CHAPTER 3

Catherine sat down at the break room table across from Grissom and Sara, lifting a mug to her mouth. "Let's talk about the people that were at this… after hours… ass kissing thing the director was hosting. I mean, it had to have been someone who was there. Maybe they all know who did it and no one's talkin'."

"Well, someone could have broken in or have been hiding once the place closed," Sara pointed out.

Grissom nodded. "So far, all we have is a shoe print in the dirt by the victim's body, which doesn't match any of the tour guests' shoes. We took all of their fingerprints, but we didn't get any probative prints from the actual crime scene, so we have nothing to compare them to anyway."

"Security cameras?" Catherine asked. Sara was nervous about Catherine's involvement in the case. If it came up, and really it was only a matter of time, Catherine would be another person to whom she would have to explain her past with Luke. She couldn't shake the feeling that Luke Walsh was somehow involved and it made her uneasy.

"Conveniently, none of the security cameras were recording in any of the rooms that evening," Grissom answered with ire, a piece of paper floating from his fingers to the table.

"How does the director explain that one?"

"An unfortunate glitch."

Catherine guffawed. "Which brings me back to the guests at his little party." She picked up the piece of paper with Grissom's notes. "We have a Lawrence Valentine and his wife Linda from Vegas; Luke Walsh from Boston, and Allen Fischer from Chicago. And the director, Dr. Robert Berwyn."

Sara added, "And T.O.D. was around 8pm, so the victim was basically still warm when they found the body around 9:30pm."

Sara usually enjoyed the puzzles, even if it meant long hours and little sleep. It's why she was a CSI. But she wanted nothing more than an open and shut case right now so she could stop hearing the name Luke Walsh and so she could stop fantasizing about meeting him again. She couldn't stop playing the scenarios out in her head; what would he say to her and her to him?

"We need to find the murder weapon," Grissom's voice broke into her thoughts grimly. "And we need to find out why those security cameras weren't rolling — the real reason."

xxx

Catherine and Sara were tasked with returning to the conservatory together. Sara loathed the prospect of spending another minute with her sweat collecting on her skin, incapable of evaporation.

"So this is the orchid room," Catherine remarked as they opened the door, a heaviness settling over them immediately. "Phew. Hot."

"No kidding," Sara replied flatly.

She imaged herself as a normal visitor walking affably through the circular room, taking in the delicate flowers. It was difficult to see a place through the eyes of a person who hadn't seen it as a crime scene — one of the drawbacks to being a crime scene investigator. Invariably, even a place as innocently beautiful as a room full of flowers could be forever marred by the occurrence of a crime. After four hours of the sickeningly sweet smell of orchids and wet dirt she was sure she would never be able to return to the conservatory with enjoyment. She'd never look at the flowers and not see blood spattered all over them.

Grissom probably had something wise to say about that, she thought, as she walked the room with new eyes. She flipped through her crime scene photos, eyes shooting up to connect dots that may or may not be there. Her gaze landed a few feet ahead of her where hand-sized rocks lined the brick pathway. Consistently, there was a rock every six inches or so. Until, there wasn't. There was an obvious gap between two rocks and Sara's eyebrows shot up.

"Cath, check this out."

Catherine walked over, brow furrowed. Sara pointed to the gap in the decorative pathway liner.

"There's one missing," Catherine said. "Could be the murder weapon." They shared a knowing look. "Another unfortunate glitch?"

They walked out of the orchid room and into the sensory garden. Before her, raised plant beds lined the walkways. Carnivorous plants sat atop the soil menacingly awaiting their next meal to slip and fall into their acidic stomachs. Sara shivered at the plants, always having found something insidious about them. She looked over at Catherine who was taking in the comparatively serene trees hovering over the plant beds.

"This place is pretty," Catherine remarked. "Why haven't I ever been here?"

"When would you have the time?" Sara ribbed with a lopsided smile.

They walked toward a bridge that was poised over a pond of lily pads and Sara's insides shrunk considerably. Standing directly in the middle of the bridge with his forearms resting on the wooden railing was Luke Walsh. He was staring into the water, unmoving. Perhaps having sensed the two women approaching him, he looked up and immediately straightened. Sara considered turning around and walking the other way.

"Hey, Sara," Luke said softly, eyes locked on her as if Catherine wasn't even there.

