Author's Note: Yes, the title of this story does give away the underlying theme, I know. That could explain Samson's behavior, but Greg's? I should say now, lest I forget later, that a third genre to this tale is science-fiction. In case one hasn't guessed that already. Also, I just wrote my favorite chapter yesterday. I'm beginning to get really excited about where this is going. I'll identify my favorite chapter when it's posted.
Catherine and Sofia walked through the main entrance to the Flamingo and looked around. Though they all had different themes, all casinos ended up looking the same to Catherine. She never liked them. She blamed Sam Braun for that.
A suave looking man wearing a tux approached them. "You are the police who called earlier, I presume?"
"What gave us away?" Sofia asked.
The man smiled and extended his hand. "I always keep track of beautiful ladies entering the Flamingo. My name is Richard King, I own this casino. Now what is this about?"
Sofia shook his hand, but Catherine didn't bother. "Mr. King, are you missing any money tonight?"
"I assure you if I was," Richard said, "It would be I who contacted you, not the other way around. We haven't had any trouble in here all night, actually."
"That's good to hear," Sofia said. "You're famous for being very diligent in tracking where your money goes. Do you keep track of all your transactions?"
"Anything more than a thousand bucks worth of chips we keep a record of," said Richard.
Catherine pulled out the wad of money. "Would you record a transaction of this amount?"
Richard laughed and folded his arms. "Well that sure looks like more than a thousand dollars. How long was the gambler in here, all day?"
"Three hours," Catherine replied. "Or less."
Richard stopped laughing. "That much money in three hours? That guy's one lucky son of a bitch."
Richard struck Catherine as the kind of man who didn't believe in luck. "Can you check your logs for an amount of money of about five thousand dollars exchanged in the past three hours?"
"Of course," said Richard. He muttered something to his guard, who turned around and took out his cell phone. "In the meantime, can I get you fine ladies a drink?"
"No thank you," Sofia answered quickly. "Just the information."
"Suit yourself," said Richard. "I myself am curious to know who this big risk-taker is."
"A win like that didn't strike your attention?" Sofia asked.
"I count on my dealers to alert me of suspicious behavior at the tables," said Richard. "And my security cameras."
The guard turned around and whispered something in Richard's ear. Richard nodded. "Two guys won big in the past two hours, actually. Your winners' names are Miles Frankin and Greg Sanders," he said.
"Dammit," Catherine muttered. She turned to Sofia. "You think he used Greg's name?"
"No," Richard answered before Sofia could speak. "Impossible. We require a legitimate name and photo ID, and this guy checked out."
Sofia frowned. "Could we take a look at those security cameras?"
"You're welcome to," said Richard. "I'll take you to them."
There was a knock at the door and Sara opened her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping, just trying to will her body to heal so she could get up and do her job. She smiled at her visitors.
"Hey!" she said. "Grissom, Greg."
There was something strange between them, a tension Sara couldn't place, but she was glad to see both of them. Greg was grinning at her, looking ecstatic, if a little ashen.
"Sara…" he breathed the name like a sigh of relief. "Oh man it's good to see you again."
"Ditto, kiddo," Sara replied. "Come here, I want to make sure it's really you."
He skipped on forward happily and sat in the vacant chair by her bed.
"Well," Sara said. "You look pretty good. Nothing seems to have happened to you, at least not physically. Are you alright?"
"Stellar, now that I see you and that you're OK," Greg replied in a whisper.
Sara blushed a little. She looked over at Grissom, who was still standing in the doorway. "Hey you, lurking like a shadow in the hall, why don't you come in?"
"I'm fine from over here," Grissom answered.
Sara rolled her eyes. "He's always like this," she told Greg.
Greg nodded, and then started laughing. "Aw, man, Sara— it's just so good to see you again."
Sara was flattered, but a little unnerved. "Yeah…" she said. "But I didn't go anywhere, you did."
"I know," Greg said. "I know, and I— well, when Grissom said someone hurt you, I just…"
Sara nodded with a blank smile. "Yeah," she said. "Thanks." She looked over at Grissom again. "Can I see Samson now?"
"You can't walk yet," Grissom said.
"I bet I can surprise you," Sara said with a wink.
"Don't try, Sara," Grissom said, shaking his head. "Please."
"Greg, step aside," Sara whispered as she slowly sat up in her bed. She winced a little bit but was more careful this time as she moved her legs to the side and slowly put weight on her feet. She wobbled a little, and her hand flew subconsciously to her stomach, but she stood on her own two feet. She held out her scarred and battered arms. "Ta da!"
This display had prompted Grissom to enter the room with a deliberate stride as he took her carefully by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. He looked like a frustrated father, whose daughter had snuck into the kitchen at midnight for a snack. "Please, Sara, lay down, you need rest; you can ID Samson later."
