The continued story to A Few Days and Another Few Days--this time Sara goes to Las Vegas.
We do not own any of these characters; just making up a little fiction of our own for fun.
A Few Days in Las Vegas
Chapter 1
Sara worked on the skull and the bones. She found an expert in Alabama, formerly from San Francisco, who spent hours talking to her, even suggesting she send the skull to him. He provided names of other anthropologists who had experiences in identification of skeletal remains.
"Teeth," he suggested. "Dental eruptions, lines on teeth, anomalies in teeth can be used to establish age, medical treatments, even what was in the drinking water." He cautioned her about expecting too much, then said "Don't give up!"
Her boss gave her space to work telling her not to get her hopes up. Then he helped analyze soil samples, called several sheriffs' offices to get missing person's lists, even the vineyard owner to ask if Sara could return. She worked her scheduled hours and stayed late to work on her bones, not every day, just most days, off the clock.
Grissom called her everyday, and the box of bones gave him reason to call her during work. Just as she had suggested, the skull was female. Age was more difficult to determine. A scan done as a favor estimated death between 1970 and 1990—twenty years, and an approximate age between twenty-five and forty.
Sara called more police and sheriffs departments, getting promises to send their lists of missing persons. She got names of dentists covering several counties and began calling each one, getting little information from busy offices. She drove back to the vineyard to take photographs, learning more about its history and spending time with the owner's records going back forty years. She took copious notes, meticulous about her data and organization.
With only the skull, teeth, and small bones, everyone told her it would be almost impossible to determine much—unless she got lucky with dental records. She turned to the rings and learned much about metals and stones, but nothing about two very nondescript gold rings similar to those sold at low cost by the hundreds.
Grissom asked every week for her to visit Las Vegas; every week, one or the other worked doubles, or was on call, or a case required overtime. Days passed until another page turned on the calendar.
"Come this weekend. I want to show you Las Vegas," he said, pleading with her to visit.
Another two weeks passed before both could arrange mutual days off. Sara found a cheap ticket on a gambling flight arriving in the middle of the night.
Grissom was no where to be found. Sara had checked baggage claim twice; she had returned to the gate thinking they had passed each other. Briefly, she thought about paging him, but decided to wait outside—until she stepped outside and felt the heat. She stepped back inside, certain he had not forgotten her; work or traffic had delayed him, she thought.
She found a bench—she had two telephone numbers, no idea what kind of car he drove other than a blue one, no real concept of how large Las Vegas was, or how far he was from the airport. The airport did seem to be in the middle of the city because a lot of passengers were pointing to familiar lights and landmarks as they landed.
Forty-five minutes passed before she decided to call his home number, of course, getting no answer. She retrieved her coin from the coin return and went back to the bench. Checking her watch, she decided to wait another fifteen minutes before calling the work number. Twenty minutes pass as she watched arrivals and departing passengers in the terminal. The arriving passengers were much happier than departing ones. Everyone was not striking it rich at the slots or tables.
Sara saw Grissom weaving around slow-moving tourists and suitcases looking worried. He grinned when she waved. She was not sure who was first to reach out but immediately wondered why it had taken so many weeks for her to reach this spot.
"How was your flight? Are you hungry? I'm sorry I'm late. I was stuck on a scene and traffic was bad." He grabbed her bag. "I'm right out front."
His official vehicle was at the curb, flashers blinking. Once inside, he turned to her. "Sara, I have to return to the scene—twenty minutes south of here. I—I should be finished in another hour or so." He had taken her hand. "I can take you to my place or you could go with me. I'm working alone."
His eyebrow arched and she knew the answer he wanted. "I'll go with you."
Her introduction to Las Vegas was a long ride in slow traffic from the airport leaving bright lights of casinos and hotels behind her as they drove south. Grissom described the strangulation murder of a female, age forty-five, in her home. Her husband had found her upon returning home from work. By the time the police, the coroner, the crime scene investigators arrived, neighbors, friends and relatives were in the house.
Hours of collecting evidence, Grissom said, and a double murder across town had taken everyone in that direction and he kept working with two rooms remaining. "One hour, two max, and I should be finished. Promise."
They talked about the skull and bones and people she had talked to about it. She had a list of missing persons from two counties; none looked promising. She had spread her search radius to include five more counties. "Of course" she explained, "no one has good records back to the 1970s. It's as if everyone who disappeared just left of their on accord."
Grissom told of one case of three skulls found buried in a basement in the east. Months later, anthropologists determined that all three were "war souvenirs" from World War Two, kept on a shelf for years, until one day the wife decided to bury them in the basement, found by a new owner a decade later. He laughed as he told the story. "Your man in Alabama was the person who got it right. Tracked down the widow in a retirement home and heard the story."
"How do you know this?" Sara asked.
"Heard him at a conference." He said. "You are keeping notes? You can write this up for a conference, seminar, even a journal article."
She laughed. "Only if we find who this was! And the guy with the letters behind his name gets the recognition, not a low level investigator."
He turned into a driveway. Yellow tape surrounded the house and yard and one lone policeman got out of his car.
"Hey, Chuck. I brought help. Should take another hour." Grissom greeted the man. The man touched his cap and returned to his car.
The house was dark and Grissom handed a flashlight to Sara. "Body was in the bedroom back there. I need to finish the bathroom and the kitchen."
"Tell me what to do."
Grissom passed her gloves. "You can watch."
"If I help, unofficially, you will finish sooner. I can lift fingerprints. I can bag evidence you find. Anything I do, you need to sign." She snapped on the gloves. "Powder? Or evidence bag?"
He smiled. "Stay with me."