Chapter 2
"Greg," a voice echoed and reverberated.
Consciousness began to fade. Then he heard Catherine's voice. "Greg? Can you hear me, Greg? Nick, where the hell is the ambulance!?"
"Repeat medic location?" Nick asked.
"Catherine?" Greg managed to get out.
He opened his eyes but he didn't see her. Standing over him was a blond haired, pig-tailed girl wearing a pink dress and holding a terry cloth cat. She looked like she was five or six. Even if he didn't know how he got here, he knew she shouldn't be.
"Who are you?" Greg whispered to the little girl.
"Lay still, Greg. You're badly hurt," Catherine told him.
The little girl walked away when Catherine leaned into Greg's line of sight.
"Hang in there, okay? Paramedics are coming. Hang on."
He felt a hand take his. "Greg," he heard Nick say. "Greg, squeeze my hand. No, no, no. Greg, don't let go. Hold on, Greg. Greg!"
Catherine's face swirled as dizziness swept Greg away from her.
#
Catherine followed the paramedics down the stairs, watching Greg. She stopped at the back of the ambulance, waiting for them to load the gurney. Catherine jerked when someone laid their hand on her arm, looking right into Nick's worried eyes.
"You have to stay here, Nick. Process the scene. Call Ecklie, tell him what's happened, then—"
"I'll handle it. Go."
Catherine looked away when a tear slid down her face. She got into the ambulance.
Nick watched her lean forward and pick up Greg's hand. Greg had a powder on his fingers, trace that could catch his attacker.
"He has trace on his fingers," Nick called out as the doors closed.
Catherine looked up at him, then down at Greg's hand. She sat it.
"I need…" She started crying. "I have to collect this."
The paramedic next to her stood up and held out a small zipper plastic bag and tongue depressor. "It's all I got."
She took it and brushed the powder into the bag. The paramedic kept working on Greg, doing everything in her power to keep him alive. Catherine pocketed the bag and took his hand again.
#
Consciousness was much harder to regain this time, and not wholly. Greg felt off. He felt like he was floating, chasing after his body. He heard the muffled sound of sirens and felt himself moving. His lower body was numb and his head hurt so bad he didn't think he could bear it.
"Can you hear me, Greg?" someone he didn't recognize asked.
He didn't answer. He was instinctually afraid of this unknown speaker. Was this the person that hurt him? He couldn't remember anything beyond the evening news. Greg opened his eyes a little.
The pig-tailed little girl was the only person he could see. She watched him with an inexpressive face.
"Who are you?" Greg asked her.
"Greg," Catherine said.
Pigtails bouncing, the girl moved back as Catherine came into view. Greg lost sight of her.
"Who is she?" Greg whispered.
Two warm hands wrapped around his. "Greg, look at me," Catherine told him.
Greg's vision slowly focused on Catherine.
"Where am I?" Greg asked.
"In an ambulance. We're headed to the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"
"Sir, can you feel your left leg?" the stranger he'd heard before asked.
"What?"
"Does either of your legs feel strange?"
"Numb."
The world began spinning.
"One leg? Both?"
Thousands of tiny spiders moving at the speed of sound began spreading pain across Greg's body, starting with his headache. Bright spots of light burst before his eyes. He felt as if he was holding his breath and couldn't convince his body to gasp for a new one. An alarm went off.
"Move. MOVE, CATHERINE!" the stranger bellowed. "Andrew, get this bus moving! Greg is not dying on our fucking bus!"
He heard Catherine say, "Greg, stay—"
#
Nick was trying to focus on his job, on collecting evidence. He was trying to forget reviving Greg twice before the ambulance arrived and helping the paramedics in the foyer revive him a third time. He'd come back each time, a sign in Nick's mind he was fighting to stay alive. But it couldn't wipe out the image of how broken Greg was. How savagely he'd been beat, how bones protruded through his leg, arms, and cheek.
Nick pulled a fingerprint card from his kit and looked up. Slowly he looked at every 'Emily' that was painted in blood on the walls. What did Emily have to do with any of this? Realizing he had let his mind be sidetracked – something it was easily doing tonight – he looked down at the fingerprint card in his hand. Nick pulled the tape back from the fingerprint card before he lowered it over the fingerprint on the bedpost. His hands were shaking and he hesitated. He drew a breath but it didn't steady his hands. He decided he had to get the print anyway and moved in for it. At the last second his hands jerked, pulling the tape across the print and smearing it. Immediately he knew he'd lost the print.
"SON OF A BITCH!" Nick bellowed, kicking his kit across the bedroom.
The anger left as fast as it came, leaving him feeling exhausted. He dropped the card as he scrubbed his forehead with his fingers.
Behind him he heard Ecklie say, "Nick, I've brought three swing and two day, and Sara."
Nick put his hands on his hips, but didn't turn. So Ecklie had come to take over? He didn't know if he could handle much more stress tonight and remain civil.
