TWO WEEKS AGO
Nick leaned over with a magnifying glass, and using tweezers, carefully pulled a fiber off the clothes under it.
"Nick," Grissom said.
He froze. Unfortunately, in the last month he had become all too familiar with the various levels of 'Grissom's patience is thinning' tones. This was an 'on the verge of yelling' tone – a very uncommon tone that he and Greg had managed to elicit twice in the last week alone. Well, not them exactly. Their stalker. He seemed to be putting as much effort in getting them in trouble as keeping them awake with his non-stop calls.
"Yeah?" Nick kept working.
"We need to talk about the evidence you collected from the suicide-homicide in Green Valley."
"What about it?"
"Your finger prints are all over the gun."
Nick stood up, closing his eyes. Nick turned to Grissom, telling him, "Grissom, I swear to you I wore gloves. I even put them on in front of Catherine and showed her, just like you told me to."
"Yes. She said the same thing. So how did your finger prints get all over the evidence?"
'Because my psychotic stalker wants you to believe I'm incompetent?' Nick let out a soft breath. He couldn't tell Grissom that, so he was going to have to play his defensive card and hope it worked. Again. Nick dropped what was in his hands on the table and held them out.
"Here. Do a GSR test."
"I don't--"
"I think you do!" Nick snapped. "I am not doing this, Grissom, and before you even ask, again, I don't know who is! But I'm sure I can come up with a few years worth of suspects."
Grissom looked at the gun, then Nick. "I can't keep finding excuses for you and Greg, Nick. Go help Catherine find more evidence to prosecute the shooter, and this time, double glove."
Grissom left. Nick put his hands on his hip, turning in a slow circle. He wanted to scream. He wanted to find this guy and beat him into a pulp. He was ruining his life and career and without his job...
Nick inhaled a slow breath, let it out, and went back to work.
Greg sat in front of his open locker, staring into it. He wasn't really staring at anything and his mind was miles away. He looked up when Catherine came in and then turned away, reaching inside for his gun box. She glanced at him; he saw it out of the corner of his eyes.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Yeah."
Greg froze when his cell phone started ringing. It sat on the bench next to him, and he slowly looked down at the device. He didn't recognize the number, which meant the stalker was calling to tell him the time again.
"Aren't you going to get that?"
"What time is it?" Greg asked.
She glanced at her watch. "Two fourteen."
Greg stared at his phone.
"Greg, aren't you going to answer that?"
He shook his head. "No. He'll leave a message." He didn't hear himself add in a darker voice, "Bastard always leaves the same message every day."
"Greg."
The phone stopped ringing. He looked up at her.
"Yeah?"
"Who always leaves the same message every day?"
"What?"
"You said that the bastard always leaves the same message every day. Who are you talking about?"
Greg stared at her, trying to think up a really good lie. "Credit card collector. I got behind on a bill."
"They're persistent, aren't they?" She finished putting her things away and closed her locker.
Greg's phone happily beeped, letting him know of the awaiting voice mail. It didn't care that it was delivering a nightmare every day, twice a day on days he only worked one shift. All night if he worked a double or had been sent home early for something his stalker had done.
"Yeah," Greg said, "They are."
Catherine sat down next to him. She smiled, laying her hand on his shoulder.
"Greg, you know you can talk to me, right? You know if you had something you needed to get off your chest, I'd listen."
He nodded.
"Do you want to get a cup of coffee and talk about whatever is bothering you?"
Greg looked into her eyes. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to unload everything that was happening to him and Nick. He wanted to beg her to help them find this guy before he found them. But in order to protect those they cared about from his lunacy, they had agreed not to tell anyone until they had a positive I.D.
When he told her, "Maybe later," Greg could see the disappointment his answer gave her. He knew she wanted to help him because when she'd found a couple photographs, they had mysteriously disappeared before he could record them. He didn't like her taking that risk, but he was grateful.
"Well, let me know if you change your mind. You know how to get a hold of me."
Greg looked down. His phone started ringing again. She picked it up, holding it out to him.
"Whoever this is, you should probably stop ignoring them."
He thought to himself, 'He'll just keep calling even if I answer it.'
She sat it on his leg, standing up. "Good night, Greg. See you tomorrow."
"Night."
Longingly, he watched her walk away.
