Heyhey, everybody! Did you miss me? Well, no worries, I'm back now, and I've got another story for you. CSI! (duh) I'm a big fan of CSI, and I thought of this plot, so I decided to put it into words for you.
Enjoy!
---Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except the ones I made up.
Chapter 1
"So, let me get this straight," said Jim Brass, scratching his bald scalp. "You've just gone out and bought a fifteen inch bowie knife. Brand new, big and shiny. So you head over to your neighbour's place to show him up."
"He'd been harassing me," said Jack Harrow, the suspect being interrogated. "He said that if I didn't stop throwing parties with my friends, he was going to kill me."
"So you get this BFK and go over to Harry's house," continued Brass. "Tell him that you're not that soft. You're not going to take this crap from him. Then he pulls out his gun. So you cut him across the stomach. Problem is, he doesn't die. Now you're in the hole. You know that if he calls the police, you're going to be in trouble, because you didn't have any provocation to go over brandishing that knife at him."
"So what're you going to do?" said Jack cockily. "You can't prosecute me for self-defense."
"It would have been self-defense if he'd died then and there," said Brass. "But it became murder when you took his gun and shot him in the head."
Jack was momentarily speechless, and simply stared at the dark wooden table. Behind the glass window, invisible to Jack Harrow's eye, stood Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown. They had seen the whole conversation.
"If he'd just called the cops, he'd've gotten off with a couple years tops," said Warrick.
"Some guys are just too macho to let their rivals get the better of them," said Catherine with a sigh. Men...what was their problem?
"Come on, Jack," said Brass, back in the interrogation room. "You know the law. You'd get done for assault, if you'd just called it in then. But now you're looking at first-degree murder."
Jack moved his cold eyes up to stare into Brass'.
"Doesn't seem worth it, does it?" said Brass, raising an eyebrow.
An officer walked over to Jack Harrow and stood him up. He slapped a pair of handcuffs on him behind his back and led him out of the interrogation room. Jim followed, pushing in Jack's chair as he went.
Catherine and Warrick walked out of the observing room and out into the hallway. A few moments later, Brass came around the corner to meet them.
"What do you think?" said Warrick.
"He's going down." Jim sounded sure of himself. This was always a good sign.
"We've got his prints on the gun and the knife, Harry Norton's blood on his shirt, GSR on the same shirt...it all fits together," Catherine pointed out.
"Good day's work, I think," said Jim. "Now, it's ten o'clock, so I'm heading home."
"See you," said Warrick as Jim left down the hallway. He turned to Catherine. "Man, I'm bushed. I think I'm going to head out too."
"Right behind you," said Catherine. "Need a ride? I heard your car got totaled last week."
"Nah, I'll take a taxi, thanks," said Warrick.
"Alright. Night."
"Night."
---Greg Sanders sat at his desk and massaged his temple. He looked at his luminous digital watch and sighed. It was ten o'clock. He'd been staring at a binder filled with rifles and ammunition, and comparing them to a bullet, trying to determine the weapon used in his case. He'd been doing so for an hour and a half now.
Greg was working a drive-by shooting case: someone had emptied a twelve-round clip into a small trailer, killing a married couple and their daughter inside. Aside from the victims, the case wasn't taking its toll on anyone more than Greg. Anyone could see he was overworked. It was almost impossible to track down the killer; the victims were out-of-towners...out-of-Nevada-ers, in fact. It seemed there was no motive for the crime.
"Ah, there you are, my pretty," said Greg to himself, as he matched the large bullet in his hand to a Winchester rifle. "Great, how many of those can there be in the world?"
There was a small knock on his doorframe. "Good to see you're working hard," said Gil Grissom, welcoming himself in. "You look like you're working a bit too hard."
"Yeah, well, I had to find this gun or the case would've gone cold," said Greg.
"Isn't Sarah helping you?"
"Yeah, but I told her she could go. I said I'd finish up tonight myself."
"Greg, you can't do this yourself. Listen, clean up and go home."
"I'm just trying to be perfect."
"Excuse me?"
"You once said that you loved bugs because they were perfect, because they always did their jobs. That's what I'm doing."
"You're not a bug, Greg. Goodnight." With that, Grissom excused himself from the room.
Greg sighed and shut the binder. Maybe Grissom was right...he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days. He had to go home. Get some rest. He could find the owner tomorrow...
So Greg put his stuff away and walked to the locker room. It was there that he met Nick Stokes, just shutting his locker door.
"Hey Nick," he greeted, putting his binder of notes in his locker.
"Hey, Greggo," said Nick friendlily. "How's the case going?"
"Not great," said Greg, taking out his coat. "I've got the murder weapon, but that gives me a couple million suspects. How about yours?"
"Just went cold," said Nick, a note of bitterness in his voice. "Guess you can't have everything."
"Hey, guys," came another voice. It was that of Archie Johnson, who had just entered.
"Hey, Archie, how you doing?" said Nick. "Heard you just solved your first case."
Archie couldn't help but smile. He had just been promoted to a field CSI, and had been working the case with Catherine and Warrick. "Yeah," he said, trying and failing to look indifferent.
"I knew it was that Pete fellow all along," said Greg, looking through his wallet.
"Actually, it was Jack Harrow," corrected Archie.
Nick laughed. "I'll see you guys tomorrow," he said, and walked out.
"Yeah," said Archie. "So, Greg, you want to go get a drink or something? Pick up a couple chicks?"
"Nah, I've got to get home," said Greg, shutting his wallet and putting it back in his jacket pocket. "I need some sleep. I'm free tomorrow night, though."
"Sounds good," said Archie. "I'll hold you to that."
"Alright," said Greg, walking out of the locker room. "See you later."
---Sarah Sidle closed her
eyes and tried to relax as the bus gently swayed back and forth.
Suddenly the vehicle hit a speed bump and she was jolted back to her
senses. God, she couldn't wait to get home and go to sleep...she
felt bad about leaving Greg to identify the murder weapon, but it
She heard a muffled
electronic ringing, coming from her coat. Someone was calling her
cell. Sarah dug the phone
from her inside pocket and flicked it open. "Yeah?" she said
tiredly. "Hey, Sarah, it's
Greg," came the voice on the other end. "Just wanted to let you
know I found our murder weapon." "Oh, that's great,
Greg," said Sarah, and yawned. "Thanks. I love you." "You don't know how
long I've been waiting to hear those words," said Greg, though he
knew she wasn't being serious. "Okay, I'll talk to
you about it tomorrow," said Sarah. "Goodnight." "Night." Sarah closed her phone
and placed it back inside her jacket. A few moments later, the bus
came to a stop, and Sarah saw that they had reached her stop. So she
stood up, and walked to the front. She walked down the
steps and out onto the sidewalk. After walking down the sidewalk, she
came to her apartment building. She took the elevator up to her floor
and got out, and walked down the hallway to her room. When she had
entered, she threw her purse down on the counter and trudged groggily
over to her answering machine. She pressed the button, and an
electronic voice told her she had one new message. There was a beep, and
then a male voice came on. "Hey, darling, hope
you're getting this." Sarah started. She did not recognize the
voice. "I always think it's fairer if the game knows they're
being hunted. Just know, and tell all your friends back at CSI,
you're all marked down. Only a matter of time. I'm going to get
you back. All of you." And then, there was
another beep and silence fell.