01 May 2003
Lisa Gibson peered cautiously down the scope, well aware of the warm air beating down upon her neck. She couldn't ignore the harsh breathing patterns, which seemed to quicken each second. The overall effect was grating on her nerves.
"Would you please refrain from breathing down my neck?" She lifted her head, turning to face the man behind her. Relaying her agitation at his presence.
She practically heard the grinding of his teeth as he spoke. "This is something more important than me bothering you."
"Mr. Stokes," She paused in an effort to gather her patience. "I know how important this sample is. It could help find this guy. Believe me, I want him found, too because I don't want this happening to my daughter."
But he seemed to ignore her attempts at reconciliation. "I need to see the results." Lisa watched as his jaw clenched tightly. She discerned the desperation in his words, making her more sympathetic and able to help her push aside his misplaced anger.
"Which won't be ready for at least another half-hour." Lisa looked at the man poignantly. "Look, I can tell you're stressed. So I'll just page you when the results are ready, okay?"
He looked as if he would retort, but was interrupted by a new presence in the lab, Mr. Grissom.
"Nick."
"Yeah." She was sad to note that Mr. Stokes sounded almost defeated, nothing like the frantic state he was in a few minutes ago. The case must be hitting him particularly hard if it was able to play on his emotions.
On the same note however, Lisa was also grateful that the man's attention was given to Mr. Grissom. She couldn't bear to handle his nerves alongside her own.
"Could I see you for a minute?"
"Can't it wait, Grissom? I'm-"
"Now." His voice left no room for argument. "In my office."
She was wary as Mr. Stokes sighed, turning to her. "Page me?"
Lisa nodded. "Half an hour."
Mr. Stokes offered her a broken smile – a means of apology – as he turned to follow Mr. Grissom.
Nick followed Grissom, knowing that the man saw his stunt with the temporary DNA tech from Days.
He placed himself into the chair, watching Grissom close the door and then taking a seat behind his desk.
"Griss, I'm sorry. I know I was out of line-"
"Do I need to take you off this case?" Grissom removed his glasses, looking at Nick pointedly.
They had been searching for the newest pathological killer. One who the press dubbed as the Prose Killer. Only due to the fact that initial evidence was found by close relations of the victims and subsequently released to the media.
The series of killings started in September. The typical case beginning with a kidnapping that lasted two weeks. Sometime in the duration, the killer began exsanguination of a victim through a series of puncture wounds.
Literally having them bleed to death.
The deaths of the victims were long and drawn out. It was suspected that one victim bled out for at least two days before he died. Something the press conveniently left out, focussing more on transforming the killer into some romantic ideal because of his letters – the souvenirs he leaves in regards to his victims.
They found the most recent victim this morning. Ashley Parker was abandoned in a ditch outside a small suburban neighbourhood in Clark County. The garbage man called it in. He thought she ran away from home. Until he saw the dried blood and the puncture wounds.
Like the previous cases, they were too late to save the victim. And in this instance, they were too late to save a nine year-old little girl.
Nick quickly straightened in the chair, a pleading look in his eyes. Being taken off the case was the last thing he wanted. He knew he had a tendency to get too involved, but this time it was an emotional outlet for his own personal issues.
Especially concerning his relationship with Greg.
They had been seeing each other for a little over a year now. And Nick knew that their relationship was more than a casual fling. He had become remarkably at ease with Greg, and Nick knew he didn't feel comfortable around too many people. However, man had quickly become a constant in his life.
And unfortunately, his frustrations on not being able to reach Greg were taken out on Lisa. "No, but-"
"Good. Let's keep it that way."
Nick sighed in relief, leaning heavily against the chair. His thoughts were already scattered and wouldn't help matters to deviate from the single-minded focus offered by the case.
"Is Brass already at the station?" He had relayed his anxiety concerning Greg's sudden disappearance to his supervisor, who also shared his apprehension.
"He's been there for about," Grissom looked at his watch. "An hour, now. I told him you wanted to file a missing persons report."
"Did he check the hospitals already?" Even though a part of him would simply like to find Greg, Nick was relieved when Grissom shook his head, affirming that Greg was not in a hospital.
"I understand your reasoning and concerns, Nick, but remember Greg has the day off. There's nothing to suspect foul play."
"But I called him, and he still hasn't answered or even sent me a text."
"We have to take into account the fact that he could have left impromptu. Until then, it's not something that will be a high priority."
"Sixteen times Grissom?" Nick stood up, his anger seeping through. "I've called him sixteen times since this morning, and he still hasn't called back."
"Sit down." Grissom narrowed his eyes, waiting for Nick to sit. "I'm as concerned as you Nick, but we can't jump to conclusions. We have no evidence to suggest anything happened to him. In the case that we do find evidence that states otherwise, then we'll be able to do something."
Nick understood the logic behind Grissom's words. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he couldn't help but consider the conversation he held with Greg the night before.
"I won't keep you up because I know you like your sleep, so I call you tomorrow."
"How early?"
"The way you sleep, Nick, I'll have to give myself a head start."
"Ha. Ha. I'm not a heavy sleeper."