She pulled away from his grip. "I can do it now," she said. "I can walk, can't I?"
"You're doped up on pain killers," Grissom said. "You couldn't tell even if you were in pain."
"I am not," Sara snapped. "I'm just tougher than you take me for."
Grissom bit his lip. "Your stomach was burrowed into, you have a huge piece of flesh missing from your shoulder, you shouldn't be walking around."
"Where's that doctor," Sara said, moving past Grissom and to the door as she looked down the hall. "He'll tell you I'm ready to go."
"He won't say it just because you want him too," said Grissom.
"Oh, of course he will," Sara said dismissively. "I promised him I'd sleep with him if he did."
"You what?!" Greg and Grissom said together.
Sara rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, boys, it was a joke. Ah, there he is, Dr. Scott!"
He entered the room carrying a clip board and smiled at Sara.
"Ah, Ms. Sidle, you're up and about."
"I am," said Sara, cheerily.
"She needs more rest," Grissom insisted.
"Ms. Sidle's injuries were not incredibly extensive," said Dr. Scott thoughtfully as he pulled her hospital gown and the bandages wrapped around her shoulder back. "Your shoulder wound seems to be healing nicely. If you're leaving, though, I insist you wear a sling so as not to pull the stitches." He put the bandage back and looked up at her.
"Her stomach," Grissom interjected. "It was torn apart."
Greg made a face. "Sara, maybe Grissom's right…"
"Not you too," Sara said to Greg. She addressed the doctor. "There are things I have to do."
The doctor nodded. "We've done all we can here, Mr. Grissom," he said. "Her injuries aren't life threatening, we can't keep her here against her will. The rest is up to Sara here. You promise to get some rest?"
"As soon as I nail the bastard that did this," Sara replied.
"Leave that to us, please, Sara," Grissom replied.
"Fine," Sara said. "Just let me look at him."
"And then you'll go home?" Grissom asked.
Sara sighed. "Cross my heart."
"Get your clothes," Grissom said. "Greg and I will wait for you outside."
"Fantastic," Sara said with a smile.
Catherine and Sofia didn't have to look long to find who they were looking for. At around 11:30, he walked through the door. And though both of them recognized his face, neither of them recognized his attitude.
Through the security cameras they watched his entire progress. His big wins at the poker table. His philandering with multiple women. What struck Catherine most was the sly wink he tossed the cameras, like he knew they would be reviewing them.
"Son of a bitch…" she muttered, her eyes wide.
"Who's that girl he's with?" Sofia asked. "The brunette."
"Huh," said Richard King, standing behind them. "That's Amber Edison. Her dad's a big spender. Loves this place so much, she has a permanent room upstairs."
"Can we talk to her please?" Catherine said.
"At this hour?" Richard said. "If she's not out there, then she's asleep."
"Now," Catherine insisted.
He led them up to the hotel room and they knocked on the door. She answered in a silk nightgown. She frowned at the sight of Richard. "Richard? What's going on?"
Sofia and Catherine flashed their badges. "I'm Detective Sofia Curtis, this is Catherine Willows from the crime lab, we just want to ask you a few questions ma'am."
She blinked and stumbled. "Uh… yeah, sure."
"Do you remember Greg Sanders?" Catherine asked.
"I've never heard that name before," she replied. Catherine showed her a photo and she smiled. "Oh, Andrew."
"Who?" Sofia said.
"Andrew," said Amber. She giggled. "He liked my hair."
"Cute," Catherine said, not amused.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm a little drunk. Uh… Yeah, he and I had a fun time tonight."
"What did he say to you?" Sofia asked.
She frowned trying to remember. "Not much, really. He'd just won big money and my attention and he said he was out looking for a good time and so was I. We talked about stupid things, mostly me and my life. We drank a lot." She grinned wickedly. "Fooled around. You know. Guy like that? Not exactly a gentleman. That's the appeal though, isn't it?"
Catherine had gone from confused to furious. She couldn't talk to this girl anymore and turned on her heal.
"Catherine!" Sofia called after her.
"I'll be in the car," Catherine replied, stalking off down the hall.
Sofia sighed and turned back to the girl. "Is that all, ma'am?"
"Yeah, I think so. He really liked my hair." She started laughing again. "Talked about the irony with my name and everything. Couldn't stop stroking it."
"Thank you," said Sofia.
"Don't you want to know about the sex?" Amber asked.
Sofia didn't know what to say. "No, ma'am, that's OK."
"It was wild," Amber said wistfully. "Wow, he was aggressive. It almost hurt, but in that good way—"
"OK!" Sofia said abruptly. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Thank you for your time, Ms. Edison," Richard said and she closed the door.
Sara folded her arms and bit her lip as she looked at the lineup, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Take your time," Brass said.
