Shadow Play

Chapter 4

The large table that occupied the middle of the layout room was awash in crime scene photographs as the six members of the graveyard shift sat around it, listening intently to the preliminary autopsy report. Two of the rooms walls had been decorated with large sheets of paper, each one dedicated to a murder; the back wall detailing the Victorian victims whilst the front was devoted to the more recent Vegas killings.

"The official cause of death is blunt force trauma to the side of the head." Glancing over the top of his glasses, Doctor Albert Robbins surveyed his audience. "The killer knew what he was doing; a tap to that particular spot is more than enough to turn someone's lights out, a full hard swing, which is what this was, and she was dead before she hit the ground."

"Thank God for that." Nick commented as he looked down at the photos in front of him. "I don't think anyone would want to be alive while someone carved into their stomach like that."

"Actually, the throat slashing came next." Robbins looked back down at the file he held. "Two very deep, very deliberate cuts; both the carotid artery and the jugular vein were completely transected. The abdominal wounds were last."

"But it was the BFT that killed her?" Grissom asked as he scribbled quickly on the notepad in front of him.

"Definitely." Robbins affirmed. "She would have been dead before the knife came anywhere near her."

"How... similar would you say the injuries are between the original victim and this one?" Catherine asked.

"Well, for obvious reasons we don't have photographs from the original autopsy for direct comparison but, going by the reports and descriptions I've read, I'd be prepared to say that they're very close; I think it's safe to say that there are no coincidences at work here."

"All three of our victims mirror their Victorian counterparts closely." Grissom spoke up. "The only real variation we're seeing is the head trauma; at a guess, he lures them somewhere quiet, gets behind them and then let's fly with whatever it is that he's using."

Robbins nodded his agreement. "At this point we don't a clue as to what that is." Gesturing towards a photograph of the exposed skull, he ran his finger around the edge of a bloody impression in the bone. "I've got David preparing the skull now so hopefully we'll be able to get a mould made from that."

Warrick shifted his attention from the photographs to the poster-size write-up of the original crime. "So, we really do have a Jack the Ripper wannabe?"

Grissom opened his mouth to answer but was beaten to the punch by Greg.

"Actually, it's the Whitechapel Murders that seem to be the inspiration not just The Ripper." Suddenly realizing that he'd jumped in ahead of his boss, he cast a nervous glance at Grissom. "After listening to you explain your theory this morning, I stopped at a store on the way home and picked up a couple of books."

"That's good, Greg; I'm impressed." Giving the younger man an encouraging smile, Grissom gestured towards the rest of the team. "You want to explain the difference?"

"The Whitechapel Murders were a series of eleven homicides that occurred in London's East End between April 1888 and February 1891." Reaching hurriedly into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a small notebook and flipped it open. "Evidence suggests that the first 'Whitechapel' victim was actually attacked by three men and the police at the time thought the second one was murdered by a soldier then on the final day of August 1888, Mary Ann Kelly was found dead in a back street. She was the first of what is now known as the 'canonical five'; the five victims that, it's universally agreed were killed by Jack the Ripper."

"Sorry I'm late." Entering the room, Jim Brass scanned the area for an empty chair and seeing none, leaned awkwardly against the edge of the table. "I got caught up over at PD."

"Take my seat, Jim; I should be getting back." Grabbing his crutches, Robbins carefully got to his feet. "I'll let you know as soon as that skull's ready to be worked on."

"Thanks Al." Grissom replied as Brass settled himself in the newly-vacant seat.

"Okay, we've got an ID on our victim." Pulling his notebook from his jacket pocket, he opened it up and began to read. "Vanessa Renner, age 43, moved here from Philly about six months ago. She'd been picked up a couple of times for solicitation, the most recent four weeks back but that's all we could find. I've got her last known address so, hopefully, we'll have more on her shortly."

"Should have stayed in Philadelphia." Catherine commented, her eyes locked on the photograph of Renner. She frowned slightly then turned towards Grissom. "All of the Ripper's victims were prostitutes, correct?"

"That's right." He confirmed.

"And our first three were so it stands to reason that the rest will be." She looked from Grissom to Brass. "Maybe we could warn them; I mean, if this killer is set on copying the Ripper murders then at least we know when he's going to strike. We could let them know the dates and suggest that they keep off the streets on those particular nights."

