Disclaimer: Wish I owned them...don't.
Breaking Stasis
By Tallulah
Chapter 1
The night shift of the Las Vegas Crime Lab straggled into the break room one by one, nodding or mumbling a greeting to each other, not quite awake enough this early into their day to indulge in actual conversation. The first stop was always the coffee pot where each immediately brightened on discovering that Lab tech turned newbie CSI Greg Sanders, a coffee aficionado, had been the one to start it.
Gil Grissom, the night shift supervisor, entered shortly, wide awake and raring to go, greeting his assembled crew with little fanfare.
"Sara, you're with me. We've got a 419 down at NorGen labs."
"We're fine, Grissom. And how are you?" Greg replied with a pleasant smirk, earning himself a quelling look from his boss and several sets of rolled eyes from his fellow CSIs who simply knew better than to antagonize Grissom this early into the shift.
"Glad you're doing so well tonight Greg," Grissom said. "You've got yourself a possible drug distributor. Be prepared to go dumpster diving." He handed the assignment slip to his young protégé who bounced out of his seat like a jack-in-the-box.
"Solo? Sweet!" Greg crowed, snatching the slip from Grissom's outstretched hand and practically skipping out the door, presumably to thwart any idea Grissom might have entertained of changing his mind.
"That clearly did not have the intended effect," Grissom commented mildly as he watched the young man bop down the hall.
Lanky Warrick Brown unfolded himself from behind the table and chucked the remains of the apple he had been eating into the trashcan behind him. "That's Greg for you. As long as you don't banish him back to the lab, he'll take any trick roll or smash and grab you throw at him and say 'please sir, may I have another.'"
"Well, I'm glad someone in this lab has an affinity for the mundane." Grissom held up two slips; "I've got a trick roll at the Bellagio or a B&E in Fairdale." He glanced between Warrick and Nick Stokes. "You guys wanna flip a coin?"
The trick roll was a Las Vegas oldie, but goodie – a classic con in which one of the 'working girls' from the strip lured her John into a hotel room where her partner waited to rob him. The B&E could be anything from neighborhood kids causing trouble to a druggie hell bent on finding the cash to score a fix. Neither option was particularly appealing to the seasoned investigators, but the choice between spending the night in the cool air conditioned depths of the Bellagio and skulking around the bushes in suburbia was an easy one.
Nick gave a lazy smile from where he lounged against the back wall nursing his second cup of coffee of the night. "I'll arm wrestle you for it."
Warrick quirked an amused eyebrow at his coworker. The two were notorious for engaging in a little friendly competition from time to time; it lightened up the somber nature of their work as well as kept their minds sharp and on top of their game.
"No way man," He replied congenially. "I'd just end up hurting you and then I'd have to do them both myself." He shook his head. "I ain't got time for that tonight."
"Come on player," the well-built Texan taunted good naturedly. He elbowed up to the table flexing a fist. "Put your muscle where your mouth is."
Warrick opened his mouth to reply in kind, but before he managed a sound, Sara, who had been standing impatiently by the doorway since Grissom had announced their 419, leaned over the table without a word, plucked the two assignment slips from Grissom's hand, shuffled them quickly without looking at them and handed one to each of her coworkers.
"Have fun boys," she said with a deceptively sweet, gap-toothed smile. She twiddled her fingers at them in a little wave, turned and left.
The three men stood looking at each other in wry silence for a moment.
Warrick laughed finally. "Man, that girl has got to learn some patience.
"You must first have a lot of patience to learn to have a lot of patience," Grissom quoted. At the blank looks he received from his two CSIs he continued, "Stanislaw J. Lec, Unkempt Thoughts."
"Well of course it is," Nick said, sharing an amused glance with Warrick. Their boss held a reputation for being able to pull a quote out of the air to fit any situation. Occasionally he even used one from a recognizable source. Not often, but occasionally.
Nick stood up and stretched. "You gentleman will have to excuse me." He glanced down at the slip in his hand. "It would appear that I have a B&E in Fairdale to attend to." He looked pointedly back up at Grissom. "You'd best go too before your ride leaves without you."
"I'm not too worried about it Nicky," He said, giving his best enigmatic 'Grissom' smile. He jangled a set of keys over his shoulder as he left the room. "She forgot her keys."
The ride across town was largely a silent one. Grissom had relinquished Sara's keys back into her possession and she hummed occasionally as she drove, but neither felt the urge to fill the peace with needless chatter. There would be plenty to talk about when they arrived at the scene. Relaxing in the passenger seat, Grissom indulged himself in a favorite pastime and watched her covertly as she navigated through light traffic.
