Branches rose above him in slender jagged lines, silhouetted darkly against the growing twilight. Behind the harsh filigree, the sky melted from gold to sage to smoke blue, with the sun still burning in the west. The warm golden light cast tree-shadows in entangled wires across his back, and a gentle glow on one side of his weathered face. He glanced up at the canopy, light flashing in his dark blue eyes. Glimmers of rain in sleek crystal spheres still hung from a few leaves. There would be no footprints or treads, and probably no trace.

His gaze fell slowly to the dead woman on the ground before him. She was young and slender, her body shrouded in his shadow, except her splayed blonde hair like fallen gold. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he rubbed his left temple. He had seen much death, but the sorrow and injustice in the back of his mind had never completely gone away. It lurked there, whispering in his ear at each new face, each new life taken. It was part of being human.

He shifted slightly at underbrush crunching to his right, and a long shadow falling beside his in a familiar silhouette. "A motorist found her," he said in a low, somber voice, without turning. "Pulled over, noticed the body, called 911." He sighed, flexing his fingers habitually. "No ID—she's a Jane Doe." Glancing to his right, he added, "You gonna call it, Gil?"

Gil Grissom tilted his head, sun glinting in his clear blue eyes. Carefully he walked around to the other side of the body and squatted beside it, harsh tree-shadows weaving over his quiet, inquisitive expression. With a sensitive gloved hand, he drew back part of her long hair. "Ligature," he commented, pointing to the deep red and purple marks around her neck. "She was strangled." Grissom let her hair fall, studying the body as a whole. The woman was wearing only a bra and underwear, her body bruised and cut. "She took a beating before she died." He tilted his head, forehead creasing slightly. "Lividity suggests she was killed somewhere else, probably no more than a few hours ago."

Captain Jim Brass raised an eyebrow with an understanding nod. "Body dump."

"Well, it rained in the meantime, so any shoeprints or tire treads are gone."

"I'll bet the killer was counting on that." Brass glanced sideways at a faint noise, his movements always alert and observant in the field. "Sexual assault?"

"Most likely," Grissom nodded, sun catching in his greying hair as he leaned over the body. "No ligature marks on the wrists."

"Drugged, maybe? Or just overpowered?"

"Or she was somewhere where she couldn't get away." Something on the woman's neck caught his eye. "Jim, what do you make of this?"

Brass leaned forward, long overcoat skimming the ground. He shook his head, frowning.

"Four small vertical marks, parallel to each other, evenly spaced," Grissom remarked. "They look like cuts, made with some kind of small, sharp instrument."

"Significance?"

"It's one of those odd clues," Grissom shrugged.

"Right," Brass nodded, straightening with a sigh. "It could mean nothing—"

"—or everything."

Floodlights split the darkness with their cold white glare, sending shadows scattering in angular chaos. Her skin shone olive-white in the artificial light, freckles like darkened stars spattered against a fading sky. Slowly her soft brown eyes traced the space within the yellow tape's stark finality. She swung her flashlight in a low arc, its clear beacon following her gaze across branches, leaves and earth.

"Find anything, Sara?"

Sara Sidle glanced over her left shoulder at Grissom, brown hair tossed in a gentle wave. "I've got absolutely nothing. Any evidence here washed away in the rain."

Grissom shrugged, floodlights sharpening his intelligent features. "The killer always leaves something behind," he said quietly.

"Well, this one only left a dead body." Sara shut off her flashlight with a disappointed click. "There's nothing here. I'm going back to the lab to see if we can come up with an ID."

"Okay," he nodded. "Coroner's waiting for me, anyway. Hopefully we'll find DNA from the killer."

Sara turned to face him fully, shadows flowing around her feet in a dark train. "What are you thinking? Single incident, random attack?" Her voice lowered slightly. "Serial?"

"The evidence hasn't told me yet," Grissom said dispassionately. "This isn't even our primary crime scene—this is just where the body was dumped."

"Yeah," Sara nodded, arms folded across her slim figure. Silence stained the cool, wounded night.

Grissom studied her vaguely, noting her pensive expression and the shadows beneath her eyes. She had been quiet and solemn since her return to the lab, but at least she was not being confrontational. Like any mood, it would pass. "Well, see you at the lab," he shrugged, turning and walking toward the road.

Sara glanced after him, raising an eyebrow. He was withdrawn again, but she supposed she should not have expected anything different. It was an endless cycle, back and forth like a cold pendulum. It never changed.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her emotions down to a silent place within her, a place of shadow behind one-way glass.

"Cause of death?"

"Asphyxia," Dr. Robbins stated, "more specifically, strangulation. The marks on her neck and petechial hemorrhaging tell the story." He gestured to the deep bruises around her throat, their color contrasting darkly with the autopsy room's cold sterility. "The ligature left distinctive bruising."

Grissom leaned closer to the body, examining the pattern on her skin. "Small round marks, lined up evenly. A larger square mark." He thought for a moment, then nodded in understanding. "The killer used a belt."

"That's what I was thinking," Robbins agreed. "She's also abnormally thin."

"Anorexic?"

The coroner shook his head. "None of the signs of an eating disorder are present. She hadn't eaten much in about a week, though."

Grissom glanced up, frowning. "So she was starved. By the killer?"

"It's certainly possible. The bruises and cuts all over her body clearly show that she was abused or tortured before her death."

"Did you process for sexual assault?"

Robbins nodded. "Severe bruising and internal tears definitely indicate a violent rape. I found no semen, though."

"Object rape."

"Seems like it, but I can't determine what was used. No trace from it was left during the attack. Considering the pattern of bruising, it could have been any rounded, blunt object." Robbins sighed. "Whatever was used, the attack was brutal and prolonged, one of the worst I've seen."

"What about under her fingernails? Trace amounts of blood from her attacker?"

Robbins shook his head. "Already processed the scrapings. Nothing. There's no foreign DNA anywhere on the body."

Grissom straightened, shaking his head. "This killer is a ghost. We have no prints or hairs and no DNA."

"Hey." He turned to see Sara stride lightly into the room and stop beside the table. "Got an ID on our vic. Prints turned up nothing, but we found her in missing persons. Jamie Martin, age nineteen. She was a student at UNLV. Lived in an off-campus apartment with her roommate, who reported her missing a week ago."

"Odd," Grissom frowned. "She'd only been dead for three hours when we found her."

"Well, the roommate's been cleared, and it doesn't look like anyone else saw her since then."

"She was tortured," Robbins commented.

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "So he kept her alive for a week?"

"Why wait so long to kill her?" Sara wondered aloud.

"Guess he was taking his time," Grissom shrugged.

Robbins nodded. "It fits with the body. Kept barely alive for a week, worn down, tortured, raped, until he was finished with her."

"Highly sadistic." Grissom shook his head. "Well, this certainly didn't happen in the woods where we found her." He glanced up at Sara. "Which raises the question of where she's been for the past 168 hours."

"Hell," Sara replied bluntly, gazing at the pale, dead woman against gleaming metal.