Sloane Mansion
August 28, 2007, 1:02 PM
Sara walked through the door and Brass took the warrant.
"Thanks, kid. Actually, Sloane let us start without the warrant."
"Oh…kay," she blew out a quick breath and took another one, then moved her head until her left ear touched her shoulder and then treated the other side to the same treatment.
"Tired, huh?"
"I guess so. It's the first double I've pulled since I've been back."
"Slacker."
Sara smiled. "Thanks. Not just for now but, well, for taking care of Gris. I know you did and, I'm grateful."
"Hey, he was there for me, many times. I wasn't glad to have to be able to return the favor, especially since I'm kind of fond of you myself and would have loved to sit down for a good long blubber, but…he's a good guy. And he needed hope. And, who else would he go to for a bit of sunshine and happiness?"
"Only you," she said, with that same soft smile before she pointed upstairs, "Which room?"
"Third door, staircase to the right."
"Gotcha."
Sara found Grissom on the floor of Angie's room, combing her carpet for evidence. The room was spacious, airy, ultra-feminine, and somewhat juvenile.
He lifted his head, looked at her and gave an audible sigh of relief. "You're back."
"Yeah. I got the warrant."
"Um, yeah. I meant to call you and tell you they delivered it to the lab, but things got out of hand here."
"It's all right. How, exactly, did they get out of hand?"
"Well, Angie admits to hitting Mark—but says she didn't kill him. Once that was out of her mouth, they took her into another room and insisted that any further questioning be done with a lawyer present."
"Well, I guess that's a smart move."
"It is. But we weren't really interrogating her. She pretty much volunteered the information. Sloane and his lawyers are having some summit down there now, though."
"Anything else I should know about before I get my kit?"
"She said that Mark killed 'Tommy'—who Sloane says is an imaginary boyfriend. Angie seems to be stuck in her teenaged years so be on the lookout for a diary or something of that nature."
Sara pulled on a pair of gloves and started to process the room. Grissom was on the other side continuing his work.
"It's like stepping into a time capsule," Sara said.
"I guess it provides some comfort. She lost control over the rest of her life…so, she surrounds herself with the familiar. And, yet, she's moved on in her taste for some creature comforts," he said, nodding toward the large plasma television mounted to the wall and the sophisticated computer setup.
For a few hours they bagged and tagged evidence, paying attention to the small details before addressing the largest project in the room.
Grissom finally stood up. "New carpeting," he said, and Sara nodded. She had smelled it the minute she walked in the room.
He went to a corner and moved aside a large potted fern. Then he took the edge of the carpet and tore it away from the staple board underneath.
When he had enough of the rug moved aside, Sara sprayed the surface of the hardwood floors underneath with luminol. In a minute, the tell-tale signs of blood emerged.
"This," Grissom nodded toward the door, "is not going to be pretty."
Sloane Mansion,5: 22 PM
The next few hours were spent in a whirlwind of meetings between Sloane and his lawyers, Brass on cell phone conversations with mental health professionals and advocates for the disabled, and the arrival of more CSIs. All the furniture in Angie's room was moved aside and a large patch near the foot of her bed showed the presence of blood on, in and around the floorboards. Samples were taken and sent to DNA.
When Grissom and Sara finally came down the stairs, Brass was just snapping his cell phone shut.
He puffed out his lips and let out a loud breath of air. "After pulling a lot of strings, we're going to do Angie's questioning here. I'm just waiting for a few advocates to show up. Sloane's lawyer, of course, will be there and, as Angie's legal guardian—Sloane will be present but not allowed to speak with her beforehand or try and influence her."
"Good luck with that."
"Well, we do have some pull there. Technically, Angie has never been declared incompetent in any way. So, we could use the argument that we are doing him a favor letting him sit in."
Brass looked uncomfortable.
"What else, Jim?" Grissom asked.
"I'm debating whether I should ask you to step aside or discuss this with both of you."
It was Sara's turn to be uncomfortable.
