Greg was walking down a prison hallway with his CSI kit in his hand. It was a sunday night and he was supposed to have the night off, but Russell got sick so he agreed to fill in. He wasn't too happy about it as he had already made some plans and was feeling like he could use a few days off, but he tried to stay in good spirits while on the clock. As he walked through the hallway, inspecting it with his weary eyes, he passed inmates lined up against the walls, most looking quite roughed up and bruised after a prison riot. The guards guiding him through the prison were both a bit banged up themselves, one with a fresh black eye and the other one with a bloody nose.
"He's over there," the one with the bloody nose said as he pointed at one inmate sitting on the floor, obviously in a great deal of pain.
Greg looked at him in surprise. "Shouldn't he be with a doctor?" The inmate was leaving a small puddle of blood on the floor as his nose was bleeding, as well.
"He's the one who started it all, I think he can wait a little longer," the guard with the black eye said annoyed.
"...Are you serious? No, get him to a doctor now."
Greg was waiting in the prison's visitor room for almost an hour when the two guards and the inmate walked in.
"He's fine," the guard with the black eye said with a sarcastic look on his face.
Greg just gave him a look. "Good."
As the inmate sat down, his pain-ridden face squirmed. "Hey."
"Hi, my name's Greg Sanders, I'm with the crime lab."
"Glenn Weller, nice to meet you."
Greg looked Glenn up and down. "Your hand's in a cast."
He nodded. "It's broken."
After a short look at the annoyed guard with the black eye, Greg looked back to Glenn. "How did that happen?"
"Look, I know you all think I started the riot, but I didn't mean to, alright? Just add whatever you think is appropriate to my sentence and let me go back to my cell."
"Why don't you tell me what happened instead? Your cell can wait."
Glenn sighed as he wiped away the mostly dried tears from his face. "I punched someone, that's how I got my hand broken."
"Who did you punch?"
"My cellmate. He provoked me."
"Provoked you how?" Greg was writing some of the things Glenn said down. The inmate was carefully following the pen with his reddened eyes.
After fidgeting in his seat nervously for a moment, Glenn quietly uttered the words, "He tried to rape me."
Greg stopped writing to look up to him. "...Oh." He looked down to his paper and pen again but didn't start writing yet.
"Something wrong?" The guard asked.
"...No. No, nothing's... wrong..." Greg resumed writing. "So... this started the riot?"
"No, what started the riot was me jumping on his face a few times and kicking him out of the cell. Some of the guys who... had raped me before... tried to help him, that's when hell broke lose."
Greg nodded without looking up. "What's your cellmate's name?"
"Everyone calls him Hangman."
"Philipp Stringfield," the guard chimed in. "He's in critical condition."
"...Good," Glenn said with a frustrated smile on his face. "I hope he pulls through, though."
"Did he, uh... try to... r-rape you... before?" Greg stuttered through this sentence. Ever since he almost became a rape victim himself he had a hard time even saying that word.
Glenn laughed humorlessly. "Are you kidding me? He's raped me more often than he changes his underwear."
"...Sorry to hear that." After having kind of a bad day already, Greg had to fight back tears upon hearing that. He cleared his throat. "Would you give us a minute, please?" he asked the guards, who looked quite surprised.
"What? You want us to leave you alone with him?" the one with the bloody nose asked.
"Just for a minute."
"...I don't think so."
"Get yourselves a cup of coffee, alright? It's okay, my responsibility."
The guard with the bloody nose didn't like the idea, but the one with the black eye did. "Alright. Come on, the guy can't even sit down without being in pain, he won't do anything stupid."
Greg was silent until the guards left. "...I'm sorry you have to put up with these lines."
Glenn shrugged. "That surely isn't the worst part about prison."
"I didn't get a chance to look at your files yet, what are you in for?"
"Not having an alibi." When Greg frowned confused, he added, "My girlfriend was killed five years ago. I was the one who found her and because I couldn't prove I wasn't home when it happened I'm in here, living in hell for the next... well, the rest of my life, probably." He started crying. "I really don't deserve this, you know? I wasn't the perfect boyfriend, but I loved her. I never would've hurt her."
Greg just nodded sympathetically. Believing an inmate claiming he was innocent was tough when Greg heard that line from almost every guy he's ever talked to, but Glenn seemed sincere.
"They didn't have any evidence working against me, they just wanted to close the case... I tried everything to get the case reopened but no one was willing to listen." He sobbed. "...Can you help me?"
"I-I'm only here to work on the riot, I..."
"Please, I can't take this much longer. Now that I hurt one of them, they're probably going to kill me. I'll die in here, either way. Please!"
While Greg was sitting in the evidence room, deep into his work, Nick knocked on the door with a pile of paperwork. "Hey Greg, I got something for you."
"Great, just put it on the table," he replied without looking up.
Nick did.
The pile made a noise as he dropped it down, which made Greg look up. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is all of this?"
"I just talked to Russell, he told us not to expect him to be back in the next week, so he asked us to tackle some of his paperwork."
"...What, didn't he do any paperwork in the last year? When am I suppose to work on that? I had to take on three extra cases already."
"Don't worry, you're not alone in this. Sara and I are here, too."
"Right. Well, then take about 2/3 off the pile and..."
Nick stopped him. "Oh, sweet, naïve Greg. I already did that. This is what's left, it's all yours."
"...Russell owes us for this."
Nick laughed as he patted his back. "I know."
"Hey Nick, before you leave... Does the name Glenn Weller ring a bell?"
Nick thought about it. "I'm not sure, why?"
"I was called to investigate a prison riot, he's the one who started it. I got his file here, you worked his case five years ago."
"Yeah? What'd he do?" Nick took the files out of Greg's hand.
"He's been convicted of murdering his girlfriend. But he claims he's innocent."
"Don't they all," Nick whispered to himself.
"Well, do you remember the case? Any chance he didn't do it?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me if I might've helped put an innocent man in prison?"
"I'm sorry. I don't mean it like that but... he seemed genuine."
Nick read through the files. "His DNA was all over the murder weapon, his bloody shoe prints were leading away from the body and he had her blood on his sleeves."
"Yeah but the murder weapon was a knife from his kitchen drawer, he could've left his DNA on there before the murder. And look at the pictures of his sleeves. Might as well have been transferred when he found her and checked for a pulse. This would also explain the shoe prints."
The older CSI rolled his eyes. "Several neighbors heard a fight before the murder. They also said that they were constantly fighting."
"...Yeah, but..."
"No but," Nick interrupted him. "Don't buy into his sorry sob story. He did it, I wouldn't have testified against him if I hadn't been sure of it."
