Entry #5 in the "A Year in the Life" series. An open case of Brass's has knock-on effects in the form of a vengeful husband, and Wendy Simms is caught in the crossfire. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, Vartann would not be trying to mack on Catherine, that's for damn sure...
It Catches Up To You
by Alice Day
CHAPTER THREE
Brass entered the bullpen, nodding at the uniforms waiting for him. "Okay, we got a missing lab tech and a kidnapper with an agenda," he announced, passing out printouts with the LVPD watermark. "A/V says the scumbag drives a tan Chevy, probably a Lumina -- we're working on getting the plates. He's connected to that 7-11 shooting in North Las Vegas a couple of months ago -- Mitchell, you and Metcalf worked it, so Nick Stokes will be talking to you two. Keep your radios on."
The mustached cop and his partner nodded. "Akers, you head out to the Galleria with the CSIs," Brass continued, "check any shops overlooking the parking lot, see if anyone saw this guy. Beltran, Tomasek, you're with me tonight. The rest of you, keep an eye out for the Lumina. As soon as we can get plates or a good make on the kidnapper, we'll get it out to you."
His expression changed, turning grim. "I know this probably made the rounds already, but the scumbag was aiming for my kid," he said. "So I do not want mistakes, or slip-ups, or anything that'll let some lawyer spring this guy on a technicality. You find him, you take him down nice and legal, and you bring back Wendy Simms in one piece, understood?"
"Yessir," echoed through the room.
"Dismissed," Brass said. As the uniforms filed out, he glanced across the hall at his office, where Ellie was fidgeting in one of his chairs. Until they caught the kidnapper, she was going to be on lockdown with a cop on her tail wherever she went. And she wasn't going to like that one bit.
He crossed the hallway to his office. Ellie jumped a little when he opened the door, and his heart hurt at the flash of fear in her eyes. "Hi, honey," he rumbled, taking the seat next to her. "Hey, you thirsty? I can get you a Coke or something."
She shook her head. "Did you find out anything about Wendy?"
"The CSIs are going out to the parking lot right now, and I put out a BOLO on the guy's car. Everyone in the field has her picture, and we're taking another look at the murder she mentioned, see if we can find a connection there." He leaned across the gap between their chairs, covering her hand with his own. "We're gonna find her, okay?"
She nodded, but there wasn't any belief in the gesture. "It's my fault. If I hadn't given her that stupid slicker--"
"No, Ellie," Brass said, his tone low and absolutely certain. "Don't do that to yourself. You were doing her a favor -- this isn't your fault."
"I didn't want to wear it," she mumbled. "It made me look like a duck."
He sat back, studying the guilt churning across his daughter's features. Christ, I wish I could give you a hug. But that would just make things worse, wouldn't it? "Yeah, they aren't exactly stylish, are they?" he commiserated. "But you didn't do anything wrong here, okay? You were trying to do her a favor and get rid of the hideous thing your overprotective pop made you wear." At her wan smile, he forged on. "Listen to me, Ellie -- the only one at fault here is the guy who kidnapped Wendy. Who was trying to kidnap you. We're going to find the sonofabitch -- I promise you that."
To his relief, the guilt and fear in her dark eyes finally alchemized into anger. "Good. Find him and take the fucker down, Dad."
Brass nodded, understanding the hidden meaning in her order. Both of them knew the streets; neither had to mention the odds that Wendy Simms would be coming back to the Crime Lab in a body bag.
#
Catherine strode into the break room, trying to ignore the images churning through her memory -- Nick being pulled out of that ant-infested box; Sara staggering, dehydrated and lost, through the desert; Warrick's blood on the window of his car. Two wins, one loss -- so does that mean we'll get Wendy back, or is Fate going to be a bitch this time and balance the scales?
She nodded at the waiting CSIs. "All right -- as of now, finding Wendy is our first priority," she said out loud. "You've got anything else, put it on the back burner. Nick, I want you to take the Alana Rodriguez case." She handed him a case file. "Go over it with a fine tooth comb. If we can prove good faith to the kidnapper, that might buy Wendy more time."
Nick opened the file. "Swing shift handled this one," he said with a frown. "Looks like they didn't find much at the scene."
"Which is why the case stalled," Catherine said. "The scene's been compromised by now, so you'll have to work with what Swing collected. Greg, you and Riley head out to the Galleria in Henderson, go over the parking lot near the west entrance, see if you can find anything."
"Got it," Greg said, with Riley nodding.
"What about me, Catherine," Ray asked.