Catherine shot her a look of question, a small a bit of amusement in the corners of her mouth. Sara shook it off and walked toward Luke. Catherine lagged behind a bit. She skipped niceties, annoyed at seeing him again.

"What are you doing here?" Sara answered, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

"The director — Robert and I are good friends. We're meeting for dinner. I'm early. He's in his office taking care of a few things first," Luke answered evenly. He smiled uneasily at Catherine and moved an inch closer to Sara. "Sara, can we speak in private for a minute? Just a minute?"

Sara looked over at Catherine. Her amused curiosity was evident in the way an eyebrow shot up and one corner of her mouth lifted. Sara shifted a bit and sighed heavily, biting the inside of her cheek.

Catherine shrugged innocently. "I'll go find Dr. Berwyn," she offered.

It was going to be unavoidable, telling Catherine who Luke was to her. But for now, she was thankful that her co-worker was tempering her curiosity.

"I really shouldn't be talking to you," Sara said cooly. "You're a suspect, you know?"

"I didn't kill that woman."

Sara leaned against the wooden rails of the bridge, crossing her arms in front of her. The sun was setting behind Luke and she stared over his shoulder for a moment. The pond was still and dark, like black glass with swirls of sunset orange.

"You know, I thought I'd never see you again," she said, a sad slowness in her voice. "I thought you were probably dead, honestly."

Luke nodded and stuffed his hands into his tailored black pants. His wristwatch stuck outside of the lip of his pocket. It looked expensive, shiny and new. He looked to the side, a pained look on his face.

"I'm sorry about how I left things," he said, his voice suddenly raspy. "I regret everything about that year. Except for you, Sara."

"I don't even know what that means," she said flatly, unimpressed.

"You look great, you know. I mean, you were beautiful then and you're beautiful now, what… thirteen years later?"

Sara rolled her eyes and remained quiet, rolling her jaw, pressing her lips tightly together.

Luke continued after swallowing, keeping his voice light. "So are you married now? Kids?"

That made her scoff. "No."

He laughed. "Yeah, well…hey, people change, right?"

"I guess so. Look at you." She gave him once-over, though he wouldn't have seen it behind her sunglasses. She turned to him, resting her left arm on the railing. "I barely recognize you."

He shifted a bit, licking his bottom lip nervously. "I do okay."

She hummed her response, entirely suspicious of him. The man in front of her was so different, yet so familiar. The contrast perplexed her, the mystery of it all too much for her to bear.

"What are the odds of this, Sara? I mean, think about it. The chances of us meeting again, like this. It's mind boggling."

"Well, if you have something to do with that woman's death, chance has nothing to do with it. I'm a crime scene investigator. So, if you're a criminal, then you and me meeting was simply a matter of time."

"A crime scene investigator," he repeated slowly, as if trying the words on for a proper fit. "That's not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Something more... academic, maybe?" He became suddenly animated. "But for us to meet again in Vegas. I live in Boston, I'm just here on business. You work here. Jesus, it's just crazy," he said, putting his hand to his head.

She looked at him intently, eyes narrowing. "So you went back to Boston, then?"

"Yeah…" He nodded, looking down into the silky water. "Yeah, after a while, I went back."

"Where did you go?" she asked, careful to mask any emotion she may have had, though all she really felt in that moment was an innocuous curiosity, a need to finish a puzzle that she'd never quite given up.

"All over. Did some things, here and there. Worked on myself. It was good for me." He shrugged. Then, confidently, he asked, "If I had asked, would you have come with me?"

The question shocked her, though she didn't show it. She knew the answer now — an unequivocal no — but she couldn't speak for her twenty year old self. Somehow, it seemed wrong to do so, like she would be speaking for another person entirely.

"I've got to get back to my partner. Thanks for making things awkward by the way," Sara said disparagingly. "I'm going to have to explain you to her." She turned to leave, eager to put some space between her and Luke.

"Sara?"

She rolled her eyes and turned back. "Yeah?"

"You look really, really good." He smiled genuinely at her, pushing off the railing.

She said nothing and left him behind on the bridge.

xxx

"So, Dr. Berwyn was a cool character. I've got a bad feeling about him," Catherine remarked as they dropped into the hot SUV. She started the engine, cranking the air conditioning to max capacity. "I asked why the security cameras weren't recording anything. He was evasive, had a real posh accent."