She had watched witnesses do this so many times, his words irked her. Of course she would take her time. She wanted to make sure she correctly IDed her attacker. There was only one single problem that she was afraid to admit to. She didn't recognize any of them.
She took a deep breath. Was she sure? One of them was Matthew Samson, she knew that, but if that was true, then Matthew Samson hadn't been the one who attacked her. Unless her mind was playing tricks on her. Eye-witness identifications weren't always reliable. In the heat of the moment, the victim could see anything she wants, or at least remember it anyway she wants. The problem with surviving victims is that they think the face of their attacker will be emblazoned on their mind forever, when the truth is little things can still influence their memory. Had Sara remembered it wrong?
No, she told herself, she hadn't. The man who mauled her had blue eyes. Bright blue. She would never forget the way they caught the light. The eyes of these men were all varying shades of brown and hazel. Not blue.
"He's not here," she said, surprising herself with her words.
Grissom moved towards her and put a hand on her good shoulder. "Are you sure?"
Sara slowly nodded. "Yes."
Grissom and Brass exchanged looks. Brass sighed. "Well, Sara, thank you for your time."
"My pleasure…" Sara said. She moved to leave, but Grissom stopped her.
"Look again, Sara," he said.
"Grissom," Sara said, "don't try to influence the witness."
"But maybe you—"
"She's right, Gil," said Brass. "If she doesn't recognize anyone, you shouldn't push her."
Grissom sighed and nodded. "You're right, I'm sorry," he said.
Brass spoke into the microphone. "Thank you for your time."
"I'm going home now," she said, sounding a little confused.
"You're not driving," Grissom said.
"With this arm?" Sara said. "Grissom, I said I'm tough, not stupid. Greg offered to drive me home."
Grissom hesitated. "Sara, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why?" Sara asked. "You don't trust Greg now?"
Grissom opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. "Alright. Go get some rest."
"Will do," Sara said with a smile. "Do me a favor and stop worrying so much."
She left and Grissom was left alone with Brass. "So Jim," said Grissom. "What are we going to do?"
"So Sara couldn't identify Matthew Samson as the guy that attacked her." Brass shrugged. "We still have his teeth marks on her skin, a faulty alibi, a motive…"
"What motive?" Grissom asked. "The Samsons were the perfect family according to everyone we spoke too."
"Just because they seemed perfect on the outside doesn't mean it was the same on the inside," said Brass.
"Let's look into that then," Grissom said. "Katerina Samson was an attorney. Start there. Maybe she was having an affair at work while stay-at-home-dad picked up the kids from school."
"Good idea," said Brass and he left.
Grissom sighed and closed his eyes before he, too, left the room. He ran into Nick in the hall.
"Nick," he said. "You're back."
"Yeah," said Nick. "The van was a bust. Not a sign that Greg was there. But I checked the backyard. There was vomit. I just got the results. Mia tentatively identified Greg's DNA. But the pepperoni pizza in it tells me for sure. We shared one before our shift."
"Good," said Grissom. "At least we know that something made him ill at the scene."
"You don't think it was the gore, do you?" Nick asked skeptically.
Grissom frowned. "He's seen scenes bloodier than that by now, but he did seem distraught by the children's deaths."
"Can't say I blame him," Nick said. "I was bothered by that. I've never seen kids so brutally mutilated. Also, I just talked to Warrick. Our killer had a lot to say. Did you hear there was a message on the vic too?"
"Warrick failed to mention that last I saw him," Grissom said, taking the photos Nick handed him. "'Blame her.' Well, it certainly fits with the phrase you found on the wall."
"No kidding," said Nick. "But what does it mean?"
"Why don't we ask Matthew Samson if he knows?" Grissom suggested.
His phone began to ring. Grissom answered it. "Hello, Catherine."
"Grissom!" Catherine said. "Where's Greg? I want to kill that son of a bitch."
"Slow down," said Grissom. "What happened?"
"He really did leave the scene on his own," Catherine said. "Hopped a cab to the Flamingo on the next street over. My guess is he did it when the rest of us were too preoccupied with saving Sara to—"
"Slow down," Grissom repeated. "And relax. Listen, Greg's been acting strange, but he would never leave a scene, especially if someone was in trouble."
"Well we have him on camera," Catherine replied. "And he was with a girl. Amber Edison. Apparently, the sex was great."
"You have that on camera too?" Grissom asked.
"Funny," said Catherine. "Where is he?"
"He's driving…" Grissom cut himself off suddenly. He looked at Nick. "Nick, go to the parking lot now. Find Greg's car. If they haven't left yet, bring them both in. If they have, call Sara and tell her to come back as fast as possible." Nick nodded and took off.
"Grissom?" Catherine asked. "What's going on?"
Grissom swallowed. "Greg is driving Sara home."
