Title: Chips in Vegas
Summary: Yet again a response to this week's Unbound Challenge. Why does work always interfere with their plans? GSR.
A/N: Thanks to the lovely LK for beta-ing, and to everyone who has left reviews for the previous story.
Spoilers: Absolutely none.
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"That's something you don't see every day," Grissom noted. Sara nodded, a small 'hmm' accompanying her agreement. "Does it taste as sweet as it is pink?" He looked intrigued by the single, candy cane pink scoop of sorbet ice cream that had been served as a freshener between courses.
"Actually, no. It's refreshing, even zingy. It's really nice, you should try it." Sara was about to point to the glass platter that stood in front of him when she changed her mind and scooped up a bit of ice cream. Bringing it slightly forward towards Grissom, she stared him in the eyes, daring him to eat it off her spoon in one of the busiest, up-scale, restaurants of Las Vegas.
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Sneaking through a previously cut hole in the rusty fence, his feet followed a familiar path. The tall, dead grass and dusty soil were perfect for not attracting any attention. Not that he had to worry, he thought. He hadn't been caught in weeks, and he wasn't planning on being caught tonight either. His quest for revenge was still too strong.
"Quiet, you little bastards," he grunted, his voice a whisper tinted with arsenic. The loud barking of the dogs pissed him off. 'An animal shelter.' He snorted quietly. 'Why would one want to cuddle and pet those filthy creatures?' Each yap, every bark and growl enraged him further. Heavy and erratic breathing shuddered through him as he controlled the urge to slit a few more of their pathetic throats again. The thrill it brought, with an added sense of contentment, was still fresh in his memory, and relived each time he needed a high.
Onwards he went, a sense of power and exhilaration steering him on. Primal instinct flowed through him, reminding him that no one could steal his property and get away with it scot-free.
Near the end of the main kennel block, a German shepherd lay alert in his kennel, listening to the barking when he sniffed a mélange of unpleasant smells. Glimpsing an unfamiliar figure moving stealthily through the hall, he too barked, and growled viciously, teeth bare and lips drawn, wishing the latch on the door wasn't locked.
Navigating his way through the maze of hallways and kennels, he finally spied his destination. 'That little bitch.' His lips twitched, and a grin spread on his face, intensifying with each step he took closer to her office.
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"To the most sensual, smartest and beautiful woman I know." Grissom raised his glass in a toast.
To say Sara was surprised was an understatement. She blushed and ducked her head in a shy manner. "Thank you. You're not too bad either." Sara heaved her wine glass as well and toasted Grissom, a healthy 'clink' reverberating between the crystal glass.
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"Bonnie, Taylor, shush it you two. Your barks don't mesh well into a harmony." Linda walked up to Emma's door and knocked twice in a staccato rhythm, peaking open the door. "Any idea what's up with the dogs, Emma?" When she didn't answer, Linda opened the door a bit more, peeking her head in so that she wouldn't scare her colleague too much if she did happen to be around.
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Ambling along the atmospherically lit path leading to the parking spaces of the restaurant, the silence was slit by the staccato beeps emerging from Grissom's cell phone. Picking it up and answering it, Sara quickly knew what Grissom was about to say and cut him to it. "I know, the job's calling. I really hate work-concious criminals."
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He wrapped the knife in the handkerchief he brought with him, slipped his gloves off, and quickly tucked it all in the pockets of his jacket. Leaving the premises, taking a slightly different route this time, with adrenaline coursing through him, he jogged to his Suzuki motorcycle and sped away, leaving the scene in favor of home.
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The two
criminalists pulled up to the animal shelter and grabbed their kits
from the back seat. Meeting Detective Vartan outside, Grissom and
Sara were quickly updated on the situation. The trio walked along the
hallway of the shelter, through several of the rooms which were
filled by stray cats and malnourished dogs. One cage even held a
recently rescued iguana.
As they entered the office of the
deceased, they could see the body of a woman slumped in her chair,
her shoulder-length hair framing her head which laid on a cluttered
desk.
"There're no signs of struggle, consistent with a surprise attack." Grissom observed while snapping on a pair of gloves.
Sara looked around, grabbing her camera to start photographing the blood spatter on the wall. "The arterial spray seems pretty low actually. She was probably sitting in her chair, perhaps doing some paperwork, when she was killed."
They worked well together, Grissom and Sara, anticipating each other's questions and needs before any words were spoken. Somehow, thoughts seemed to be the spoken word, the silence acting as a silent carrier. Several hours passed during which surfaces were dusted, blood spatters photographed and evidence bagged.
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"Your victim was probably subdued from behind, moments before her throat was slit." Robbins pointed to the victim's neck. "She bled out pretty quickly. What little evidence I've collected has already been sent to Trace."
Sara tucked her hands behind her back and leaned forward a bit to see the injury better, some loose strands of hair framing her face. "That's consistent with what Grissom and I found. So far, the evidence suggests that she was seated when the killer came up from behind and attacked her." Noticing a blue blurb peeking out above the white autopsy sheet, Sara's curiosity took over and she pulled it down a bit more, uncovering a rare and detailed hundred dollar casino chip used in the 1950's at the Moulin Rouge. "Nice."
Grissom stepped closer to Sara, in order to see the impeccable tattoo better. "Only in Vegas," he said and shook his head.