If he tried to be critical; she was too pale and too thin, a long legacy of working nights and sleeping days and concentrating so intently on her work that she regularly forgot to eat. He had no claim though, no right to worry about her well-being as anything more than a reflection of her ability to do her job – a purely professional interest. He once again forced himself to tamp down any tender concern that welled to the surface, threatening to spill over into the personal and cross a line that he considered sacrosanct. He was her boss, a teacher and a mentor. It would be unprofessional, and if he was being completely honest with himself, downright unethical of him to take advantage of any affection she had developed for him in his position of authority over her…regardless of how much her very being warmed and enticed the long sheltered area of his heart that longed for the companionship and equality of nature with which she tempted him.
Lost in familiar ruminations, Grissom didn't realize they had arrived at their destination until Sara prodded him gently in the shoulder having apparently already called his name several times to no avail.
"There you are," she said, lips quirked into a one-sided smile. "I was beginning to think I was going to have to call Brass over here to drag you out."
Showing no sign of where his thoughts had taken him, Grissom said nothing and climbed out of the SUV to greet the staid detective as he crossed the darkened parking lot.
"Gil. Sara." Detective Jim Brass acknowledged them each with a nod. Sara tossed him a wave from the rear of the Tahoe where she was unloading their crime scene kits.
Grissom greeted his friend perfunctorily before getting promptly down to business.
"What have we got?" He took the case Sara proffered, trying hard not to notice as their fingers brushed during the exchange, and started towards the building beside Brass with Sara bringing up the rear.
"NorGen labs," the detective began as the trio jogged up the front steps into the imposing edifice, "Is a privately owned research laboratory that subsists on government and private sector grants to keep them in Bunsen burners and test tubes. They're supposedly one of the foremost labs in the country to specialize in predictive gene testing." He paused and glanced over at Grissom. "Go ahead and tell me what that is Gil. You know you want to."
Striking the tone of a well versed lecturer, Grissom needed no further encouragement, but primarily addressed his commentary to Sara. "There are a handful of diseases that can already be predicted with some degree of accuracy based on existing genetic tests, but for the most part the discipline is still in its infancy. Labs across the world are competing with each other to develop new tests that will identify gene abnormalities with more precision. If they can come up with sensitive enough predictors, doctors will be able to determine in advance if a person is susceptible to certain diseases and disorders. Ultimately these tests should revolutionize preventative medicine. They'll be able to monitor patients who exhibit positive predictors and treat them in early stages of any disease – one of the leading factors in whether a patient recovers or not." Grissom added. "Also the lab that 'wins' the race can count on more grant money than they'll know how to spend."
Sara looked impressed while Brass merely responded with a "Hm." and then went on with the case details. "Our DB is Dr. Jonathan Morris. He's a research fellow on staff with the lab. Been with the outfit for 18 years, nearly since its inception."
They crossed the marble foyer whose function in life was clearly not to make visitors feel invited and welcome. It was a wide open space, empty of furniture, nearly as cool and sterile as the clean room where the late Dr. Morris had met his lamentable end. The only decoration of any kind to break up the muted grey monotony was a semi-circle shaped receptionist's desk, unmanned by an actual receptionist at this hour, but currently buzzing with the combined activity of the police unit, lab personnel – stand outs in their white lab coats – and a mildly shell shocked looking gentleman in street clothes who Grissom pegged as likely being someone in charge called in from home to deal with the current crisis.
His assumption proved correct as they approached and Brass made the requisite introductions. "Dr. Norfield, this is Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle. They're with the crime lab." He turned back to Grissom. "Dr. Norfield here runs the lab."
The frazzled man stuck his hand out awkwardly, obviously unsure as to what etiquette was called for under the circumstances.
"Brent. Brent Norfield," he said as he shook Grissom's hand. "I'm the director here."
The scientist appeared to be in his mid- to late- 50s with wispy graying hair. He was tall and thin so as to be stork-like and lacked only the pocket protector to score the centerfold in 'Science Geek Today.'
"Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help." He was patently distraught and Sara found herself having to stifle the urge to pat him on the shoulder reassuringly.