"Says the guy who almost squeezed the life out of me on his bed."
Nick chuckled at the teasing tone. "Hey, man. I was tired."
"Nice to know one of us did the work."
Nick warmed at suggestive undertone in the comment. "When don't I?"
He could practically see the other man's smile through the sound of his laughter. "Don't worry. I'll call you at the usual time. I always do. Someone needs to wake you up, Nicky."
But it was already well into the night and he had yet to receive a call from Greg.
"Can't we just go to his apartment to look for something? I swear something's not right about this."
"We don't have a legitimate reason to break into his apartment. For all we know he could be visiting his family."
Nick gave his supervisor a disbelieving look. "On a Thursday, Griss? When he has work the next day?"
Grissom look at him helplessly. He didn't believe it, either. Greg was one to make sure someone always knew where he was. But they had nothing further to go on.
They were trapped in silence. Neither was willing to believe in the likelihood of Greg leaving without any notice. But both were in understanding that there was little they could do in the meantime.
Breaking the tension, Nick spoke softly. His voice oddly hopeful. "What if there was another way to get in?" At Grissom's questioning glance, Nick was encouraged to continue. "Without crossing the legal tape?"
"If you know someone who has a key of his apartment, I'm listening. Because nothing short of that would…" Grissom trailed off, looking closely at the sudden indifference in Nick's face.
"You have a key to Greg's apartment?"
He almost cursed when Nick turned his head away, confirming his statement. "And when were you going to decide to tell me this, Nick?"
Grissom sighed when Nick wouldn't answer, deciding he could dwell on the fact later. "Have you been there at all today?"
"No." Nick had been occupied with the case, finding the latest victim in the Prose murders. And though Greg lingered in the back of his mind, his worry had taking precedence of his normal rational thought.
"I'm not one to make judgements. The fact that you have a key to Greg's apartment means nothing to me except we can bypass some legal barriers." He gave Nick a disapproving look because of the delayed information.
Nick quickly turned to face the other man. "I didn't think about it until now, Grissom." He clenched the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. "You know there's something going on between me and Greg. I'm not going to deny it."
"But when it starts interfering with your job, then I-"
Grissom paused at the knock on the door. Both men turned the entrance of Sara. "Hey, guys. Sorry to interrupt, but…" She wore a solemn expression, but her colleagues attentions was directed towards a clear bag held loosely in her hand. "It's another letter. Judy brought it in. She said it was lying on her desk when she got there."
Nick looked anxiously at Sara. "Did anyone see-"
"Who brought it? I already asked. Apparently, no one tracks who comes in and out of here." She moved toward Grissom, setting the bag on his desk, but remained standing. "It could have been brought in at any time today."
Grissom scrunched his eyes at the bag in thought, his eyes never leaving the bag. "Nick, hand me a pair of gloves." Nick took out the gloves from a shelf behind, turning back around to hand them to Grissom.
Putting them on, Grissom gave his attention to Sara. "Did you already ask for prints?"
She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah, Jacqui is supposed to page me with the results."
Grissom made a small noise acknowledging her statement, but his concentration remained on the bag. Sara and Nick watched as he opened it, carefully taking the envelope out.
All three knew what to expect. It was a part of the killer's MO. On the first day, he would send the first of many clues in the form of an unmarked envelope that contained a piece of paper on which it was written by hand no more than four lines.
A quatrain of morbid poetry.
Each line worked in concord to provide obscure clues that were often difficult to discern. The killer was well-educated, displaying his knowledge varying fields. He utilised a broad spectrum of allusions in regards to classical literature, languages, math, sciences, and the arts.
Each quatrain was only one in a collection of four that would be an indication of the victim's whereabouts. Each seeming inapt on its own, but together would essentially provide the big picture.
And although they were able to sometimes decode three of the four letters, without managing to reveal the meaning in the fourth, they would have little more to go on. The significance of a collection hard to grasp.
Until it was too late and the victim was found.
The killer was relentless and unlike most of his kind, he worked efficiently, quickly, and confidently. He is thought to be responsible for thirteen victims, detaining each for a two week period in a matter of only seven months. Leaving no trace of himself behind.
The only true lead they had was the fact the handwriting always differed. Each collection of quatrains taking on a separate characteristic. After sending each collection to the graphology department, it could not be determined as to why it was or what implication such an act held. The most logical reasoning being the killer had practiced different types of writing styles in order to cover any possibility of leaving a trail.
Luckily, they were always able to get prints on both the envelope at the letter inside, but they were the always the victim's prints.
Never anyone else's.
Grissom was about to open the envelope when he was startled by a beeping coming from Sara's pocket.
She reached for her pager, silencing the noise and almost dropping it after reading the text.
Grissom and Nick looked at her worriedly. "The prints come back?"
Her mouth opened, but Sara was barely able to get the words out. "The prints…" Her voice was almost cracking.
"They're Greg's."
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI.
Shame on me for starting another WIP, though technically I began this first. Anywho, it's only fourteen chapters (I see a pattern), and I'm going to make myself finish my other stories for the sake for doing so. And also, I really couldn't resist the kidnapping angle. I had to jump off the bridge, too.