"Okay. Here's the deal," Brass said, obviously making up his mind to discuss it with both of them. "Sloane is a big shot in this town. And he has big bucks to back it all up. When push comes to shove, if Angie offed the UPS guy, he's going to do anything in his power to get her off, and that might mean playing dirty. So, while I'm not telling you to step aside, I think you need to get someone else in here as lead investigator."
"Why?" Sara asked.
"Because both of you have just been very personally involved in a case involving a deranged, mentally ill woman and you could be seen as biased against the mentally challenged."
"That's ridiculous, Brass. We're trained professionals. We deal with this all the time," Sara said.
"We're not talking all the time. We're talking a little more than a month ago. And we're also talking about a very rich, powerful man. You don't want your names splattered all over the press over this, do you?"
"I'll call Catherine," Grissom said, already reaching for his cell phone.
"So, what? We just sit on our hands and keep quiet?" Sara asked.
"You investigate and hand over your findings to Catherine."
Sara pressed her lips together, but said nothing. Grissom got off the phone and nodded briefly to Brass. "She'll be here in about an hour. Sara…"
"I'm staying."
"Is that a good idea?" he asked, no longer caring that they were not alone.
"Well, you tell me," she said, her patience finally wearing out. "Am I still a good CSI, or have I been damaged beyond reparation? Because if that's the case, I really should just quit and take up knitting or something to fill up my time while I wait for you to come home each morning."
Grissom finally seemed aware of Brass' presence and so did Sara. She looked down and Brass excused himself and walked off.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It's…"
"It's fine" Grissom said. "You're right. I just, if you feel uncomfortable, don't try to be superwoman, just leave the room."
"Okay. Same thing goes for you," she said, smiling.
He gave her a smirk in return. Crisis averted.
Dining room, Sloane mansion
7 PM
"I hope you didn't touch my cassette player," Angie said, staring at Sara.
"Your player is fine, Angie," Sara said.
"Good. I don't want to have to lose Tommy again."
Grissom sat there and tried to keep in poker face mode. From the time they entered the room, Angie's attention had fluctuated between Sara and Catherine. He thought of what it might be doing to Sara. He knew what it was doing to him. If anyone else became overly focused on Sara…
"Tell me about Tommy, Angie," Sara said. She seemed cool and collected.
"Tommy doesn't exist," Sloane said, under his breath.
"Mr. Sloane. Please. Just let Angie talk," Brass said. Sloane's lawyer whispered something to him and he calmed down.
"Tommy is my boyfriend. I told you that."
"When did you meet Tommy?" Catherine took over the questioning.
"In school. After I left, I'd see him outside on the grounds. I'd go to the window and invite him in."
"And did he come in?"
"Oh, yes."
"Does he still come in?"
"No. He doesn't have to. He lives here forever."
"Where? I thought your grandfather and Lucille were the only ones who lived here."
"That's because he only comes out at night. We dance. Round and round the room. And he brings me flowers and candy and jewelry. And then, well," she leaned forward, "we go to sleep. But we shouldn't since we're not married but we are married in our hearts. That has to count, right?"
Brass interrupted. "Where does he stay during the day?"
"In the cassette player. That's why I got so mad at the delivery guy. I had to give him a couple of whacks to remind him to not get so close to other people's stuff next time and drop them off the table."
"Is that what he did?"
"I just told you that, didn't I? Yes. He came to my room to get a package. He was bending over to pick it up and knocked over a small table that had the cassette player on it. I picked it up and tried to play my song, but it was broken. I got so mad, I just started grabbing him."
"And then what?"
"Enough!" Sloane yelled. "Angie, I'll finish the story."
"No, I want to…"
"Angie…"
"Mr. Sloane, we aren't through with our questioning," Catherine said.
"Yes, you are. I will not have you badger her. I did it. What she told you is the truth. I heard her screaming, I ran into the room and saw the delivery boy with his hands on my granddaughter, and she was yelling and seemed to struggle. I just…took a letter opener from Angie's desk and started stabbing him. I didn't even stop to think what I had done until he was dead."
Sara watched Angie's face. She seemed confused.
"Angie," Sara said gently. "Is that what happened?"