She had questions beginning to form about the nature of the case and was antsy to get up to the lab and see the body, but held her impatience in check for the time being. Grissom was lead on this and she knew would not appreciate being hurried along, nor would it even have been possible had she tried. She enjoyed watching him work anyway. He had been her mentor for many years and her actual teacher for a brief time prior to that, yet she still felt that she learned something new from him every time they worked together.
She resisted the compulsion to dwell on how frequently they had been working together as of late or to tie any special significance to it. Rather than turning it into something more than it likely was, she merely chalked it up to the fact that they were shorthanded. Their other night shift co-worker, Catherine Willows, was taking a long talked about and much needed two week vacation to spend some quality 'girl time' with her fourteen year old daughter. The fluttery feeling she got in her stomach every time he chose to work with her on a case was quickly suppressed and ignored. She couldn't afford to get her hopes up where her inscrutable boss was concerned.
Sara knew from her own painful experience that he reciprocated her tentative feelings at least to some degree. Hearing him turn the tables in an interrogation room and confess to the suspect that he had feelings for a younger co-worker that he couldn't act on had been a defining moment for Sara. She didn't know his exact reasons; he was her boss, he was older, there was just so much baggage and so many possibilities, but she had seen a choice. She could let it get to her and let every moment she spent around him be psychological torture – the pinings of unrequited, or at least unresponsive love – or she could put it aside and work around or through it, getting the job done and enjoying the simple pleasure of his company and brilliant mind when he allowed it. She had done the latter and for the most part was happy with her decision. This was possibly not the healthiest of lifestyle choices and she was sure her PEAP counselor would use words like 'denial' and 'co-dependence', but her choices were limited. He didn't want her enough and she couldn't not want him. So here they were…in stasis.
Dr. Norfield managed to put himself together sufficiently to answer a few routine questions about the lab itself as well as their standard operation policies. He assured the investigators that any person entering the labs would have to use a keycard to gain access so, at least at the outset, it seemed that they were looking at someone internal to the lab.
"So how many possible entrances are we talking about doc?" Brass queried.
"Five total," the doctor replied, finding his stride and looking more confident speaking on a subject with which he was comfortable. "There's the one through here, of course." He indicated the frosted glass double doors behind them. "Two in the back, and one on each side. They are all key card access with video surveillance monitoring." He looked at Brass eagerly. "I can get you the tapes."
"You do that," Brass said, "in the meantime, me and my friends here are going to head up to the lab and take a look at your crime scene."
Norfield's face fell at the reminder. "I just don't understand this. Who would want to hurt Jonathan?" He shook his head, making the flyaway hairs on his head sway in the slight breeze. "He had an incredible mind and was an asset to the lab. We wouldn't be where we are without him."
"And where is that exactly?" Grissom inquired.
The doctor's chest puffed unconsciously, "We are one of the most highly rated genetics labs in the country. We are verifying predictors on an almost monthly basis now while the rest of the industry is lucky to confirm five or six a year. The government recently renewed our research grant for another three years and that isn't to mention the number of special projects we have undertaken for the private sector." The tired man heaved a sigh, visibly drooping. "Most of those accomplishments can be traced straight back to Jonathan in some way or another. His work was groundbreaking in the field. His team was making strides at an unbelievable rate." He addressed Grissom. "Please find out who did this to him. Jonathan was an amazing scientist and…and well he was a friend." With that, he turned away and then stopped as though something had occurred to him. "Does his wife know yet about...about what happened?" Grissom looked at Brass who was shaking his head.
"No, we haven't contacted her yet. I'll go talk to her myself after I get you guys started upstairs." He turned back to Dr. Norfield. "Doctor, if you could get those tapes to one of these officers here, he'll be sure to get them to me. You've been a lot of help. We appreciate it."
The doctor nodded sadly in acknowledgement and said to no one in particular as he walked away. "Poor Jen…poor kids."
The criminalists climbed the stairs behind Brass to the third floor where the facilities clean rooms were located.
"Apparently, it isn't so unusual for our vic to stay this late if he was in the middle of a cycle. A couple of his coworkers who were also here tonight indicated that he would often stay after hours to take care of paperwork or catching up on his reading."
"He couldn't do that at home?" Sara asked thinking of 'Jen and the kids'.
"Don't know," Brass replied, huffing a little as they reached the third floor landing. The officer at the door swiped a card and nodded them through into the glaring white of the hallway that connected the clean room labs. "The gist I got from what little I know, is that home life wasn't conducive to scientific study." He shrugged. "Make of that what you will."
