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By the time Catherine and Sofia arrived at the hospital, Sara was gone. It was past one in the morning, the emergency room suspended in a sleepy haze, and a young nurse raised a bored eyebrow as they approached. When Sofia flashed her badge, she sat up straight. Two minutes later Catherine's behind was moulded into a hard plastic chair, and she sighed as she picked up her first magazine.
She knew where Sara was located - in a private room a short way down the corridor. Every few minutes she cast another glance at the closed door, and the two circling police officers met her eyes, companions in the long wait, in the need for enduring patience. Beside her sat Sofia, idly turning the pages of a travel magazine, but she had trekked all the way through Mexico and down to Peru before the door finally clicked open. A female doctor emerged, and one of the officers pointed her in Catherine's direction.
"LVPD?" she asked.
"Yeah," Catherine said, moving to greet her.
Sofia stood up. "How is she, doctor?"
"She's fine physically," the doctor answered. "She had some minor cuts to her right hand, we pulled some tiny shards of glass, but there's no significant injury."
"And psychologically?" Catherine asked.
The doctor hesitated. Her eyes studied Catherine.
"You're the ones who found her?" she queried.
"We were there," Sofia confirmed.
"I work with her," Catherine added.
She sensed where the doctor was heading, and tried to convey without speaking what she had seen in the small bathroom. The doctor studied her a moment longer.
"Do you know if there's any history of psychological trauma?"
Catherine was on the brink of denying it, but closed her mouth again as a memory suddenly came back to her. It was of over a year before, sitting in the dim night of Grissom's office, settled in an old chair that was split at the seams. The two of them had been there a while, a rare night in which they talked without any regard for the time. It was then that he had explained to her why Sara had been suspended from duty only a week prior. The apology Catherine had received from Sara had been brief but sincere, but she had sensed something lurking underneath, something in the back of Sara's eyes which she seemed in no hurry to discuss. Grissom had filled her in, that night in the office. She could vividly remember the feeling of shock when he told her, how quickly her irritation had evaporated into heart-clenching sympathy. He had told her everything, with Sara's permission. The one condition was that she did not pass it on, and she had kept her word. She had never even discussed it with Sara.
"There was some domestic violence when she was a kid," Catherine said. "It got rough. But nothing recent."
The doctor nodded.
"Are you saying it's related?" Sofia asked, looking confused.
"No," the doctor answered. "To be honest she didn't tell me much. I don't know if there's anything I can tell you that'll help you make sense of things. The cuts to her hand must have been in self-defence, like he struck at her with a bottle or a glass. But she denies that he laid a hand on her. There's no bruises, nothing to indicate an assault. But she's very quiet. Seems on edge. She keeps looking through the window, checking your officers are still there."
"She was the same at the scene," Catherine said. "The first thing she did was to check that I was armed."
"So what's she afraid of?" the doctor asked.
Silence greeted the question. In her mind Catherine turned the question over, but came up blank. Sara had not been assaulted. With the exception of the glass in her palm, she had not been harmed in any way. And yet still her fear lingered, even after leaving the scene.
Sofia looked equally puzzled. "We're missing something here."
"We need to talk to her," Catherine agreed.
A shrill ring interrupted them, and Catherine dug her vibrating cell phone from her jacket pocket. The caller ID identified Grissom.
"I'll see you in there," Sofia said.
Wary of the flock of warning signs on cell phone use in the hospital, Catherine retreated outside. The night had cooled somewhat, a pleasant breeze wafted through a nearby tree, and she wandered a short way from the automatic doors as she raised the ringing cell phone to her ear. Across the car park, a lone driver glided into a distant car space. The night world felt quiet and peaceful.
"Hey," she greeted.
"How is she?" he asked.
His voice registered concern, and yet behind it she could sense that he also had news. She could hear him walking across the floorboards of Sara's apartment, the echoes of Nick and Warrick in the background.
"I haven't seen her yet," Catherine replied. "Doc' says that she's physically fine. They dug some glass out of her hand, a defensive wound, but that's all they've got. They say there's no sign of assault, not a mark on her."
"That's good," Grissom said. But he sounded only mildly relieved before he ploughed on. "Listen, Catherine, we've finished going through her apartment. If you're going to talk to her, there's some things you should know."
"I'm listening."
"I think we may have been on the wrong track here," he said. "I can't find any evidence that this was a home invasion. We've checked her front door, all the windows, there's no sign of forced entry. Brass canvassed all the neighbours and not a single one heard anyone enter the floor in the hour prior. We have six empty beer bottles from the coffee table, I'm going to have them analysed for DNA, but -"
"- you don't think Sara finished them by herself," Catherine finished. "You think they shared a drink."
There was a momentary pause. She heard Grissom walk a few steps, and the background noise faded. His voice fell to a confidential hush.
"I think they shared more than that."
Catherine hesitated, mouth open slightly. She wondered if he meant what she thought he did.
"What are you saying?" she asked.
"Nick went through her trash from the bathroom," Grissom said. "He found a used condom."
