that Warrick’s porno king his dealing in sex slaves?” Nick asked with a frown.

            Kennon put her hands in the air. “I don’t know at this point but I can tell you that there is tons of money made in the illegal trade of selling human beings. I can also tell you some of the sickest shit I’ve ever seen had to do with a pair of Haitian girls living in Louisiana. They were nine and eleven and sold to a drug kingpin down there and I’ll leave it at that.”

            Everyone was silently thankful for the FBI agent’s discretion. The two, slowly diverging cases were dark and foul enough without adding additional horrors to them. They were all seasoned professionals and had seen their fair share of the miseries one human being could inflict on another but it wasn’t something they actively sought. No, the world brought them plenty to deal with and that was more than enough.

            “Okay, so we have a murdered kid, at this point we are attributing his death to a serial killer that has been on the prowl for at least four years that we know of, “Grissom said, looking to Kennon for confirmation of the facts.

            The agent nodded and added, “We believe the killer has stolen the identity of man by the name of Terrance DeYoung. Through Ms. Willows we learned that DeYoung was a foster parent, mostly for teenage boys. Through the DOJ and a contact I made within the Bangkok Police Department we have ascertained that Mr. DeYoung was probably killed in Thailand in the fall of 2000.”

            Warrick and Greg had matching looks of horrified disgust on their face. “You’re saying the killer has been getting kids from the foster care system!?!” Greg found the whole morbid notion unfathomable.

            Grissom nodded in answer which only made Greg continue angrily. “How the hell…Didn’t anyone notice this guy wasn’t DeYoung?”

            “The killer was careful enough to allow enough time to pass but…no, no one noticed, “Grissom answered.

            “As of right now we have two cases linked by one man, Byron Gates, “Grissom stated, rising from his seat. “Let’s start focusing on him.”

            “Well, the U.S. Government is about to rattle his cage of tawdry delights,” Agent Pak grinned, following Grissom to his feet. “The money is about to dry up. Bacchus Internationals bank accounts are about to go sub zero.”

            “That’s Pak-speak for the accounts are about to being frozen,” Agent Kennon gave the group a lopsided smile. “Mr. Olbermann if you’d like to sit in on our accountant’s overview of the bank accounts you may.”

            Olbermann shot to his feet energetically, a huge smile on his face. Scooping up his files he left a copy of companies that Bacchus had had dealings with for Warrick and followed the FBI agents from the room, rambling on about tax returns and possible indictments.

            “Alright, I’m going to have Brass tail Gates. Sofia is still on DeYoung’s house but so far nothing.” Grissom began to lay out his battle plan. “Nick, check with vice, find out if they have dealt with any prostitutes that appear to be out of country. Let’s see if Bacchus is sidelining in the illegal sex trade. Warrick, Greg, lean into Kopec, let’s find out what this guy is all about. Catherine, Sara and I will pay Mr. Gates a visit and find out why he failed to mention to the authorities that his step-sons were missing.”

            A series of solemn nods was the prelude to the room being vacated. As each investigator took their assignment and proceeded to tackle it. They were dealing with some serious bad guys and the sense of urgency to rid their streets, if not the world, from them was paramount in each one of their minds.

            “What about Beo?” Sara asked, unable to hide the worry in her voice.

            Grissom let Catherine know that he and Sara would meet her at the truck. “Sara, honey,” he chanced to rub her arm, comforting her briefly. “He’ll be fine. Sister Liz promised me she’d keep a close eye on him and she is known to him, Beo knows where he stands with her so I think he’ll feel safe enough to stay put until his Mother Hen comes back to get him.”

            Sara’s glare had Grissom grinning mischievously.

            “Oh, well, if I am the Mother Hen what does that make you?” Sara challenged.

            “The Big Cock of course,” Grissom answered as he left the room.

            Sara’s mouth dropped open, her eyes wide in shock before squinting in reprimand and planned retribution. “Oooo, you are so going to get it, Gilbert,” Sara vowed to herself, before following his steps and leaving the room.