"I'd rather make of it what it is," Grissom said placidly, walking past the detective and stopping outside what was obviously their crime scene. Both doors to the clean room stood open to the elements and David Phillips from the county coroner's office knelt next to the body. The man lay crumpled on the floor face down, a sizeable pool of blood around his mid-section stood out in stark contrast against the unending white and grey of the lab.
"Not much of a clean room anymore is it?" Sara asked rhetorically.
"Not so much, no." David looked up at her from his position on the floor, nose scrunched to keep his glasses from sliding off.
"Tell us about our guy David." Grissom prompted.
"Yeah, sure." The young coroner sat back, getting into his groove. "We have a 46 year old white male positively identified as Dr. Jonathan Morris." He handed a clip on id badge to Sara bearing the victim's name and id number as well as a photo.
He had been an attractive man, dark hair gone becomingly grey at the temples, slight smile on his face, eyes slightly off center as though he had been looking at something other than the camera when the picture was taken. She turned the badge over, surprised to find a worn sticker affixed to the back – a fuzzy novelty sticker. It was a smiling teddy bear with its arms wide open and the caption 'I love you this much!' printed across the bottom. The edges were starting to disintegrate and the once white background was a smudgy beige. It had obviously been stuck to the badge for a while.
David continued. "Liver temp shows he's been dead about two hours. I haven't turned him over yet, but it looks like at least a .38 caliber gun shot wound." He indicated a sizable hole in the back of the doctor's white coat, rimmed in red.
"Exit wound," Sara said.
David nodded. "I didn't see any shells. If you guys want to go ahead and get your pictures, I'll turn him over when you're done."
Nodding wordlessly, Sara snapped on her latex gloves and entered the room with the camera from her kit. She began taking pictures of the body; careful to take several shots from a multitude of angles to be sure nothing was missed. Once the body was moved, any information they might have gleaned from its positioning was lost without this valuable photo evidence.
"Did anyone report hearing the shot?" Grissom asked; watching Sara as she revolved around the body, the periodic flash from her camera the only indication that the new digital was actually taking pictures.
"Nope," Brass replied from his self appointed post just outside the door. "The place isn't soundproof, but there is a lot of noise dampening in the labs so the sound wouldn't have carried very far. No one else admits to being in any of the clean rooms so aside from our vic and the perp, no one else was on this floor. It was a very elite party"
"Hmm." Grissom replied vaguely and pulled his own gloves on.
As Sara took pictures, He began a slow sweep of the room, carefully hugging the edges to be sure no possible footprints were disturbed. There were none obvious to the naked eye, but it was still possible that they might pick up something meaningful electrostatically. His analytical eye ran over all of the equipment lining the shelves. On first look, nothing appeared to be out of place or unusual, but there was never any telling what might end up being important.
"Okay," Sara said, lowering her camera. "I got it. You can turn him over now."
The face down positioning of the body had hidden the severity of the wound. Face up the gore was evident. Traces of a grayish powder around the hole in the doctor's coat caught Sara's attention. "GSR." She glanced up at Grissom, indicating her find. "Close range then."
Grissom nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "Hard to sneak up on someone in the clean room anyway." He indicated the double doors, both controlled by magnetic locks. It would obviously have been difficult for anyone to have entered the inner chamber without attracting the attention of the person inside. "He knew the perp was in the room with him."
Sara raised her camera again and snapped off some more shots of the body in its new position.
"It doesn't look like he had much warning. No defensive wounds." She said, noting the absence of injuries to the arms or hands. Often, even in a shooting, the victim would have a chance to throw up an arm or hand which wouldn't often stop or much impede the trajectory of the bullet, but it could be an indication of whether or not the person saw it coming.
"No," Grissom agreed, "There wouldn't be". He indicated a tray of vials that lay scattered and smashed where the body had lain on top of them. "The perp came up on him in the middle of an experiment. His hands were full." He gave Sara a thoughtful look. "He either didn't have time to react or was unwilling even subconsciously to lose his data."
They crouched over the body, examining it closely as they went, looking for anything – hair, fibers, trace elements – anything at all that might be out of the ordinary on the doctor's clothing or person.
"At least if we do find something we can be reasonably sure it's related." Sara commented after several minutes of silence and no appreciable results. Grissom cocked an eyebrow at her. "What?" She challenged. "It is a clean room. Isn't that the point? Nothing allowed in that could contaminate the experiments?"
"I don't think we can quite depend on that assumption Sara." Grissom was mildly disapproving.