"She slept with him?" Catherine asked, stunned. She herself had nothing against casual sex, yet had never thought of Sara as being the type. Sara was the type who spent her nights off alone in her apartment, reading forensic magazines, watching old movies. If she went out, it was usually with Nick or Warrick, to stop and down a beer together, let off steam. She had known of some of Sara's brief relationships, but also suspected they had never moved that fast.
"I'm going to get the lab to run the DNA," he went on. "Hopefully we get a hit."
Realising she was gaping, Catherine closed her mouth. She watched as the driver across the lot left his car, wandered towards the emergency room entrance. She tried to pull her thoughts back together, take the reins.
"Even so, Gil, if it was consensual then there's no crime. It's her business. If she invited him in, there's no wounds on her, we may not even have a crime at all. They may have just had an argument."
"I don't believe it," Grissom dismissed. "You were there, Catherine. She was scared."
Catherine sighed, closing her eyes. It was hard to tally Sara's reaction with the evidence in hand. Still she could not shake the suspicion that they were missing something.
"And he still has her gun," Grissom went on. "Theft of her weapon is enough for us to bring him in. We need to catch this guy before he uses it."
"Right," Catherine said. She tried to push away the image of what the lunatic might do with the gun, the bullets that might be sprayed up the strip of Las Vegas.
"I need you to talk to her, Catherine. Get us a name. We can run the DNA but it's going to take time and may show no ID, and Brass needs to get an APB out on this guy as soon as possible."
"I'll do my best," she promised.
"Use your charm," he said. "And Catherine?"
"Yeah?"
"Tell Sofia. Technically she's running this thing."
The call ended. She took a moment to adjust to the news before heading back, passing the reception desk where the visitor was waiting for the admissions nurse, and then back down the corridor to Sara's private room. She was glad to see the two officers were still on guard, one now clutching a half drunk cup of coffee. She paused outside the door to knock softly.
Through the window Sofia caught her eye, inviting her in.
She was ready to offer to offer sympathy as she entered, preparing to see Sara still traumatised, but stopped when she looked around the curtain. Sara was not lying down but sitting awake and alert on the side of the bed, still wearing the black overcoat Grissom had placed around her. There was a slight edginess to her expression, but there was none of the raw fear she had witnessed on the floor of the bathroom. As she moved to sit beside her, she saw Sara swallow something back and take a breath, as if ready to face what she knew had to come.
"How do you feel?" Catherine asked.
"Better," Sara said, taking another deep breath and offering a nod.
She looked for a brief moment as if she was going to say more, but fell silent. Catherine hesitated, wondering how to best broach the subject of what Grissom had told her.
"Look, Sara ..."
"It's okay," Sara interrupted quickly. "I know what you're going to ask, Catherine."
Catherine closed her mouth again. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, to hint at what had been found, but as quick as the thought came she found herself pushing it back. The priority had to be the recovery of her weapon, the recovery of the suspect. What had happened between the sheets could wait.
"What's his name?" she asked simply.
"I never knew his surname," Sara admitted. "His first name was 'Seb' - short for Sebastian."
"How do we find his surname?" Sofia asked kindly. "How do we find him?"
Sara hesitated. A distant look momentarily clouded her eyes as he mind reeled back.
"Credit card," she answered finally. "He bought us drinks, back at the bar. The Purple Panda."
Sofia nodded, pulling out her cell phone.
"I'll get Brass to run it down," she said.
She moved across the room to make the call. Catherine met Sara's eyes again, but her next question died on her lips as she saw something stir in Sara's brown eyes. When she spoke her voice was level and serious.
"He's going to kill me, Catherine."
Catherine barely had time to register the statement when the door opened again. The three of them turned to see the doctor standing there, a puzzled expression on her face.
"Sorry," she said, excusing herself. "I was just wondering if you're expecting any visitors?" She looked to Sara on the bed. "We have a man at reception asking after you."
Catherine stood up, thinking that it was probably Nick or Warrick, now finished at the scene and following up on Sara's wellbeing.
"White male," the doctor continued, "mid-thirties, black leather jacket?"
In an instant the colour drained from Sara's face, her eyes widening in panic.
"Catherine -"
"That's him?" Sofia asked.
She did not wait for an answer. Sara's expression was enough. She snapped away her cell phone, drew her weapon. Catherine followed her, drawing her own and jogging to the door. Sofia threw out a hand to block her path.
"Stay here," she ordered. "Lock the door."
There was no time to argue, and suddenly everything happened far too fast. Sofia and the two armed officers were jogging down the hallway, their feet thudding on the floor. Catherine threw the door shut and twisted the lock, her weapon grasped hard in her hands. She threw a glance to Sara, who was unarmed.
"Get down on the floor," she ordered.
Catherine stood at the door, watching until the officers turned the corner and left her sight. She listened as they ran down the next corridor, and then heard the blast of Sofia's voice across the emergency room.
"LVPD!" she shouted. "Freeze!"
Her shout was echoed by those of her compatriates, and amongst them screams of staff and patients split the ear. She heard more running, more chasing, and then -
"Get down! Drop your weapon!"
"Drop -"
But the sentence was left unfinished, interrupted by an ear-splitting gunshot which suddenly tore the air. A second later there was silence.