"And?" Nick asked.
"Where do you want us?"
Nick slowly turned, finding them standing in the doorway. Ecklie wasn't taking over the crime scene? He was going to let Nick keep it? And was that… Nick stared at the field kit Ecklie was holding. He looked from it to Ecklie's face.
"Where, Nick?"
"Sorry we're late," Wendy said as she and Hodges appeared at the back. "The media's a circus at the end of the court. Hey Nick. We'll courier evidence so we can get it through faster. Do you have anything for us?"
"No. I haven't even…" Nick turned, staring into the bedroom. He couldn't focus on this. Suddenly he wished Ecklie would take control.
His wish was granted.
"Alison and Jose, head to the basement. Richard and Kipp, take the first floor. Darla and I will cover the perimeter. Is that okay, Nick? That will leave you and Sara up here."
"That's fine."
"Okay, let's get started. We'll have stuff for you two soon."
"We'll wait outside," Wendy told them.
Nick listened to them leave. All except Sara. She walked over and picked up the card, handing it back to Nick.
"He's going to the hospital, right?" she asked.
Nick nodded. He didn't bother hiding his tears from her. She leaned in and they hugged. Nick squeezed her tight.
"He won't make it through this time, Sara."
"You don't know that."
"You didn't see him. You didn't see what they did to him."
Sara closed her eyes, holding on tighter.
#
Catherine didn't see the bright flowers outside the window. Against the darkness behind them, they almost glowed in the light coming through the window. She noticed a reflection in the window and turned. Doctor Ian Cooper stood behind her, staring at the surgical cap in his hand. He looked up at her, and then motioned to the two rows of chairs nearby. Catherine moved to them and the two sat down.
"How bad?" Catherine asked.
Solemnly he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his legs. She sat back, bracing herself for the bad news.
"I was able to stop the internal bleeding, but he lost a lot of blood. The head trauma has caused an epidural hematoma that's causing swelling. I'm doing what I can to relieve the pressure, but Greg went into a coma during surgery."
Catherine turned her head. She lifted her fingers to her lips, rubbed them against them, dropped her hand, and then considered standing and pacing.
"Should I… Uhm… Should I be… Calling his parents, then?"
"Yes. There may not be much time—"
Ian's pager went off and he glanced at it. He looked back at Catherine.
"We'll move him to ICU 4 in a half hour. Two nurses up there know him, he'll be in good care, and I will check up on him as soon as I'm out of my next surgery. If you want to, you can wait in the room for him."
"Thank you Ian."
He reached out, taking her hand. "He found out who murdered Sophia. I won't stop taking care of him until… I have to."
She watched him walk away before looking at the floor. She looked at her phone when it started ringing. She drew a breath and answered it.
"Gil…" Catherine closed her eyes. Her withheld tears began flowing. "You need to come home."
#
In the distance, the sun was rising, lighting the sky with beautiful pastels. The sight was lost to Ecklie. He wanted to curse at the ground he was searching, the bushes that kept snagging his pants, the stones that had scuffed his good shoes, and mostly the asshole that had put Greg in the hospital. But he held his tongue because any of that would show weakness, and he'd suffered enough at his father's hands that he wasn't about to show it now.
"I found a crowbar," the CSI called.
Ecklie turned. CSI Darla held it up for him to see. He hated working with first years.
"And what do we do with evidence when we find it? Do we wave it in the air and let the world know we found it?"
Darla lowered her hand. "No, sir. We bag and tag it."
Ecklie turned around and kept searching. The light of his flashlight sparkled across something in a spiny bush. He crouched down and reached under the brush, grimacing as the thorns snagged his bare skin and tore it. He felt a gun. No. He felt two. He grabbed them and pulled them out.
"Bring me bags," Ecklie called to Darla.
"Coming."
Ecklie didn't turn. He looked up at the rising sun.
"Where are you, you son of a bitch?" Ecklie asked the dawn. He was actually glad he wasn't lead on this case. He might be tempted to provide the attacker with a convenient 'accident' when he or she was caught.
#
Nick walked into the main layout room, watching Wendy placing computer diagrams of the house on the light table.
"Archie sure worked fast," Nick commented.
"You're not the only one that wants Greg's attacker found now." Wendy glanced at him.
Nick nodded. He knew that. Every technician, every officer, every CSI on the case had moved this to the top of the list. Nothing else was as important to them as finding out who had hurt Greg. He wondered if Greg realized how many friends he'd actually made in his three years on this job.
"Okay…" She laid a paper in front of her with tiny writing and marks on it, and then looked at the diagrams. Using different colored sticky flags she marked: mom, dad, teen daughter, preteen daughter, son, police, unknown1, unknown 2, dog, cat, and Greg. She tagged the spots on the map.
"Okay…" Wendy said again.
"You said that already, Wendy. Get to it."