Mr. Sloane looked at his granddaughter intently. Suddenly, in spite of the silver streaks and fine lines around her eyes, she looked like a three year old.
"Big Daddy doesn't lie," she said and then said nothing more.
Morgue, Las Vegas Crime Lab
August 29, 2007, 3 AM
Grissom was pouring himself a cup of what Doc Robbins laughingly referred to as coffee, while the man himself was sitting and reviewing the autopsy findings of Mark Menoit.
"Well, Sloane certainly didn't do it the way he claims," Doc Robbins confirmed, without much fanfare.
"No letter opener?"
"Those stab wounds are from a much larger, sharper knife."
"That's all I wanted to know. We're going to get a warrant in the morning for the whole house. And grounds."
"Grounds?"
"Sara looked through old yearbooks found in Angie's room. There were three Toms in there. Two were easily located. She found one who disappeared in 1987, the year Angie left school, who has never been found. When we first questioned her, she said something about Tommy "finally" being gone now. So…we're going to look into all possibilities. Actually, we're going to sit this one out and watch as everyone else does the leg work."
"You and Sara. The Number 1 and...Number 1 workaholics of Clark County? Really?" Doc Robbins clutched his chest in mock horror.
"We're playing politics. And, frankly, it's Sara's first week back and she's more tired than even she realizes. And so am I. I'm more than happy to let everyone else take over. We'll compare notes when we come in this evening, but—for now, we're going home."
Robbins shook his head in amusement. "I never thought I'd see the day."
"These compromises have been surprisingly easy," he shrugged.
"The times, they are a changing" the older gentleman said. Grissom grunted his agreement, thanked the coroner, and then dumped his coffee and left.
As he was leaving, he heard Doc Robbins chuckle. By the time Grissom reached the exit, he started chuckling himself.
Grissom and Sara's Townhouse
5 AM
She was whimpering in her sleep again. Grissom woke up and turned to her, rubbing her back softly as he whispered her name.
"It's all right, "he said, over and over again, until he knew she was awake. She lay there for a few more moments before turning to him.
"Hey," she said softly, putting her hand to his cheek and rubbing his face as softly as he rubbed her back.
"Don't be sad."
"I'm not," he lied, hating to see the aftereffects of Sara's abduction. He leaned forward and gave her a soft kiss. "Nightmare?"
She sighed and kissed him back. "Nothing tangible. Just…feelings. Shadows." She shrugged her shoulders and looked around. "Where's Bruno?"
"You're worried about the dog? Now?"
She loved Grissom in mock-jealous mode. "No, I'm just worried he might be interrupting us, wanting his own shot at slobbering."
"We're hardly slobbering, although it could be arranged."
She locked her fingers behind his neck and drew him closer. "No. I like this type of kissing, too," she said.
"But, we're barely doing anything," he said, smacking his lips against hers again.
"I like it. I like the way we sound together."
His lips curved up in a smile, "Way back in the Stone Age, when I was a teenager, and you were probably…in Pampers, I kissed my first girlfriend. I used to be embarrassed by the noises lips make during a kiss. I thought…where were those squeaky, slurpy sounds in the movies?"
Sara laughed and burrowed her face against his neck. "You have such an adorable side to you, sometimes. Don't get freaked out, or anything, but, occasionally, the idea of hiding here with you forever is pretty appealing."
"It's very appealing. Especially now. But it's not a healthy, normal existence. If your whole life becomes just one portion magnified, it's not very challenging, is it? And the importance of everyday details can get so blown out of proportion, they become potential motives for murder."
She looked up. "Way to kill the romance, Gris."
"Sorry," he said, running his hands up and down her upper arms.
"It's okay," she said, lightly kissing his neck.
He knew she was teasing him, but he also knew she was not only trying to be romantic, but also confessing her desire to withdraw from the world a little. His timing at bringing the case into the conversation…sucked. While he was thinking of a way to steer the conversation back, he noticed a change in her breathing.
It would have to wait until tomorrow. Sara had fallen asleep.
End of Part 4