Bleeding Love – Part 2

Written By: Ms Maggs

Vartann stood on the steps of the upscale suburban home waving at the approaching CSIs. "Shoulda wore your waders, it's a bloodbath in there."

Removing her sunglasses, Catherine teased her favorite cop, "Thanks for ruining the surprise."

"Yeah," Riley stepped in front of her female co-worker. "Shame on you, Detective, I bet you spoil movie endings too."

Recently divorced and eternally attracted to blondes, Vartann didn't miss a beat. "Go to the movies with me on Saturday and you can find out for yourself, CSI Adams."

Miffed that the newbie kept usurping her role as the center of male attention, Catherine rolled her eyes in Nick's direction.

Curving her lips into a naughty smile, Riley flirtatiously answered, "How can I say no to a man who owns handcuffs?"

"I own handcuffs," Greg announced with a chuckle.

"Yeah, but you don't know how to use 'em." Vartann gave the geek an alpha dog pat on the back. "But nice try, Scout."

"Okay, people." Nick tugged a pair of gloves from his pocket. "Comedy hour over, we have a job to do. Riley, you're on the outside."

"Tell me something I don't know." Grabbing her kit, she accepted the assignment with a smile. "I'm on it."

"Right this way folks." Vartann motioned to follow him through the picture-perfect living room and down the hall. "All the action took place in the master bedroom with the killer exiting through the French doors leading from the bedroom to the back patio. The female vic is 37 year old Donna Clarkson, the co-owner of the house. Married to Michael Clarkson, who is not the male vic. They have two kids, both dropped off at school at 7:45 this morning by Mrs. Clarkson."

"And the husband?" Catherine queried, always suspecting the husband when a dead wife is found.

"He's in route," Vartann confirmed. "He's an ER doc at Summerlin. I've already confirmed he arrived at the hospital for a 6 a.m. shift and never left the ER floor. Our male vic is Kevin Vasser, 52, whose residence is right next door. His wife has also been accounted for. She's a preschool teacher at Summerlin Christian Academy and was in her classroom since 7:30 this morning."

"So much for the 'spouse did it in a jealous rage' easy solve," Greg remarked before peering into the bedroom. "Whoa." Even by Vegas domestic violence standards, the murders were grisly. "The spouses didn't do this in a jealous rage, but someone did." The male victim had been carved up while tied to the bed wearing only a black leather gag and a dog collar, and the female victim shoved through the large glass mirror attached to her antique vanity table.

"Hey," David Phillips was jotting notes in the corner of the room. "Carotid arteries completely severed on both vics, so I'd say exsanguination is a safe bet."

"Yeah." Nick carefully placed his kit on a clean patch of carpet. "Looks like the woman was sliced before she was shoved through the mirror."

"She looks posed." Catherine noted the busted bottles of designer perfume littering the table and floor.

"I think he watched her die." Greg pointed to male vic. "Because he didn't vomit after his throat was slit."

"The husband just arrived and is apparently out front losing his mind," Vartann announced after lowering his radio. "I'll be back."

Grabbing a framed photo of the family at Disneyland, Catherine said, "Unlike the balding, overweight vic, the husband has the whole package – tall, dark, and handsome."

Greg peered at the picture. "So you're wondering why the babe was bedding a beast when she had a beauty?"

"Maybe she wasn't sleepin' with him," Nick answered. "Maybe she couldn't dominate her husband and he couldn't get kinky with his conservative wife, so they decided to be each other's freakshow on the sly."

"Or..." After snapping a photo for evidence, Greg held up five $100 bills. "Maybe she's a high-priced neighborhood hottie for hire?"

"Suburban trick gone wrong?" Catherine mused, completely numb to the gore surrounding her. "Reminds me of that case about a year ago where the wife was doing neighbors for cash while her Army husband was serving in Iraq."

"I worked that one." David stood and rotated his stiff neck. "The john was caught dead wearing frilly pink satin panties, lipstick, and a blonde wig."

"Hmmm, what would Freud say about that being a vivid memory for you?" Greg snickered.

The straight laced coroner anxiously cleared his throat and confessed, "I notice lingerie because I buy my wife a piece every month." When he saw his comrades were skeptical, he explained, "When I first started working with Doc he told me the secret to a happy marriage is to buy your wife flowers every week, lingerie every month, and jewelry on Valentine's Day, your anniversary, and her birthday."

"There you have it boys, the top secret formula for marital success." Catherine grinned at the perpetual bachelors in the room. "Now all you need to do is find desperate women willing to tolerate your quirks, emotional baggage, and crappy work schedules."

