The Las Vegas air was cold, colder than the knife raised high in the air; the moon glistening off the blood-ridden blade, the only sound heard in the desert was the chuckle of the sadistic killer.
Gil Grissom, leader of the Las Vegas CSI Graveyard shift, entered the lab resting his hand on the small of the back of his tall, gap-toothed, brunette girlfriend; Sara Sidle. His stunning blue eyes laughed at some remark Sara said. They were early, as usual, and both hoping to get some peace and quiet before their shift started; they were not lucky.
Simultaneously their beepers chirped, both reaching and saying "mine:" the beeper read to call Jim Brass, a stout, intimidating, but lovable cop, immediately.
Grissom dialed Jim's number and, after a few seconds, said, "What's up Jim?" He nodded and a frown creased across his face: all he said was "honey, we've got another body."