Disclaimer: Gil Grissom, Sara Sidle, and all other CSI: Crime Scene Investigation characters, as well as any scenarios previously aired within the show, are the sole property of CBS and a whole boatload of extremely rich people. So if they are mentioned in this story, guess what, they aren't mine. All other characters and scenarios found within this story are the sole property of me. Me, me, me. I'm taking credit for this, although I may regret it later.
This Disclaimer holds for the entire piece. Additional Disclaimer information will be added as necessary. I have enough practice in redundancy in my real job, thanks.
Rating: M - for all the very wise reasons why you rate something as 'M' or 'R'. Read at your own discretion.
Spoilers: Anything from Season 5 that has aired in the U.S. to date is fair game. And to warn you, this fic is not Spork-Free. Sorry.
Beta Props: Many, many thanks to Cybrokat for the excellent beta work. Particularly Chapter 2. Any errors found within are entirely my fault, and I humbly apologize in advance.
A/N: This is a GSR melodrama. You have been warned. I must be channeling Homer or something, because I feel like I'm writing The Iliad. Have you ever read The Iliad? I mean, the whole thing? God help us all. This started as an attempt to write a casefile, and to include more of Catherine and Brass, since I skimped on them in Baseline (which this is not a sequel of). Let's just say it has evolved beyond that... into this. This fic will be posted in 'Parts', of which there are at least three. The casefile will be featured predominantly in Part 2. Part 1 is complete, so here it is. Enjoy!
... prologue ...
He studied the naked young woman before him. She was quiet, oblivious to the world around her. She had been oblivious for the past 32 hours. Modern medicine was truly a miracle.
Her wrists were taped together over the top of the showerhead, and she hung limply from it, the red from her painted toenails clashing with the darker red of her own blood dripping into the drain. The majority of it was coming from between her long legs. He marveled at the strength of quality construction; the showerhead in his own apartment would have most likely broken off.
He reached over and placed two fingers along the woman's neck. Her pulse was feeble, but she was still alive. He considered another session with her, and his pulse quickened. But the sound of a soft moan broke through his thoughts. She was waking, and he was out of medication.
He couldn't have her suffer. That was unacceptable.
It was time, then. He reached into a small bucket, taking out his knife. He had to be careful not to let the blade touch his gloves.
A quick slice and five minutes was all it took. He ran the hot water for a few minutes to flush the blood from the tub, and to wash his soiled gloves. He let his hands hang over the tub, his gloves dripping dry. He still needed them. It was time for the bleach.
After wiping and scrubbing everything, including the woman's body, and his own, he started over and cleaned again. He hated making a mess. All must be cleaned. Every crack, every crevice. All must be made pure again.
He reached for the cleaned knife. He had to cut her down now, and lay her to rest in the tub. It was time. As he stood on the edge of the bathtub, he reached up to cut through the tape, being careful not to touch her beautiful wrists.
In an instant, the knife slipped, and fell to the bottom of the tub with a clatter. As it fell, it sliced the young woman along her left breast, leaving a mark that vaguely resembled a "J".
He swore, upset that she was damaged unintentionally. But as he looked closer at the cut on her breast, memories of a story he'd read long, long ago came to his mind.
He picked up the knife and succeeded in cutting her down the second time. He positioned her properly in the bathtub, so all who would come after him would see her in her clean, pure beauty. He removed the tape and placed it back into his small bucket, along with the knife. More bleach and some scrubbing removed any residue from the woman's wrists.
There. Finished.
He would need to ponder his new discovery. Ideas formulated in his brain. It was good that he was leaving this town, and moving along, as was his trade. He could use the time to consider the possibilities. Perhaps, only the truly dirty should be cleaned. Only the sinners should be made pure again.
oooooooooooooooooooooo
"The cleaning lady discovered her," Brass intoned. "But hey, we won't need to call in for clean up. Or request last rites."
"What?" Grissom asked, confused.
"You'll see. Come inside."
Brass and Grissom walked into the hotel room at the Tangiers. The odor of bleach was prevalent, and Grissom mentally sighed. Bleach killed everything. It destroyed DNA, and tended to smudge prints. It also discredited the color in any hair samples they might find.
Grissom peered into the rather large bathroom, and found a young brunette clearly positioned in the bathtub. She appeared to be praying. The huge slash mark across her neck obviously indicated foul play. The lack of blood anywhere, along with the lingering bleach odor; it was obvious the whole bathroom had been cleaned.
Grissom stepped closer to examine her. Ever since Debbie Marlin, he had to check the young brunettes closely before he'd truly be able to relax. He knew that it most likely would never be… her… but he still checked.
He felt a presence behind him; it was David. Grissom felt a twinge of pity for the young man. He was called out to most every DB they had. It was amazing that the sights he'd seen hadn't affected his calm and cheerful demeanor.
"Are you ready for me, sir?" David asked quietly.
"Give me five minutes in here, and then you can get to work. But don't take her until we've had a chance to examine her after you've declared."
