A New Story! The title comes because...no one has used it before! This is a GSR story-so hang with us as Grissom learns about romance. And reviews are always appreciated!
Gil Grissom's Romance
Chapter 1
Walking into the upscale condominium, the metallic scent of copper always reminded him of life—the potential, the possibilities, and the brevity, of every minute one breathed until the end. Dr. Gil Grissom knew there was no urgency for the life that had ended on this day.
Quickly, he was directed down a hallway, passing through a space that was meant to be a living room but was crowded with a desk, several bookcases, a couple of chairs, and stacks of newspapers. Hopefully, he thought, the death was exactly as it had been reported.
At the bedroom doorway, his eyes swept around the room before settling on the bed. The body had been covered by a blanket, as if one might be sleeping, but the bloody matter on the headboard, the pillow, and the blanket provided enough evidence to assure the crime scene investigator that death had been certain and instantaneous. He glanced at the others in the room—nodding to all three as he carefully moved to the bedside.
One window was letting the dawn light illuminate the bedroom, darkness and dim shadows were quickly disappearing. As he covered his hands with gloves, Gil Grissom asked his usual question:
"Has the body been disturbed?"
"No, sir," came a quick reply from the young patrolman.
Grissom lifted eyes to the man he did not know.
The man said, "I saw the note as I was leaving for my run."
Grissom's eyebrows lifted several millimeters higher.
"It's bagged," Detective Barns said as he held out a note encased in a plastic bag. "He had written 'Call the police. The door is unlocked.' When Mr. Roberts saw the note, he called 9-1-1. When I got here, I removed it. There's a letter on the dresser—we haven't touched it."
Grissom nodded as he pulled a piece of plastic out of his pocket and spread it on the floor before placing his investigation kit on it. Working methodically, he placed the gun, a .357 Magnum automatic, in a clear plastic bag. For fifteen minutes, he examined the body, the covers, the bedside as the other men stood silently. He was bagging both hands just as the young coroner's assistant entered the room.
The young man was visibly nervous, stammering greetings before he asked, "When will you be ready for me, Dr. Grissom?"
Standing, Gil Grissom turned, making a motion with his hand, "He's all yours, Dave." Seeing the young man's blush, he said, "It appears this one decided to take his own life—not to worry, before another twenty-four hours pass there is bound to be someone who dies in a more spectacular method than in his own bed."
After reading the hand-written letter with the detective, Grissom placed what appeared to be the dead man's suicide letter in another envelope and walked around the bedroom.
Several photographs hung on the wall; old ones judging from the clothing worn by the woman who was in two of them. The most recent photo was probably twenty years old. A hat rack, another relic from the past, stood in one corner of the room with a half-dozen well worn hats of varying styles hanging from its hooks.
The hallway was as bare as the bedroom with a well-worn path noticeable in the carpet. As he returned to the double-duty living room-office area, he made a slow navigation around the room. A spiral bound notebook lay open beside the desktop computer and catalogued a list of businesses with a hand printed notation of "resume" and "application" beside most of the names.
Grissom's gloved hand rippled a stack of mail, finding an overwhelming number of past-due bills. He moved out of the way as the body was rolled to the waiting van.
Detective Barns returned saying the condo would be sealed off until cause of death was determined. He shrugged, "Well, if it was self-inflicted—we know cause of death."
"He was unemployed—bills stacking up, a long list of applications," Grissom said, nodding his head in the direction of the desk.
Both men thought a survey of the neighbors might provide useful information.
Grissom said, "I'm headed to a conference tonight—won't be back for four days—so call Catherine if anything turns up."
The detective nodded, attempting to hide a smile. He liked Catherine Willows.
Over the years, Gil Grissom had developed a work environment that used the highest laboratory standards, sometimes radical techniques, and had sought and achieved various accreditations for the Las Vegas crime lab. Publishing several research papers, he had achieved a certain level of prestige in the science of forensics and entomology that was rare in law enforcement. And because of that, he could select from a number of offers to speak at professional conferences.
Making a stop at the lab, he left everything he had gathered from the scene, wrote Catherine a note, spent a few minutes with his supervisor, and headed to his condo.
Living alone, as he had done since leaving his mother's home, he lived a quiet, solitary life of his own choosing that filled out his hours when he was not working. The first thing he did after entering his door was to turn on music that filled the silence with sounds he loved. Checking on his roaches, insects that did not suffer from his absence, he placed pieces of dog kibble in each container and then collected several books to take with him. His clothes were easy to pack since his housekeeper had made sure his things were ready and his bag was zipped up and rolled near his front door in a few minutes.
In the kitchen, he ate food prepared by the same housekeeper and thought about the upcoming trip. He had a good life he enjoyed, he thought, yet he winced as he looked around his condo, the starkness reminding him of the dead man's walls. Muttering to himself, he said, "I need to hang stuff up." He glanced at a stack of empty frames which he had purchased months ago.
After cleaning his dishes, he selected one of the books he was reading, stretched out on his sofa as he toed off his shoes, and propped his head on a pillow. In fifteen minutes, he was asleep.
He woke to the sound of loud knocking by someone hitting on his door that got him quickly to his feet and to the door. Not bothering to check through the peephole, he swung the door wide to see the slim figure of Catherine Willows standing a foot from his front door, her fist raised to hit the door again.
Wiping a hand across his face, he said, "Come in, Catherine."
"You needed a ride!" She walked in flipping her blonde hair with a toss of her head. "Your music is so loud you couldn't hear the doorbell." She walked a tight circle, giving his spacious condo a critical appraisal before she said, "You really need a decorator, Gil. You've been here for months and it still looks…" she grimaced as she saw his roaches. "I think these things need to go to the garage before you get a real decorator in here."
Grissom had worked with this woman for years and considered her a friend as well as a good criminalist, often overlooking her tendency to flirt with any male in the room and ignoring her efforts to run his life.
He said, "I went to sleep—I'm ready." As he pointed to the suitcase, he said, "I left a body with the coroner—probably a suicide, but unattended death. Everything is back at the lab."
On the drive to the airport, Grissom let Catherine talk—about her daughter, her mother, her work, her hairdresser—it took no encouragement for her to tell her personal problems, often in terms that caused his face to redden with embarrassment. It was a relief when she finally pulled to the departure curb.
Thanking her as he got out, he asked, "Can I bring Lindsey something?"
Catherine waved her hand, saying, "Have fun! You always find something cute but you know you don't have to bring anything back for her." She gave him a wink. "Enjoy the conference—whatever you do, don't leave your heart in San Francisco!"
A/N: Now you know where he's going and who he's going to meet! The first GSR moment? Thanks for reading and reviewing! More to come.