"I didn't say we should base our investigation on the assumption, Grissom." She groused with a frown. "I said 'reasonably sure' not 'hey we solved the case because there was a piece of lint on the vic's jacket." She gave a mental eye roll. For all that she admired him, the man could be unreasonably frustrating sometimes.
Ultimately there wasn't much worth finding aside from a single strand of hair which, aside from being much too long to have come from the victim, was also a chestnut color – not a match to the vic's salt and pepper. Sara retrieved it from the collar of his lab coat and carefully bindled and recorded it before storing it in her kit, pleased to see that it did include a skin tag – necessary if they were going to be able to make a DNA match.
Grissom sat back on his heels and motioned the young coroner back into the room. "Okay David, you can take him out of here."
Brass stuck his head back in the room as David's team loaded the body onto the gurney for transport to the crime lab morgue. "I'm gonna let you guys work your magic while I go talk to our widow. I'll catch back up with you at the lab."
Grissom nodded and Brass withdrew.
Sara stood, surveying the room. Now that the body was gone and the two CSIs were on their own, they could begin processing the scene itself. "Not much room here to work. How do you want to do this?"
"Go ahead and take the room," Grissom replied, still kneeling next to his kit as he meticulously repacked his supplies. "I'm going to head back to the lobby and see if we have any possilbles for a match to the hair. I'll see if we can get volunteered DNA samples from the remaining staff."
He pushed to his feet then, overbalancing slightly which caused him to lurch forward and lose his balance. He stuck out a hand to catch himself on the first thing that presented itself: Sara's denim-covered leg. Horrified, he snatched his hand back like he'd been burned.
"S...sorry. I..uh… Sorry." He stammered apologetically.
"No problem." Sara replied automatically, resisting the urge to press her hand over the spot on her thigh where he had touched her, inadvertent though it may have been.
She turned away, anxious to relieve the tension that suddenly seemed to permeate the room. "So I should get started in here." She surveyed the lab with a clinical eye, trying to determine where best to start processing.
"Right," Grissom replied, grateful for the redirection.
"I'll go ahead and dust for prints, but I kinda doubt we'll find any in here. Everybody that works here wears these." She snapped the edge of her gloves in illustration and indicated a supply shelf stocked full of all varieties of protective coverings.
"Dust anyway," Grissom said. "Maybe we'll luck out. It is a clean room after all. If you find any prints…" A slow smile spread across his whiskered face. "We can be reasonably sure they're related." He turned then and left.
Sara stared at the doorway he had just vacated with a bemused expression, shook her head once and returned to her work.
-------------------------------
Back in the lobby, Grissom petitioned for and was granted permission by each of the lab's personnel to obtain a DNA sample. He walked down the assembled line swabbing the inside of each person's cheek before snapping the swab back into its protective case and writing the name onto the affixed label.
There were only eighteen lab employees present at the moment. A nineteenth, Richard Greenway, showed up on the log as having used his card to enter the building within the last two hours, making him as viable a suspect of the crime as any of crew that currently remained in the building. Grissom had already retained an officer to accompany them out to the Greenway home for a quick interview after they finished up at NorGen.
"Will you be able to let them go home soon?" Dr. Norfield asked hesitantly as Grissom finished storing the sample swabs in an evidentiary bag. He went on quickly, "it's just that they've all been here since eight o'clock this morning…" He glanced at his watch, "actually yesterday morning and they're…well, we're all pretty torn up about this."
Grissom glanced at the clock. It was nearing one o'clock in the morning. "They can go. I have everything I need for now" Grissom addressed the presiding officer. "Just make sure they know they might be brought in for questioning."
The officer nodded and started over to the group of scientists who milled rather uncertainly around the foyer, their matching white lab coats giving the impression of a flock of chickens.
A flash of chestnut colored pony tail in the group caught Grissom's attention. He asked the man next to him, "Who is that?"
Dr. Norfield squinted in the direction Grissom indicated. "That's Deena Michaels. She's…" He stopped himself with a wince. "She was Jonathan's research assistant. She's the one who found the body."
Grissom looked intrigued. "Could I speak to her a moment please?" He asked.
Norfield looked startled. "Sure…but you don't mean…you don't think that Dee could…" He trailed off wide-eyed.
"I don't think anything Dr. Norfield," the CSI said pleasantly. "I just want to talk to her." He neglected to pass on a conventional bit of CSI wisdom – 'first person on the scene, first suspect'.