"I'm guessing he had the same answer he gave Vartan," Sara said glumly.

"He had an… important… meeting to get to, so I couldn't get him to talk. I'm gonna have Vartan bring him in. I'm not satisfied." Catherine looked over at Sara, eyebrows raised. She let a few seconds pass, but Sara knew what was coming. As if on queue, she asked, "So, you gonna tell me what that was all about back there?"

Sara sighed and flopped her head back on the headrest, the trapped heat of the vehicle pressing down on her. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Who was he?" she popped a piece of gum in her mouth and held the package out in offering. Her voice was lighthearted enough, but held the inquisitive edge of an investigator. It irked her that she appreciated that about Catherine. She didn't pull punches, and she didn't play mind games.

Sara took the gum, shooting half-hearted daggers at Catherine. "He's two people. First and foremost, he's Luke Walsh."

Catherine's eyes slid away for a moment, thinking. Realization dawned and her eyes widened. "The suspect? Then why did—"

"Second," Sara interrupted, "…he was my boyfriend in college."

Catherine's mouth dropped. "Uh-oh."

"Yeah."

"Didn't you go to Harvard?"

"I did," Sara replied, head bobbing emphatically.

"Wow. What are the chances?" Catherine sat back in her seat, frowning. "Does Grissom know?"

"Yes. And I told him that I could work the case, unbiased. And I can. It's just… awkward. After thirteen years, you kind of expect a person to be different. Just not… that different."

Catherine nodded, working the gum with her jaw. After a moment of weighted silence, Catherine pulled out of the parking lot and began driving back to the lab. "You think he could have done it?" Catherine asked hesitantly.

Sara let out a pent-up breath. "I hope not," she whispered to herself against the car window. "But what do I know?"

Boston, Massachusetts — March 1992

The leaves of the red maple tree swayed and danced in the gentle breeze, the blood orange colors at odds with the dark storm clouds above. Sara stood back and watched Luke, his head bowed over the casket in front of him. The casket loomed over the six foot hole menacingly.

"Do you want to be alone?" she asked him, content to walk around the cemetery while he grieved.

Luke didn't answer right away and she wondered if he even heard her. She moved closer, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. He was alarmingly rigid.

"Luke?"

"I feel like I could kill whoever did this," he whispered. His jaw clenched, a violent storm brewed underneath his buttoned up exterior.

Her stomach quaked, nerves twitched. She watched Luke shovel a mount of dirt with his tattered soccer shoes and push it into the hole. He ran a hand through his knotted hair and she dropped her hand from his shoulder, unsure of how to console him. She had never felt fear around Luke before, but something about him felt dangerous in that moment.

His best friend, Brian, had been killed in a seemingly random shooting outside of a bar. She suspected Luke knew more than he was letting on, but couldn't find the right opportunity to prod him.

Luke turned to face her, his eyes mournful and heavy. Tears clung to his lower lids, desperate to fall and he pulled his arm up to wipe them away. "Thanks for coming with me."

"Of course."

Thunder rumbled overhead. Sara wanted to leave, wanted to let the undertaker bury the body so she could move on from it. Fat raindrops hit the casket slowly and Luke let out a miserable sigh.

"We should go," he said and reached his hand out for her to take. They walked hand-in-hand to his car as the rainfall gained momentum.

"You'll get past this, I promise," she said to him as they pulled away from the cemetery.

"I don't feel like getting past anything right now," he answered. His voice had lost the intimidating edge from earlier, which comforted her.

"My father died when I was a little kid," she finally said, "And I got through it. I focused on the things that mattered to me."

It was the first time she had ever told anyone, really said the words out loud. She had vowed when she left California that she would leave all of it behind and never give volume to it. But here she was, talking about her dead dad during a stormy spring day in Boston.

After a minute, Luke gave an abrupt exhale and touched her on the knee. "Jesus, Sara, I'm sorry."

She placed her hand on his and offered him a small, sad smile. "It's okay, it was a long time ago. My point is… life moves on. You get angry for a while and you go through all of these emotions that make you want to crawl in a hole and forget… but ultimately, Luke, life moves on."

She watched Luke nod at her gently. "How'd he die?"

Sara's mouth went dry, her heart quickened. "Heart attack," she lied simply, as if believing it herself would make it true. Yet, the color of her father's blood on her mother's floral-printed couch was an image she couldn't have imagined.

to be continued...