Murder in a Van Chapter 4
A call from Grissom woke her in the morning. Late morning, she noticed. He teased her about her sleep, calling her a sleepyhead who did not need her human pillow to sleep.
"I miss you! I had to use your pillows to get comfortable last night." Sara said as she surveyed the bed, several folders and her notes scattered across the empty side of the bed. "Will you get back on time?"
"I've got a couple of people to see today; I'll be back at home tonight." His voice because almost a whisper. "I miss you—only one night away and it seems too long."
Sara cleaned up the papers and within an hour was driving into the small town nearest their home. She needed a few things, and it was not out of way to drive past the crime scene. She had not looked at the photographs, but easily found the location described in the reports.
A strip mall like thousands of others around the country, she remembered the frame store she had visited. She parked and watched as customers pulled into the parking lot. She was there less than thirty minutes when a thought came to her. She checked her notes and drove across town. It did not take more than half an hour for her to find the right neighborhood, less than four miles from the shopping center, and the right house.
She finished her shopping, smiling to herself as she made purchases with Grissom in mind. He would eat anything, but she would surprise him with a favorite tonight. At home, she found freshly baked bread and eggs beside her door along with a note. The women at the farm had already visited. She smiled. They were good neighbors; close, but not too close, never intrusive, just quietly coming and going.
It took longer than expected to prepare dinner but she had time to confirm her findings with the photographs. She hesitated briefly before pulling them out of the folder.
Out loud, to an empty house except for Hank, she said, "I can do this. I want to do this." She had forgotten how gruesome most crime scenes appeared. This one was no different. A sharp instrument had made a puncture wound below the woman's right ear and then a precise deep cut continued past the center of the neck. She found a magnifying glass and used it to study the wound. Blood covered the inside of the van, the second seat, the backside of the front seats. The body had fallen between the seats, behind the front passenger seat. Blood pooled below the head, spattered everywhere. She read the coroners report again and placed the photographs back in the folder. She sat at the desk, thinking as she looked at her own notes.
Suddenly, she headed for the garage knowing what she wanted would be there. As most people do, she and Grissom stored household items in the garage and she searched for a particular box. Top shelf, she saw it—a long plastic tray sticking out of the box. Finding a ladder, she set it up and climbed several rungs so she could reach the box.
Grissom had arrived on an earlier flight and managed to get ahead of major congestion. The first image he saw as he pulled into the garage was his wife, seven months pregnant, standing on a ladder, looking at the contents of a box. His heart almost stopped; yet, her smile and wave brought a rush of emotions and he stopped his thoughts from becoming words.
Out of the car, he said, "I'll know better than to leave you alone again." He got to the ladder before she had stepped off the bottom step with the box. He took the box, then reached for her. "I've missed you."
Sara giggled, unaware of the fright she had given him. "I needed to find something." He was kissing her, folding around her belly and bringing her into his arms.
"You feel good." He whispered. His hand caressed her, "How's little Bizzy Bee?"
"We are fine; we've missed you. Dinner's ready—are you hungry?"
"For you!" He said as he grabbed his bag and a wrapped present, all the time keeping her next to him. The box was forgotten for the time, left to sit on the garage floor.
Grissom served dinner, insisted on it, without asking why she was standing on a ladder searching inside a cardboard box. Her lasagna was his favorite meal and he knew she had taken hours to shop and cook—just for him. He talked about his trip; everyone asked about her, everyone wanted to know about her 'condition', and all promised to visit.
The wrapped box appeared near the end of the meal. "Brought you something," he said.
Sara stood to unwrap the expensive package; his hand slid underneath her shirt to her belly and he placed a cheek against her skin.
"What is this? The box is too nice for diapers!" She carefully pulled a black ribbon away. "Forum Shops—nothing is cheap there. What's the occasion?"
He shrugged. "I missed you."
She pulled tissue paper away to reveal black—a dress, sheer, diaphanous silk lined with black silk, gathered at its empire waist line, but low-cut. Carefully, she lifted it out of its box to hold it against her shoulders.
"Oh, Gil, it's beautiful." The dress fell to her knees. She smiled as she lifted the skirt. "But where will I wear it? Not to pick flowers and walk the dog."
He held up two tickets. "Concert tomorrow night in the city." He smiled. "My wife needs a night out, a date."
He hugged her, kissed her gently on her forehead, moving to her lips, as she responded. The dress was left on the back of a chair as he half-carried, walked her down the hallway to their bedroom. Her shoes were left under the table; his shirt was removed along the hallway. By the time they got to the bed, he had found that secret sweet spot behind her ear, tickling her with his beard, and her sigh was one of welcomed passion.
He could not get enough of her, the touch of her skin on his, the smell of her hair, holding her so close that his breath literally took in her exhaled air. She tasted the wine left on his lips, the warmth of his hands as he gently grazed her skin when he lifted her shirt. Pleasure, passion, his hand moved to her hip as his lips followed a trail across her chest, to her abdomen. He undressed her almost as swiftly as he had undressed himself, tossing clothes into a careless heap beside the bed. He pulled her to his chest where she heard a low, husky sound warmed by happiness and kissed her with an urgency that made her moan. She took his fingers, kissing each one, teasing with her tongue and teeth. He rolled onto his back and wrapped her into his arms so she was held snuggly against his hips.
Sara kissed his throat, his neck, touching him with her tongue, tasting his skin. She could feel him against her thigh, desire apparent. His hands slid from her hips to trace the sacred pleasure point where she ached with need; her lower body tightened at his touch and she moved with his hand. Some indistinguishable words were said as they came together; she gasped as waves of pleasure rippled through her.