Grissom examined the tub around the woman, then the floor, and finally the sink. It felt redundant; he knew in the pit of his stomach that this was where she had been murdered, and that the whole room had been scrubbed spotless. He'd spray luminol after the body was removed, but he knew what he'd find. Blood everywhere, and none of it useful.
Nothing stood out to him after his first pass, so he waved David in and went to check out the rest of the hotel room.
Sofia and Sara were standing in the doorway, waiting for direction from him.
"Sofia, you're with me. Sara, I want you to go with Brass and question whomever found her. Then see if you can track down any information about who had this room recently. It's likely our vic hasn't been dead for very long."
Sara scowled, clearly upset that she was being shuffled off to do the less interesting work. Grissom sensed her irritability, but ignored it. It was best that she be kept on the sidelines for these types of cases.
He suspected it wasn't exactly fair, but he promised himself he was going to supervise her better. And as her supervisor, he had to set limits for her, and keep her within them.
Sofia smiled brightly at him. "Shall we get started, then?" she asked.
"Certainly," he replied. And he turned away from Sara, leaving her to fend for herself with Brass and the hotel staff.
oooooooooooooooooooooo
A week had passed since they'd found the young woman in the Tangier's hotel room. Her case was horrific. She had been repeated raped and assaulted. No trace of the perp's DNA was found on or within her. Their killer had cleaned every orifice of the woman with bleach. Due to their complete lack of evidence, the case remained unsolved, joining the others on his "fish" board. Grissom hoped that particular killer was a one-shot type, and not a serial. He figured it was an isolated incident, as the woman was a dancer, and had recently moved to the area. She had no friends in Nevada, and her only remaining relative was her 87-year-old mother, permanently residing in a nursing home in Florida.
Brass had reported that the elderly woman didn't understand that her only daughter had been murdered. Clearly the woman was in some degenerative mental state. She also hadn't understood their request for her to claim her daughter's body, so the state wound up handling the final arrangements for the victim. The whole case was tragic, and left all of them in a somber mood for days.
Grissom felt strongly about his decision to keep Sara away from these types of cases. If she had been primary with him on the case, it would have upset her greatly. He wasn't sure how she would have handled it. He could see her flying to Florida to talk with the victim's mother. Sara just got too attached.
Until he was confident that she wouldn't let her emotions get the best of her, he would keep her on the sidelines. Grissom liked to think of it as protecting her and her career.
He suspected Sara didn't agree, and he wasn't surprised to see her standing in his doorway at the end of shift.
"Griss, do you have a minute?" Her tone was casual and polite, but Grissom suspected why she was there.
"I do."
"I… I was wondering if there was a problem with my performance lately. Something I had done wrong…?"
"No, your performance has been excellent."
"Then… why are you keeping me away from the abuse and rape cases?"
That was Sara. Always blunt.
"Because you aren't ready for them."
"Excuse me? Forgive me, Grissom, but how are you gauging if I am ready or not ready? It isn't like we've spoken about… anything… since I got suspended…" Her voice trailed off, but she didn't break eye contact with him. She wanted answers.
"Do you feel you are ready?"
"Honestly, I don't know," she said sincerely. "And I really won't know until I'm put in the situation. If I feel it is a problem, I will dismiss myself from the case."
She paused, and her eyes bore into his own, the emotion deep and real. There was an unspoken question hovering between them.
"I'm sorry, Sara. I can't put you in a situation that would compromise you, your job, or this lab. Blame Ecklie and his politics for that, but really – it just isn't worth the risk."
Sara said nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes.
He sighed. "It isn't that I don't trust you…"
"Oh?" she choked.
"Sara… it isn't like that. You have to know… it isn't like that… it's just…"
And he felt himself shutting down yet again. Again at a loss for words; again unintentionally causing her pain.
"No," she said definitively. "I understand. I understand completely. I won't be a bother."
"Sara…" he pleaded. But she turned and walked out the door, and disappeared into the lab. And he let her go.
As the days after their conversation passed into weeks, Grissom held firm with his decision, and he kept Sara away from the sensitive cases. This actually had him spending a lot of time with Sofia, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant.
But he wasn't about to cross any boundaries with her, and ruin the working relationship. No, he had learned his lesson the hard way, and he wouldn't repeat the same mistake twice.
Sara, on the other hand, had seemed to accept his decision, and there appeared to be no animosity between them. They didn't talk about anything but work, and that was fine by him. She also appeared content with her role of mentoring Greg. He was pleased that she had seen the wisdom of his words, and he hoped she was learning to deal with her demons on her own.
He would watch, and wait. Someday she would be ready, and when she was, they would work together again. They would restore the friendship that was there so long ago. It would take some time, but it would be worth it. Grissom missed their camaraderie most of all.
He had time. She was here, and one day she'd be ready, and everything would work itself out.
All in due time, he thought. All in due time.
... end prologue ...
continued in part 1 ->