She glanced back at him. He was staring at the maps and either didn't know he'd snapped at her or wasn't sorry he had.
She looked at the maps. "We have blood from the officer in the front hall and a blood trail leading to the kitchen. The smear across the floor into the pantry was his, so he must have been killed there. In the hall there are drops from the dog to the basement. From the living room, the cat to the basement. On the steps we have two donors. We have the unknown and Greg. Upstairs—"
"Wait a second. There's drops from Greg on the stairs?"
"Yes."
"Anywhere else downstairs?"
"A large amount by the basement near the washer and dryer, and a trail leading halfway up the steps."
"Go on."
"Upstairs, both daughters' blood came from these two bedrooms and a blood trail to the hall closet. Likely they were carried. The same for the son. Dad's blood is in the bed and was smeared across the carpet to the hall closet. Mom's blood next to the bed and then smeared to the hall closet. In the bathroom, the largest donor was Greg. That's probably where he… Uhm…"
"Move on. You told me there's an unknown one and two. How do you know there were two assailants?"
"Unknown one is the John Doe found in the pantry with the officer. There was a lot of his blood in the bathroom, down the hall, stairs, and right at the back door. The drag mark from the back door to the pantry was his. So he was alive and someone drug him back to the pantry from the back door. We also found hair or skin or both on him from every victim in the house so we know he touched them all. It's not likely he shot himself and drug himself back to the pantry, so that means we have to be looking at a second assailant, a second unknown. And we found blood that came up as unknown from in the upstairs family bathroom where Greg was attacked. He must have gotten a few hits in himself before..."
Nick picked up a stack of photographs, separated by room, and looked at them. He began laying them out on the table, watching the directionality of the drops and smears. When he was done, he stared. Realizing what the blood spatter and photographs were telling him was a hard reality to swallow.
"The only place of the second unknown is in the family bathroom?" Nick asked.
Wendy nodded.
Nick shook his head. No. Greg wouldn't have… "That means… Greg was attacked in the basement, then went upstairs on his own and… Greg… Why the hell did you go up stairs? What were you thinking?"
Wendy looked at the table. "That he didn't want the killer to escape and was doing his job."
Nick almost snapped back she didn't know what she was talking about, but he stopped himself. Greg had risked his life to save other victims, to protect a stranger from being beaten, was it so far of a stretch to think he might have thought he could protected this family if he stopped their killer? 'Oh Greg... What the hell were you thinking?'
#
Archie and Ray scanned fingerprints into the computer and ran them. The two hadn't spoken since Ray came in and asked if he could help. It was hard to tell what Doctor Langston was thinking as he watched the computer spin through fingerprints for matches.
"Two hits," Archie told Ray.
He moved over to the computer next to Archie. Two photographs appeared: the dead John Doe and a teenager.
"John Doe is only seventeen," Archie said. "The guy looks twenty-five. And this other donor is fifteen. You think the John Doe talked this kid into killing the family?"
"Too soon to tell.
"It says they escaped from Clark County Juvenile Detention Center the day before yesterday." Archie brought up the teenager's record and began scrolling through the list of charges. "Look at this kid's record, Ray." Archie scrolled through the years and years of charges against the teenager. "Donald Fritz, fifteen, and his rap sheet looks like some hardcore on death row! The last charge is aggravated assault. He put a kid in the hospital for putting down his favorite music artists."
"Let me guess. Marilyn Manson."
"No. Worse. Danzig."
"How is that worse?"
"Danzig never went commercial like Marilyn Manson. His lyrics are hard core violence."
Ray nodded. "It says he beat the kid up with a board. I wonder if he's moved up on the weapons scale." Ray picked up a phone receiver nearby and dialed an extension.
"Robbins," Doc Robbins said after the second ring.
"Do you have the X-Rays from the hospital yet?"
"On which vic?"
"Greg."
"No. Catherine hasn't returned my calls either."
"Okay. I'll go see what's going on."
"Is there something up?" Ecklie asked.
Ray and Archie turned. Ecklie was reading the file on the screen over their shoulders.
"I'll call you when I find Catherine, Doc." Ray hung up. "Our only suspect is fifteen."
"Do we need a warrant for him?"
"We have to find him first. He escaped juvenile detention."
"His last name is Fritz. Isn't that the last name of the family that lived at the house?"
Archie pulled up a file on the family. Ecklie was right. Ray looked back to Ecklie.
"You think he was related?"
"It's worth checking into. Archie, that's your job now. Ray, Catherine needs you to pick up the X-Rays and Doctor Ian said he has a copy of the medical file waiting at the front desk for you."
Ray left. Archie turned, watching Ecklie read the screen.
"Are you…"
Ecklie looked down at him. "Am I what?"
"Are you working the case?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"Is that a problem?"
"No. I think it's cool."
Without comment, Ecklie went back to reading the screen.