"So you weren't told to check it out?" Ortega asked.
"I'm CSI 3 – I know what to do on a crime scene." Warrick replied tiredly. This was the second time he had to retell the story and Ortega's fingers still tapped impatiently at the worn surface of the table between them.
"I went in there and Officer Henderson followed, while the rest of the officers, Brass, Michaels and Orlovski radioed in for more help because of the escort situation at hand. I checked the street for shells but couldn't see any but I noticed the dumpster being overfilled and decided to check it out. If in a haste perps throw things and hope they can come get it later, no one in their sound mind goes through a dumpster that stinks like it's infested with the black plague. Henderson started lifting the sacks by the side and I told him to leave everything as it was, in fact I had to tell him three times. The man was constantly yapping about the neighborhood and the hoodlums that needed the chair for polluting the city. I photographed; beginning from the main crime scene and wandering inside. I noticed something reflecting in the flashlight and it seemed metallic, right behind a plastic sack so I photographed and then removed the bag and investigated up close. My head was pretty far inside the litter so I did not have peripheral vision all the time, I needed to leave the possible evidence as undisturbed as possible. Henderson had stopped his endless litany by then and was just muttering. That's when I heard a heavy thumping sound and I told Henderson again to leave the bags alone. The man was constantly lifting them and checking. I got no answer so I rose to see what he was up to and that's when I saw him lying on the other side of the dumpster. I took one step closer and saw that he had been shot point blank in the face and in that exact moment the perp was right behind me, asking me where his stash was."
Warrick felt sweat forming on his brow, the next part was hard. He tried to suppress the image of Nick lying in a pool of blood but that was the most vivid memory he had of the entire incident. The rest was sketchy and he was probably leaving details out. He just wasn't able to recall everything.
"I found myself staring into a Magnum 375 with something that looked like a high-class silencer. Not the thing you expect to find in the hands of a doped up punk that looked like he was about to keel over any time. He was trembling all over but his hand was still and he held the barrel pointed right between my eyes. I didn't really look too closely at his face but I noticed the pinprick pupils, the cold sweat and the shivers and I knew the man was high on a heavy cocktail."
"You deduced that only by looking?" Ortega smirked.
"I deduced as much from the victim's behavior," Warrick continued, shooting Ortega an annoyed glance. "I was looking right into the barrel of a Magnum that was so close I could smell the oil used to clean it. Then I heard Nick yell: 'Drop that gun, lose it' or something to that effect. I can't remember the exact words he used because I saw the perp's finger shiver over the trigger and then he turned and shot. There was no sound at all and he shot once almost simultaneously getting hit in the chest and falling backwards. I think Nick got him right in the heart because he went down like a Douglas fir. I remember the gun falling and skidding over to stop at Henderson's feet. I turned and – and then I saw that Nick was badly hit and bleeding heavily. Officers were all over the place by then, calling for more back-up I think. I didn't hear much at that point. I can't recall anything but sitting with Nick, I remember checking for a pulse and watching him almost bleed dry."
He had to swallow. "I can't remember much after that."
"Well, you say the perp shot once. What I can't understand the is the bullet in the tile wall and the second one the surgeons at Palms dug out of Stokes."
Warrick's head jerked up and he stared dumbfounded at Ortega.
"What I have enormous difficulties in comprehending is that the shot had to have been fired from further down the alley to end up in the angle it was found. And that no one on the scene saw this shooter. Nor can I comprehend that the caliber was what LVPD uses. It gets even more odd as the China white and the unidentified pills were missing from the car as it reached the lab, what was found was a bag of baking flour instead. Driving around with a bag of baking flour is not a crime in this jurisdiction. And how did the tow-truck end up making the voyage without escort and via the impounding lot instead of straight to the lab? What I have even more trouble understanding is that CSI 3, Warrick Brown, watched his partner being shot and never even unholstered his own gun. Or that CSI 3 Nicholas Stokes walked into an alley without checking the status of the crime scene with an officer in situ.
"Hold on a minute," Warrick lifted his hand, "lay it out for me again because I fell off the curb after the 'second shot' comment. I know Nick's mother mentioned it but I thought she had gotten it wrong somehow, the shock and all."
He looked at Ortega, all business but what he was hearing sounded like the tale of a prep boy trying to impress a player. It was simply too out there to be true.
Ortega leaned back and his face was momentarily obscured as the light from the low hanging lamp in the small precinct room they had arrived at over half an hour ago painted a sharp line of contrast between light and darkness on the man's sardonic smile. Then he came back into the light, pinning Warrick to his seat with sharp eyes that registered every emotion in the room.
"CSI Stokes was shot twice and a third round was fired at him on the scene, the bullet was dug out from the wall. The angle indicates a shooter at the back of the alley."
"And it was a department issued caliber?"
"Yes."
Warrick looked over at Brass flanking him while gripping a coffee mug and seeming about to explode himself. "Is he saying that someone took a deliberate shot at Nick? Someone from the force?"
"What I am saying is that there had to have been another officer on scene, further down the alley or these shots would not have been possible. That or it was you that fired, CSI Brown? Maybe in self-defense? Or to stop CSI Stokes picking up on something he wasn't supposed to?"
"Now hold on there Ortega," Brass interrupted, "if you're jumping the gun I'm getting Warrick a lawyer so fast your badge will flap. What's the deal here? You accusing Warrick of something? I told you I want a full investigation on how the tow-truck got mixed orders but I can guarantee you those orders did not stem from either Brown or Stokes. I was with Stokes when he made the call and dispatch has the copy and Brown was - "
"With Henderson in the alley at that time, I know," Ortega made an impatient gesture to stop Brass, as if he were totally disinterested in hearing the detective.