Snapping photos of the dead wife while listening to the shocked husband shrieking in the living room, Nick said, "No offense to Mrs. SuperDave, but having a wife lost its appeal for me a while ago."

"Hell, being a wife is far worse than having one." Staring at the formally happy couple's blood-spattered wedding portrait, Catherine recalled her initial optimism on matrimony. "Dave, I hope you and your wife are the exception in this town of unhappy endings."

"Uh, where's the new plucky girl?" The happily married man was tired of his jaded co-workers bringing him down.

"Nick banished her from the house," Greg answered without glancing up from the corpse. "I think he was afraid we'd banter about sex toys if we worked in the same room."

Holding up a blindfold and a pair of clamps, Catherine teased, "And we all know how toy talk makes Nicky squirm."

Ignoring the bait, Nick asked, "Did Vartann say who discovered the bodies?"

"I heard it was the pool boy," Dave answered, as he walked out of the room. "He saw the French doors were open and took a peek."

Snapping off his gloves, Nick said, "I saw a pool service truck parked on the street, so the pool boy must still be here. I'll be back."


"You're back." Heather greeted Gil with an inviting smile. "Your timing is perfect. I'm between clients and I just made a fresh pot of tea."

Grateful for the warm welcome, Grissom entered the house.

"Did you feel rested?" she asked, shutting the front door.

"Most definitely."

"I'm glad I could help." Strolling down the hall, Heather assured the world-weary man, "I meant what I said, the bed is yours for as long as you like."

"And your company?" he asked with a curious lilt.

The dominatrix turned psychologist grinned. "My company is yours for as long as I like."


"The pool boy is all yours, Stokes." Officer Mendez pointed to the dazed young man sitting in a patio chair. "Name's Zach Litwell. Says he was hired by Mrs. Clarkson last year. Two neighbors confirmed his truck pulled up at nine and they saw him run screaming from the house a few minutes later."

"Thanks." Nick pulled up a chair. "Hello, Zach, I'm Nick Stokes with the Las Vegas Crime Lab." He noted the boy's grey muscle shirt and faded jeans weren't bloody, but the outside edge of his right shoe was clearly stained. "I need to ask you some questions and get some information from you."

"I already told the cops I just found the bodies, I didn't kill them."

"I know you didn't kill 'em, because whoever killed them got covered in blood spatter and you only have blood on your shoe."

When the boy finally peered out from under his floppy tuft of platinum blonde hair, Nick curiously asked, "How old are you?" His guess was not a day over seventeen.

"Twenty-one."

"Do I look like I'm workin' the rope at a club?" Nick rephrased his question, "Tell me the age on your official Nevada state driver's license."

The officer nodded, "I was skeptical too, but I ran his ID. He turned twenty-one a few weeks ago and his record is squeaky clean, save one parking ticket. I also checked…" When his radio squealed, the cop said, "If you're okay, they need me at the tape." Even though it had been years since the buried alive incident, he still hated leaving Stokes alone at a scene.

"I'm fine, thanks for askin'." As Mendez darted off, Nick refocused his attention on the pool boy. "How long have you been working for Mrs. Clarkson?"

"Cleaning pools?" the young man jittered.

The response sent up a red flag. "Why? Was she payin' you for work other than cleanin' pools?"

Averting his eyes, Zach shook his head, "N…no."

Easing back in his chair, Nick rambled, "Life in Vegas sucks without a pool and jacuzzi in your backyard. Neighborhoods like this, everyone has a pool. My job takes me all over and in my travels I see a lot of pool service trucks parked on the street. Your truck…" He pointed over his shoulder, "is top of the line. So are your watch, jeans, and shoes. Your hair is dyed blonde, your nails are manicured, and I bet every of inch of you is waxed. If mommy and daddy were rich, you wouldn't be cleanin' pools, and what you make cleanin' pools isn't enough to pay your upkeep, so getting back to my original question, was Mrs. Clarkson payin' you for work other than cleanin' her pool? Inside jobs maybe?"

Terrified of being busted, Zach shrieked, "You think I was her boy toy?"

"No," Nick chuckled at the thought. "No, but I think there's a good chance that she was payin' you to be a toy in whatever kind of game she had goin' on with dead Mr. Vasser in there. I don't know, but maybe as the husband of a Christian preschool teacher livin' on the DL, he didn't feel it was wise to hang out in gay bars lookin' for a twink to fulfill his kink."

"Interesting theory."

Nick shot the kid a look. "C'mon, Zach, we both know you didn't come here to clean the pool this morning. You didn't take any pool cleaning supplies out of your truck and you didn't change out of your nice shoes before you entered the backyard. Admit it, you were here for another kind of job."