The supervisor gave him a humorless smile. "You're with me tonight, Ray -- we're going to handle the rest of the cases. Ecklie promised to call in some Swing CSIs, but for now it's just us." She gazed at the rest of the team. "It's going to be a long night, so let's get going.
As the team filed out of the break room, a strained-looking Hodges edged out of one of the labs, cutting Catherine off. "I need to talk to you," he said.
Why am I not surprised? She took his arm and guided him away from the CSIs. "We haven't gotten any more information on Wendy--"
Hodges shook his head, pulling out of her grasp. "I know," he interrupted. "I want to help -- in the field, I mean. I've already called Enrique from Swing, and he'll cover Trace for me."
Catherine knew that the Trace tech had qualified for CSI Level 1 status during his stint with the Los Angeles Crime Lab. He requested that this information not be made publically available, Grissom explained to her the first time Hodges showed up at a crime scene in a CSI vest, but he's willing to fill in when necessary. As you can understand, it's a resource I don't want to call on unless I have to.
Yeah, I definitely understand that. "I didn't think you and Enrique got along that well," she said. "In fact, didn't you call him a trained monkey who bought his degree from an online diploma mill?"
Hodges flushed. "Okay, maybe I did," he muttered. "But he likes Wendy, so he agreed to come in. Look, I know you're still shorthanded -- having another body in the field can't hurt, and if Enrique runs into a problem here I can always come back in."
She thought about the stack of assignment slips still on her desk. Having another CSI meant that she wouldn't have to wait Ecklie to round up someone from Swing or Day shift. "I already have all the slots filled on Wendy's case," she warned. "You'll be working with Ray and me."
His lips thinned, but he nodded. "I understand. Just...let me get out there."
She realized he wanted to listen to the radio communication, just in case anything came in about Wendy. "All right," she said, more gently. "There's a B&E in Henderson that just came in -- you'll work it with Ray."
Hodges nodded and turned to go.
"Wait." She hated herself for her next question, but as supervisor she had to ask. "Look, I need to know -- are you two dating?"
The Trace tech's face twitched guiltily, but he shook his head. "A romantic relationship between two members on the same shift is against departmental regulations, not to mention a distraction in the lab--"
"And we all know how well that worked with Grissom and Sara," she cut him off.
Hodges paused, his usual smart-ass smarminess dissolving into something more human. "We're not dating. If we started dating, one of us would have to leave Grave, and with the difference in our schedules we'd never see each other," he admitted. "We thought -- well, I thought this would be the smart thing to do."
Catherine sighed. "Hodges, staying away from someone you care about because of a damn job is never 'the smart thing to do,'" she said. "And I speak from bitter experience, okay? After we get her back, take her out on a freaking date or something. We'll worry about the rules later."
He nodded jerkily. "Yes, ma'am."
"Okay. Go grab your vest and meet Ray out at the Denali -- the sooner you two get started, the better."
#
Wendy stood at the tiny sink, running a scrubbing sponge over the old Corell plates. The kidnapper seemed satisfied with the hamburger casserole she put together, although the old man just pushed his helping around the plate. "I tore a muscle in my jaw -- can't open my mouth real good," he muttered when she asked if he wanted anything else. "S'okay -- I'm not real hungry these days."
She nodded, surreptitiously studying him from under her lashes. His skin had a papery texture and sagged more than it should, as if he'd just lost a lot of weight. Cancer? Jesus, what if he's on chemo? Although that was actually a positive thing; if he didn't show up for a chemo treatment, someone would notice and come looking for him.
Wouldn't they?
Frowning, she rinsed the plate and stacked it in the ancient drying rack, then sluiced out the sink. Once that was done, she looked around the tiny kitchen, trying to look busy while she searched for something that could be used as a weapon. All of the kitchen knives were gone, even the butter knives; she assumed the kidnapper had gotten rid of them earlier. Maybe there's a rolling pin or a meat tenderizer in one of the drawers--
"Whatcha looking for?"
She spun, swallowing hard when she saw the tall Latino leaning against the kitchen doorway. "Just wanted to make sure I washed everything," she said, hating the squeaky tone in her voice.
"Uh-huh." Hard brown eyes did a fast scan of the cabinets and countertops. "Looks fine to me. Go back to the couch."
She nodded. Keeping her head down, she managed to squeeze past him, the old painted wood of the doorway scraping her shoulder blades in the process. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she caught a quick grin.
Bastard.