"I just find it odd that he has a self-professed 'sketchy' recollection of the incident. Want to hear my theory? Brown was in on it, his partner just happened to walk in at the wrong time. With his private gun, a gun he got rid f in the commotion. Maybe be caught Brown with the perp, spilling vital information? You might not want to remember such things."
Warrick felt a wave of red-hot rage take his breath away.
"That's because you went from the academy straight behind a desk. You've never been in a situation like this, add to that that Brown worked a double shift and saw his partner getting shot up close and personal."
"He has training."
"Nobody has training for seeing your partner get slugged in the chest," Brass growled, leaning in over the desk and having Ortega retreat slightly in his seat.
Warrick's knuckles were whitening as he struggled to keep his temper in check and not deck the man in front of him.
"Be it as it may, we need CSI Warrick's concise report of what went down in that alley and we need it asap. CSI Warrick Brown is suspended for the time being and is not to have any contact with CSI Stokes." Ortega added while gathering his papers into a binder.
"Nick's unconscious," Warrick protested through gritted teeth, "he's hovering between life and death as we speak. And you're telling me -"
"You are not to visit CSI Stokes, understand?" Ortega clarified.
Something snapped in Warrick and the odd haze he'd found himself in since Ortega spilled about the second shooter turned to an uncontrollable rage and he rose to grip Ortega's collar and pulled him up from his chair. "You can suspend me. You can kick me to the curb but you ain't telling me what to do when Nick's concerned, you hear that you twit?"
Then he let go, turned around and
marched out the door while the red fog before his eyes got thicker
and thicker. His breath came in short puffs and he had to stop at the
end of the corridor, gripping the doorway hard so as not to fall
down. He felt Brass's hand on his elbow but shook himself loose and
started for the lab, walking half blind and
shivering. Next thing
he recognized was the locker room and he stumbled inside to lean his
head up against the cool metal, banging the door with his fist over
and over again.
"Warrick!"
Brass' voice rang as a shot.
"What the hell were you thinking in there? Going off
on an IAB agent is not the best
course of action, ever."
His fist stopped hammering the door and he turned, the rage having muted into a pain radiating from his knuckles to somewhere deep in his guts.
"Am I suspected of something? Didn't hear no allegations in there, only vague insinuations. If I'm a suspect, dish it out and let me deal with it."
"Sit down," Brass ordered, "I'll fill you in on the rest. You think what you heard was bad? Wait until I paint the whole scene for you and you won't believe it. I'll go get us some coffee 'cause we're gonna need it."
Warrick slumped down on the hard bench, keeping his eye to
the floor and shaking his head in disbelief. So there was more? What
the fuck was going on and why wasn't he filled in? That was his Nick
fighting for his life and he had been on the scene, he might have
been where Nick was right now or on Doc Robbins' table and they
didn't tell
him all they knew? This was his case dammit, he
needed this case. What the fuck was really happening here?
"Warrick?"
Grissom voice had him look up. "Griss."
Grissom's voice made him look up
"How's Nicky?"
"You sure you really wanna know?" Warrick replied bitterly.
"Of course. Cath went over there but I can't call her since all cell traffic is off in the ward." Grissom lingered in the doorway.
"Still hanging on," Warrick replied, "just like he would, right?".
"You're gonna have to get you own coffee Gil, my hands are full at the moment. And your protégé here is not making my job any easier." Brass muttered as he squeezed his way past Grissom.
Grissom merely looked over the brim of his glasses at the detective.
"Now," Brass sat himself down at Warrick's side. "It's about time I give you the rundown of the events." He offered the steaming coffee mug and Warrick obliged, not entirely sure he really wanted the full story.
"What Ortega failed to inform you is that all evidence, except for the bullets that Nick provided us with, is gone. "
"Huh?" Warrick almost choked on the hot beverage at the statement.
"The SUV Nick ordered to be towed directly, and under escort, to the lab somehow ended up at the impound. Where it was promptly cleaned out. No one knows how and the security cameras had been taped or moved. Conclusion; they know what they are doing."
"How the -,"
"It doesn't stop there; dispatch received a contra-order, from Nick Stokes, we have it on tape but we can't recognize the voice, probably scrambled enough to be unrecognizable, line was very bad. But dispatch could only recognize it as an order from CSI Nick Stokes and follow it."
"From Nick?" Grissom asked, "why would he-?"
"Someone pretending to be Nick because at that time he was being wheeled to the ER, I checked the time every five seconds while waiting for the ambulance." Brass smirked.
"This really is an inside job then?" Warrick noted a tad shakily. "But why would someone take a shot at Nick?"
"Because he probably saw something he should not have," Grissom pointed out.
Warrick turned hot and cold at the same time.
Brass's cup had halted halfway to his mouth; "And that means Nick can probably identify the perp in question."
"And Nick will need protection," Grissom spoke quietly, "he might still be in danger."
"Thing is," Brass spoke laconically, "we don't know from what or who."
Warrick had gone from cold shivers to downright fear from the tale. "Maybe from someone inside the force? How the hell will we be able to protect him?"
"Got that covered," Brass interrupted, "I'll have Vega, Vartann, Curtis or me constantly sitting by the door and Gil's arranged that someone of you will always be there as extra back-up."
"I gotta get there!" Warrick rose so fast that coffee splashed over the rim of the mug.
"You're suspended," Brass pointed out.
"And under orders not to go near Nick," Grissom added.
"So arrest me," Warrick sneered and walked out of the room.
"They might!" He heard Brass call out after him but he swiftly closed the door on the two men and was out of earshot.