"How about a curfew? No prostitutes on the streets between dusk and dawn." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Jim's voice. "If I'm not mistaken local government's been trying to make that happen for as long as there's been a Vegas."

Catherine bridled at his tome. "But if they know what's out there... "

"Oh they know, Catherine." Realizing he'd angered her, he tried to soften his words with a smile. "They're all aware of the risks but most of the girls have kids to feed or a pimp on their back or both and they can't afford to take a night off just because we tell them it's not safe." He shrugged, helplessly. "We'd never be able to convince them that we're doing it in their best interests anyway; you know what they think of the cops around here."

"Actually, there may be a way of getting the word out via someone else, someone they trust." Grissom quickly jotted himself a note. "Just let me check a few things first and then we'll see if we can set something up."

They all started at the unexpected ringing of a cell phone and Grissom quickly fumbled through his pockets before extracting the offending instrument. He gave them an apologetic smile as he flipped it open.

"Grissom." There was silence in the room as he listened to his caller. "Can you hold on for a moment, Rachel; I can't talk here."

Sara and Jim's eyes met across the table as both recognized the name.

With one hand clamped over the phone's mouthpiece, Grissom got to his feet. "Greg, since you've been studying up on the history of this thing, how about giving everyone else a refresher course while I'm gone? Let them know what we could be facing."

"Sure, I can do that." Pleased at the recognition, Greg hurried around the table to the front of the room.

"I shouldn't be long." Grissom announced as he headed for the corridor, the cell phone rising back up to his ear as soon as he cleared the doorway. Eyebrows rose in interest as they all watched him head along the corridor towards his office.

"Think that's his new girlfriend?" Nick asked as they heard the unmistakable sound of a closing door further up the hallway.

"I don't think so, Nick." Catherine commented as she turned her attention back to the room. "If he does have a girlfriend, she's not about to phone him here. You know what Grissom's like; there's work and then there's private and never the twain shall meet."

"Hey, come on." The Texan pleaded his case. "He's seeing someone; it's been pretty obvious for a while now."

Watching from his seat across the table, Brass saw Sara shift slightly in her seat, obviously uncomfortable at the way the conversation was heading. Pretending to glance down at his watch, he did his best to change the subject.

"Can we get on with this please? It's going to be a long enough night as it is without spending half of it listening to you lot speculating on Grissom's love life."

"Hey, it's not like we do it all the time." Warrick jumped to his colleague's defense. "Griss plays his cards pretty close to his chest; it's not often we get a chance to gossip about the man."

"Well don't think you're doing it now." Sitting up straighter, Jim tried to look stern. "I don't know about the rest of you but some of us have work to do tonight."

"Jim's right." Sara smiled across at Greg who was waiting patiently at the front of the room. "Come on guys, Greg's waiting to get started."

"Thank you." With a nod of appreciation for both Sara and Jim, Greg gestured towards one of the large pin-ups. He was about to speak when Grissom appeared in the doorway.

"Sorry." Gil shot the younger man an apologetic smile before addressing Brass. "Jim, I need to see you in my office." Turning quickly, he didn't wait for a reply.

Standing up, Brass shrugged. "Carry on Greg; I'll catch up when I get back."

Greg sighed heavily as another member of his audience exited the room. "At the rate things are going there won't be much to catch up on."

"So what's your guess now, Nick?" Warrick piped up. "Ménage à trios?"

"Oh, now there's a picture I didn't need to see." Catherine commented dryly as Nick laughed at his friend's suggestion.

Sara shook her head in exasperation and let the talk wash over her. Keeping her relationship with Grissom quiet had been a struggle but it was at times like this when she was glad that none of their colleagues knew. The suggestive jibes currently flying around were bad enough; she could only imagine what it would be like if the truth came out.

Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to find Greg studying her, his expression sympathetic as he returned her weak smile. Then, after shooting her a reassuring wink, he picked up a pen and tapped it smartly against the closest of the large posters as he cleared his throat to gain his colleagues attention.

"Okay guys; let's meet Ripper victim number four."

Exhaling a breath she hadn't been aware of holding, Sara knew then that Jim's earlier speculation abut Greg had been correct: someone at the lab did know her secret.