She sat down gingerly in what she already thought of as "her spot" on the couch. The old man was still propped up in the other corner, his head slumped to the side. His eyes were open, however, and looked alert.
"You okay?" he rasped.
"Yeah." She tried for a smile. "Do you need anything? Some water?"
"Nah."
The kidnapper came over, pulling a set of cuffs out of his back pocket. "Okay, this is what's gonna happen," he said, taking one of Wendy's wrists and pulling her to her feet. "I got the front door and the screen door locked, and there ain't no back door. Grandpa here can't walk too good, so I'm not worried about him. You," he spun her around, not roughly but with no real care, pulling her wrists behind her back and cuffing them together, "try to run, or scream, or do anything that's gonna piss me off, and I'll hurt you. And then I'll hurt Grandpa. You got that?"
She nodded, her throat dry.
"Good." He pushed her back onto the couch, and she landed with a short huff of breath. "We'll call Papi in a couple of hours, see if he got off his ass. Meanwhile, I gotta take a piss -- you two stay nice and quiet while I'm in the john, you got it?"
"Got it," she muttered.
With a grunt, he sauntered out of the room and down the short hallway. A door clicked shut.
"What's your name, kid?"
She looked at the old man, who was flexing arthritic fingers. "Wendy."
"I'm Mike," he muttered. "Look, I'm a cop -- retired, but I still got my guns. Shitbag in there didn't find 'em when he shook me down. They're in a gunbox in my bedroom, in the bottom dresser drawer. Key's on the key ring on the dresser -- it's a little gold one, you can't miss it."
She turned, craning her neck to peer through the doorway. An unmade bed was visible in a room across the hall. "I don't think I have enough time," she whispered, trying to estimate how long it would take to unlock something with her hands cuffed behind her back.
"No, not now." The old man glared at a wall where she guessed the bathroom was. "But shitbag's gotta take a dump sometime. When that happens, you go get my piece. If you can't get it to me, you shoot the fucker."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. I can't get off this fucking couch, and my kids--"
The toilet flushed, and they jerked back into their respective corners. The kidnapper walked back into the living room and paused, giving both of them a sharp look. "You two behave yourselves?"
"What do you think?" the old man growled.
The kidnapper snorted. "I think we got some time to kill, old man," he said, sitting down in an old La-Z-Boy on the other side of the living room. Wendy's gut went cold when he pulled out his gun, but he put it within easy reach on the side table and picked up a remote instead. "Let's see what's on the tube."
#
Greg wiped the rain off his face, studying the parking lot. The downpour was finally slacking off, but the damage was done; if any trace had been left by Wendy's kidnapper, it was in the storm drains by now.
On the far end of the section, he saw Riley doing a step-by-step examination of the asphalt, her MagLite beam sweeping back and forth with metronomic regularity. "Hey," he called, "you find anything?"
Her capped head came up, and she shook her head. "Not even a cigarette butt. This has to be the cleanest parking lot in Vegas," she called back.
"Damn." He pulled his cell phone from a semi-dry inside pocket and hit speed dial.
"Willows."
"Catherine, we've been all over this lot," he reported. "There's nothing here. I can't even get a tire track."
On the other end, the Grave supervisor sighed. "Okay, at least we tried. Come on back to the lab -- we need to start processing the footage from the mall security cameras."
"On our way." Greg snapped the phone shut, shoving it back in his jacket pocket as he jogged over to Riley. "Catherine said to come on back."
The blonde CSI swiped at a damp bang underneath her cap, frowning at the wet asphalt. "This doesn't feel right," she said. "Most kidnappers learn their target's schedule, when they're the most vulnerable."
"You're assuming this guy's a pro."
"It's not about being a pro -- it's about doing your homework," Riley replied. "The captain said he usually drops Ellie off at work, so the kidnapper wouldn't risk grabbing her on the way into the club in case Brass was still there. It makes more sense to grab her after work -- so why was he here so early?"
Greg tried to picture the scene in his head -- the kidnapper waiting in his car, watching the entrance of the mall, seeing Captain Brass's Charger pull up and a woman in a yellow LVPD slicker get out. Something nagged at him. "It doesn't feel planned."
"It's opportunistic," Riley agreed. "When he saw Wendy, he thought she was Ellie and grabbed the chance."
"And her," Greg added, suddenly seeing it. A kidnapper would study his target, find out where they lived, what they did -- he had to follow them. "He tracked them here from somewhere else."
The other CSI nodded. "And that 'somewhere else' may have security cameras. We need to find out where Brass was before he dropped Ellie off tonight."