"I don't have sex for cash." His voice cracking, the former street boy quietly said, "Not anymore."

"Where'd you grow up?"

"Utah."

"When did you come to Vegas?"

"Senior year. My mother's boyfriend kicked me out and I knew a guy who was going to UNLV who said I could stay with him. When that didn't work out I couldn't go back home, so…you know." He shrugged. "I did what I needed to do until I didn't."

It was a story that Nick had heard from too many young men and women over the years. "And what prompted the career change? Did you just wake up one day full of self esteem and decide you were done being exploited by perverts? Because even though that's the kind of story I want to hear, it's not one I hear very often in this town."

"One morning I woke up in the ER with a busted face, six broken bones, and a skull fracture. The need for a career change was pretty obvious."

"Consider yourself lucky that you woke up in the ER, because the other option was the morgue."

"That's why I started cleaning pools with a crew and after I saved up enough, I bought some supplies at Walmart, slapped a sign on my beater, and went independent. That's how I met Mrs. Clarkson." The image of her dead body jarring him back to the present, tears pooled in Zach's eyes. "She took care of me. She was way nicer than my mom had ever been. She fed me breakfast and lunch, washed my clothes, and…"

"And you paid her back by givin' it away for free to her neighbor?"

"No, no it wasn't like that. Mrs. Clarkson didn't take advantage of me, she was helping my career."

"Your pool boy career?"

"No, my acting career." Trusting the investigator, Zach shared, "It was a legal acting job, because I was playing a role and not having sex with the guy. That's what Mrs. Clarkson said. She checked it out with her accountant and everything. It was easy money, because Mr. V always wanted the same scenario. All I had to do was get naked and tease him while Mrs. Clarkson humiliated and punished him for his impure thoughts. I made more money in thirty minutes than I did dancing on the bar at Q all night, and you know how busy the Q is on a Friday night."

"Can't say that I do."

"Right." Zach smirked. "Don't ask, don't tell."

Ignoring the bait, Nick said, "Know anyone who wanted Mrs. Clarkson or Mr. Vasser dead?"

"She seemed pretty scared about her husband finding out about the business. She always talked about taking things really big. We were gonna be business partners. She said there was a huge need in town for role play businesses ever since Lady Heather's shut down. I hate to talk bad about someone who's dead, but Mr. V had some heavy-duty baggage and Mrs. Clarkson said there were thousands of guys like him who would gladly open their wallets in exchange for a safe place to let their freak flags fly - married men and women, conservatives, people in the public eye…guys like you." Leaning closer he whispered, "You were right about the extra job paying my bills. I don't know what I'm gonna do now that…"

"Hey, Zach, read my badge. It says Forensics not Animal Services." Nick shook his head as he jotted notes. "I don't take in lost puppies." Not anymore.


"More tea, Gil?" Perched on the edge of the sofa, Heather held up the china pot.

"No, thank you." Grissom relaxed against the cushions.

Noting the time, Heather said, "Sorry, I can't stay, I have a gentleman due to arrive in ten minutes."

"I thought you specialized in couples therapy?"

"I do, but when a couple isn't making any progress together, I find it most effective to counsel them individually for a while."

Thinking of his relationship with Sara, Gil softly asked, "Why do you think some couples can't progress together?"

"Usually it's one of two reasons." Setting down her cup and saucer, Heather looked her patient/friend in the eyes. "One or both of them has a secret or problem they can't discuss in front of the other, and as long as that roadblock remains, no progress can be made. We either work out the issue during individual sessions, or if it's something they can't or don't want to change, like a fetish, then I try to get the person to the point where they are comfortable confessing their secret to their partner."

"If the partner can handle the secret, the couple progresses."

"Yes, but sometimes the secret is a deal breaker." She smiled as she stood. "Not every woman can handle the fact that her husband wants to wear a diaper and be swaddled."

Recalling the Eiger case and his awkward trip to the Forever Baby store with Nick, Grissom nodded. "Maybe some things really are better left unsaid."

"That line of thinking is exactly how I made a fortune at the Dominion."

"But now instead of enabling secrets, you're in the business of extracting confessions."

"Yes, and I've been incredibly successful." At the door, she turned and smiled. "Except with you of course. Everything I know about you, I've learned from your eyes, not your words."

Grissom joked in reply, "And what are they saying to you now?" Suddenly fearing an accurate answer, his smile faded.

"I'm not sure exactly." Turning to leave, she added, "But they're definitely not saying stop."


AN:

Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter and to everyone who left an encouraging note. If you're not exactly sure where the story or dysfunctional characters are going, but are sticking around anyway, I really appreciate it! : )

Hope you're having a good weekend,

Maggs