Snapping his cell phone closed, Grissom tossed it carelessly onto his desk before heading to the small refrigerator and pulling out two bottles of water. He held one out to Brass as he casually leaned against the side of the desk.

"That was Rachel Adams."

"Yeah, I got that much." Brass told him as he cracked open the bottle. "I take it there's a problem."

"You could say that." Gil confirmed. "She got a copy of the court file a couple of hours ago; it seems Ellie lodged a domestic violence statement against me when she filed the claim."

"She what?" Brass frowned, confused. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that the court is prohibited from giving out any information that could identify where Ellie and the child are living; in fact, Rachel can't get any information about them at all."

"Well..." Jim began. "That shouldn't be too big a problem; she has to be around here somewhere so I'll just run a check on her when I get back to the office. I don't know why I didn't think of it before; a nice, friendly visit from dear old dad might be all that's needed to get Ellie to stop this rubbish once and for all."

"That's not going to be an option, Jim." Gil winced as he prepared to pass on the rest of the solicitor's news. "While she was at the court, one of the clerks tipped Rachel off about something else; apparently an application was lodged late this afternoon asking for restraining orders against both of us."

"You're joking."

"Believe me" Grissom assured him. "That is definitely something I wouldn't joke about."

Jim stared blankly at the array of framed insects that decorated the back wall as he processed the news. Finally, his gaze returned to Grissom. "This is getting ridiculous; what the hell does she think she's playing at?"

Grissom shrugged. "She's asking for no-contact orders so, even if we did know where she was it wouldn't do us any good."

Jim gave it some thought. "The applications haven't gone through yet?"

"No, according to Rachel they'll probably go before a judge sometime Monday morning; we'll probably be served with them that afternoon."

"But until then, there's nothing to stop me running that check." Jim clenched his teeth against the that he felt building. "In fact, there's absolutely nothing to stop me finding her and then going around there and- "

"And playing straight into her hands." Grissom finished for him. "Ellie's doing enough damage all by herself, Jim; we don't need you helping her out."

"So, I just let her hit us with this?" Brass asked plaintively. "I'm a police officer for God's sake; how is this going to look to everyone in the department?"

"Hopefully, they won't have to know" Grissom told him. "I thought you and I could meet with Burdick and let him know what's going on; with some luck, we'll still be able to keep a lid on this thing."

"Yeah, maybe." Jim took a deep breath. "So, I guess that means the child does actually exist after all then?"

"I don't think there's any doubt." Gil stated. "Things wouldn't have come this if he'd just been a figment of Ellie's imagination; Caleb exists all right and she is obviously his mother."

Brass sighed heavily. "So what do we do now?"

"The original plan still stands." Gil told him. "On Monday morning, Rachel will file an appeal with the Family Court based on the fraudulent signatures; she's lined up a handwriting analyst who's willing to do a comparison over the weekend so there shouldn't be any trouble getting the judge to put a hold on the case pending DNA testing." He shrugged. "After that, the burden of proof is all on Ellie."

"Why would she pin this on you though?" Brass was genuinely puzzled. "It's not like any of us rakes in a fortune working for the city."

"I have other avenues of income though, remember; courses, seminars, the occasional book royalty." Gil counted them off on his fingers. "Not that Ellie would have known that at the time but I'm sure it was a nice little bonus for her when she found out." He shrugged his shoulders. "Why, I can't really tell you but how I can guess at. Around about the time you were in the hospital, my wallet went missing. I just assumed I'd mislaid it round the house somewhere and didn't really worry when it didn't turn up; I replaced my cards and license and never gave it another thought but I guess now we know where it went. Ellie must have lifted it one of the times I dropped her off at her motel."

"Which would have given her access to a lot of your personal information; everything she needed to get the ball rolling with his claim." Jim thought for a minute. "I want to help you out with this, Gil; legal fees, paying for the testing, hell, I'll quite happily get up in court and testify on your behalf if that's what it takes."

"I appreciate it, Jim, I really do but how about we wait and see what Monday brings? If everything goes according to plan we could be the ones serving Ellie with papers before the end of the week; if she complies with the DNA order it could all be wrapped up in a matter of weeks."

"And if she doesn't?"

"As long as we get a freeze put on that support order, it actually doesn't matter if she does or not; she won't be getting anything without scientific proof that I am Caleb's father."