Deena Michaels was young by the labs standards, probably in her late twenties. Her hair, which at first glance looked to be a match in color with the hair they had retrieved from the body, was longish and pulled back into a neat pony tail. She had somber brown eyes behind wire rimmed glasses and looked every inch the prim and serious scientist.
She stood quietly with her hands clasped in front of her, merely nodding as Norfield presented her to Grissom and made the introductions.
"You were the one that found Dr. Morris?"
"Yes," she replied with economy of words, "I've already spoken to the police." She blinked at him.
"I'm sure you have. I'm with the crime lab. We investigate the physical findings at the scene…"
"I know what the crime lab does," She interrupted coldly. "What do you want to know?"
"Just tell me what happened. What you saw, what you did. Anything at all could be helpful."
"Fine. I was working with Dr. Morris on a cycle. We had been in the clean room all night processing a new batch. Around ten o'clock we finished getting the run set up so I took the reports from the earlier run back to the lab on the second floor to start collating the data. At eleven thirty I went back up to the clean room…" Her face tightened as she remembered. She swallowed heavily and continued, "That was when I saw him."
"Did you enter the room?" Grissom asked.
"Of course I entered the room," the woman replied acerbically. "I'm going to just assume that he's dead because he's lying on the floor?" She shook her head, giving Grissom an unpleasant look. "I cleared both doors to the clean room, checked his carotid pulse, determined he was dead and immediately left to call the police." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, and no. I did not see anyone else on the floor when I got there. Anything else?"
Grissom pursed his lips, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. "The clean room requires protective gear at all times, right? Coat, booties, mask, gloves, hair covering…at all times?"
She nodded.
"Did you have any of those things on when you entered the clean room to check for a pulse?"
She shook her head. "No, why would I? We put that stuff on in the anteroom, just outside the clean room itself. I wasn't about to take the time to gear up before checking to see if the doctor was okay."
"So your hair was down and uncovered when you checked the doctor?"
Suddenly less hostile, Deena nodded. "You found some of my hair on him didn't you?"
Grissom shrugged. "I can't say for sure, but it could be yours. We'll know more once the DNA results are in. One more question."
She nodded, willing now to be helpful. "Sure."
"Why did you return to the clean room when you did?"
"I found something in the data I was processing that I though the doctor would be interested in."
"Can you tell me what it was?" Grissom inquired curiously.
She shrugged. "Sure, but it doesn't mean much. I was running our experimental study against a control group and the levels of differentiation were way off from the last bunch we did under the same circumstances. I figured we missed a variable somewhere." She gave Grissom a questioning look. "You don't think that could be related do you?"
"Could be anything, could be nothing." Grissom said non-commitally. "Thank you for your time Ms. Michaels. You can go home now too."
As the final member of the NorGen team was ushered out the front, Grissom turned to see Sara push through the frosted glass doors into the lobby, her field kit by her side. She looked preoccupied and he tried in vain to not notice how becoming she looked with her brow furrowed and nose scrunched in concentration.
Dressed simply in jeans and a colorful tank-top, she had left her hair curly today and it rioted around her ears, where she had tucked it to keep it out of her eyes as she worked. He briefly longed to pull it loose and bury his hands in it, but schooled his face to nonchalance as she looked up and met his gaze with a crooked smile.
"All done." She proclaimed looking around the nearly deserted lobby area. "I take it you are too?"
He nodded. "Got a DNA sample from everyone, but I think I found our match to the hair."
Sara raised her eyebrows in query. "Really?" She gave him a tiny smile. "That wouldn't be an assumption would it Griss?"
He ignored her little dig. "Deena Michaels, research assistant to Dr. Morris. She was assisting him in the lab all night and was the one to find the body. She entered the clean room with no barrier garments on so it would have been easy to lose a hair over our vic." He shrugged. "DNA results will back it up one way or the other."
"Good. Lookee what I found." Sara held up an evidence bag containing a small piece of metal.
Grissom smiled. "You found our bullet. Good work."
More pleased by Grissom's mild praise than a ticker tape parade from anyone else, Sara fought down a grin. "Pried it out of the padding in the clean room wall. It's a .38 as David suspected. So what now?"
"We interviewed everyone who logged into the building tonight prior to the attack and got statements from all but one. Care to join me for a visit to Dr. Richard Greenway?"
"Try and stop me." Sara said with a smile.
A/N: Many thanks to Foxtoast and Rhee for their invaluable betaing. Without them this would be an extremly comma deficient piece of work!