Theories
By Anansay
October 13, 2003
"Sara."
"Yeah?"
"We need to do something."
Sara stopped moving and turned toward Grissom's voice. He was standing on the other side of the layout table looking at her. His intense gaze made goosebumps come all over her skin. It wasn't an intense sensual gaze - no matter how much she would have liked to hope it was - it was more like an intense professional gaze. "What?"
"This isn't working."
She stood up, still keeping her eyes on him. He wasn't moving, just staring at her with a strange unreadable expression on his face. His speaking in tongues was beginning to wear thin; but not thin enough to completely quell a burgeoning seed of hope in her. "What's not working?"
"This."
Sara stared at him, not wanting to believe what he might be talking about. Anger rose in her, mostly to mask that seed of hope. "God's sake, Grissom! What are you talking about?"
His hand waved over the spread out evidence. "This. All this. We have nothing. Nothing concrete. We need to do something else."
The seed died. "Like what?"
"We need to know exactly how he did it. I can't make heads or tails of this."
Sara sighed, looking down at the mass of papers and bags of collected evidence. "Me neither. What did you have in mind?"
"We have to re-enact the scene, take for take."
A possible image flashed before Sara's eyes of the crime scene and how it might have happened. Her body tensed automatically at the thought of acting it out. There'd been so much blood… "Alright," she said in a cautious tone, coming around the table to stand beside him. On the far wall behind Grissom hung the sheet that had been taken from the bed. It had more than a few bloodstains on it of various sizes and shapes. Catherine had been unable to come up with a solid analysis of its origins. "How do you think it could it have happened?"
Grissom scanned the layout table with his eyes and Sara knew he was piecing together possible scenarios. He picked up one bag holding a knife. "Well, from the way the fingerprints play out, he must have been holding the knife like this." He held his hand as though he were holding the knife point down. "Now, if he were holding it like this and was holding her like this…" He grabbed Sara's arm and turned her so her back was against his chest. She could feel his heart beating against her. He brought the hand with the invisible knife around her neck and toward her shoulder, brushing against her breast. She sucked in her breath and prayed he didn't notice. "… he could bring the knife around, in here and then down, thus getting the major artery by the heart..." He brought his arm down, touching her breast against. A small part of her mind wondered if it might have been on purpose.
"I don't think so," Sara said, turning in his arms to face him before taking a step back.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if a man were holding me like that, I could jab him in the ribs with an elbow and free myself."
"Not if it were done quick enough."
"Did you look at her body? Fit as a fiddle and strong. Whoever did this must have overpowered her somehow and by the looks of her it would be pretty hard to do it physically. No, it was done a different way. She was stabbed therefore she knew her attacker. It was personal. But maybe she didn't know he was going to kill her. Maybe she trusted him, until that last moment."
"So what are you saying. How did it happen?"
Sara bit her lip and looked at the evidence. "You say he was holding the knife point down?"
"Yes." Grissom brought up his fisted hand to show her.
"Okay. So what if he was standing in front of her, facing her…"
"Like this?" Grissom said and came to stand before her. She could hear his breathing, it was shallow.
"Yeah," she said.
"And then what?" His voice seemed lower to her ears.
Sara swallowed and looked to her sides. "Well, what if they were lovers?" She looked up at him. In the dimly lit room, his eyes appeared impossible dark.
"Lovers?"
"Yeah, and he was visiting her and they were… standing close to each other…"
"Like this," and Grissom took another step toward her. Now their chests almost touched. Her body began to tingle in its usual manner but she fought to keep her mind on the task at hand.
"Um, yeah… maybe against a wall or something…" Sara backed up and Grissom followed her until she could feel the wall behind her.
"And…"
"And… now that he has her at a disadvantage, he brings out the knife and…"
"…and goes in for the kill…"
"Yeah…"
"Like this…" His one hand rested on her waist while the one with the invisible knife came up by her shoulder – the one on the victim's body that had been cut.
Sara cleared her throat. "Seeing the knife… she would have tried to defend herself." Sara's hands came up in the air and stayed there.
And then suddenly the air changed, became thicker. His hand opened, his fingers just barely touching her shoulder. She looked down at his hand as it moved with agonizing slowness down the side of her body, just barely grazing the side of her breast. Her breath was coming in short gasps and Grissom's breathing wasn't any better. His hand stopped at her waist, and now he held her, back against the wall, almost touching him. His head was bent toward hers. She could see this from the corner of her eye but she daren't turn to look at him.
Grissom wasn't moving, neither to remove his hands nor to back away. They'd proven that neither position could have inflicted the wound but neither of them seemed to be in a rush to try a new theory.
Sara's hands came down slowly to rest on Grissom's shoulders. She let them stay there a moment before pressing against him, shoving him gently away from her. He seemed to resist her a moment before dropping his hands from her waist and finally backing away.
She stood on her spot trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. Grissom had turned away and ran a hand through his air before taking a deep jittery breath. Sara bit her lip before proceeding. "Well, um, he… it wasn't done like that."
"No," Grissom said, his voice low. He turned, looked at her briefly and then faced the table. "So, um, what's next?"
"More theorizing. We have less than ten hours left." Sara took her place at the other end of the table, away from Grissom.
Grissom cleared his throat. "Right. Let's get moving. No more re-enactments."
"No. We… don't need them."
"No, we don't." Grissom agreed, only too readily.
… the end.
~*~
Copyright 2002 Anansay