After taking a mouthful of water, Jim allowed himself a slight chuckle as he looked across at Grissom incredulously. "You know, I think it's just sunk in – I have a grandson."

"I would say I'm happy for you but under the circumstances..."

"Yeah, of course." Brass instantly sobered. "How's Sara taking it?"

"We haven't really had a chance to discuss it." Gil told him. "I'm just glad that she knows me well enough not to believe that any of this is true." Finishing the last of his drink, Grissom toss the empty bottle in the waste bin as he headed for the door. "Sara and I made a decision when we started this relationship that children would never play a part in it and the last thing we need is a kid coming between us; especially when it belongs to somebody else."

Stunned by both the unexpected statement and the vehement tone with which it was delivered, Jim could only stare after his friend as Grissom pulled the door open and headed off down the corridor.

Making the short journey from his office to the layout room, Grissom allowed himself a small smile as the familiar figure of David Hodges heading along the hallway from reception.

"Evening, David." He greeted the approaching man pleasantly, their earlier phone conversation all but forgotten.

"If you say so." The brusque tone and sullen glare Hodges shot him brought Grissom to a halt as the lab tech brushed by him and turned into the locker room.

Catching up with his friend, Jim's eyebrows rose as the locker room door was slammed shut. "Well someone's in a mood."

"He's been like that for weeks now." Grissom admitted. "I'm going to have to do something about it, if he keeps this up much longer it's going to start affecting his work."

"Better you than me." Jim glanced at his watch. "Okay, let's get this briefing wrapped up and maybe we can get some real work done."

Greg was still speaking as they entered the room and both men quietly took their seats as he finished up.

"Any questions?" The young criminalist asked, looking hopefully at his colleagues but Catherine was the only one to speak.

"Do we really think our killer will stop with the last of the canon victims?"

He was about to reply when Grissom got to his feet. "I've got this one, Greg; thank you." He waited for the young man to sit down again before answering the query.

"The killings in Vegas began with the first of the Whitechapel murders so logic dictates that he's probably going to try and emulate all of them; there is, however, one thing that may get in his way: next year is a leap year and that throws the dates off and for someone who apparently likes his crimes to be a carbon copy of the original that might just be enough to stop him in his tracks."

"So, how many murders would we be looking at if he does call it quits because of that?" Warrick asked.

"Eight." Grissom admitted. "But we have no guarantee of that of course; he may disregard history all together and decide to go his own way or we might just get lucky and catch him before this whole thing gets too far out of hand."

"Let's hope so." Catherine remarked as she looked, once again, at the victim's photos. "How do you plan on working this?"

"At first glance, we've got next to nothing to go on but I refuse to believe that we've got three murders and no evidence which is why we're going to go over all three of them again."

Reading from his notepad, Grissom started handing out assignments.

"Sara and Greg, I want you to go over everything from last night's scene again. I want anything you find, no matter how innocuous it seems, to be sent for testing." He looked on as both nodded their understanding. "We've got some of the best lab techs in the country working right here so make use of them."

Turning slightly in his chair, he address Nick and Warrick. "I want you two to do the same with the earlier cases; everything needs to be rechecked."

"Got it, boss." Warrick reached over and took the two case files that Grissom held out to him.

"We also need to look into the backgrounds of all three victims to see if there's a link that we're missing: same pimp, problem client, they all lived in the same apartment block, whatever; we need complete rundowns on all of them. Cath, I thought and Jim could handle that part."

Catherine nodded her assent. "And what about tonight's cases?"

"Hopefully, there won't be any." Grissom scanned his checklist to ensure he hadn't missed anything. "If anything urgent comes up we'll deal with it but everything else will get shunted onto Days. We've got a week before this guy is due to kill again so as far as I'm concerned, this case takes priority."

With his back to the door, Grissom was unaware of the approaching figure but almost everyone else in the room saw it and curious looks were exchanged as its destination became clear. It was only hearing a gasp from Sara that caused him to look up but his view of her was almost instantly obscured as a very large blue teddy bear was carefully placed on the table in front of him.

"Good evening, Gil." The unmistakable voice of Conrad Ecklie seemed unnaturally loud in the now silent room. "I understand congratulations are in order."

TBC