The First Lead
Catherine and Grissom arrived at the mortuary to find Rochelle Winters standing out front, waiting for them. She was a stout, middle aged woman, smoking a cigarette, dressed in a "Las Vegas" T-shirt and jeans, her over-bleached hair piled high atop her head.
"Can I help you?" she inquired.
"I'm Gil Grissom..."
"Catherine Willows. I'm the one that called you."
"Yeah. Sure, I remember you."
"Mrs. Winters, I know that by now you are fully aware of the events here two nights ago. Can you tell us, if you know, how he got in here in the first place?"
"He broke in, obviously," she rasped. "Since Stephen left, this place has been locked up."
"The reason I'm asking you is because when we processed this crime scene, there was no signs of forced entry at all."
"Then you guys figure it out. You're the experts."
Catherine was tired of this hostile attitude. "Look, Mrs. Winters, I don't know what side of the bed you woke up on this morning, but I don't like the attitude you're possessing with my colleague and I right now. If you don't feel like cooperating, then we'll drag you down to the police station and force you to cooperate. Are we clear?" Grissom smirked. He had to admit it; he enjoyed it when Catherine got mad.
She took a puff on her cigarette and shot an evil eye at Catherine. "Look...Miss Willows, is it?" she asked sharply. Catherine nodded. "Look, I don't know about the whole thing. I get a phone call from a detective after the fact saying that somebody had broken in here, and had probably been staying here for a while. How he got in here, I don't know."
Grissom stared at the open window behind her. "Do you always leave the windows open?"
"No, but I do leave the one in the back unlocked. Just in case I lock myself out." She turned to Catherine. "I'm always losing the keys. It drives Stephen absolutely crazy."
"Catherine, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I'm thinking we just figured out how Wallace gained access here."
"Do you really think he came through the window?" Rochelle asked, concerned.
"It's probable," Grissom told her. "Can you tell us anything that you may know about the break in?"
Rochelle shook her head. "No, I don't know anything more than what the officer has told me."
"Sorry to waste your time, Mrs. Winters. We'll be on our way," Grissom replied. With that, Grissom and Catherine left.
"Tell me you didn't just buy that hook, line and sinker," Catherine replied when they got back into the car.
"What?"
"She knows way more than she's letting on, Gil. She had no reason to be that hostile with us..."
"...Unless she was hiding something," Grissom finished. Catherine smiled, started the car and peeled out of the parking lot to the headquarters.
Meanwhile, Nick and Greg were talking in the lab room. "How's your week?" Greg inquired for the sake of some small conversation. The silence around the lab was killing him.
"Not too good," he confessed. "I've been really worried about Sara. I mean, you know how she is. God only knows what's happening to her..."
"I've been trying not to think about that," Greg told him, shaking his head.
"It's just been making me think about...you know...the box and the ants...I mean, who knows what's happening to Sara."
"Just try to be optimistic about this. We'll find her. We found you, didn't we?"
"Yeah, I guess you're right about that..." He trailed off as Catherine and Grissom walked in together.
"Greg, I need you to do some gruntwork," Grissom replied.
"That's what I live for," Greg replied. "What do you need?"
"See if you can track down Wallace's mother. Let's see if she lives in the Vegas area, and if that's the case, you and Warrick go and talk with her. Try to see what you can. See if she knows what her darling little boy has been hiding." Greg nodded and left to get to work.
"You okay, Nicky?"
"Yeah," he replied with a shake of the head. "It's just...the clock's ticking."
"I know."
"I just can't help but get this feeling..."
"Let's try and avoid that." He didn't want to discuss the pessimism weighing them all down.
"You're right," Nick said after a slight pause. "Is there anything else I can do?"
"I think all we can do right now is see if there's anything missing in these pictures."
"I'm on it."
Grissom was walking towards his office a little while later, frustrated. There was not much time left.
"Grissom! Grissom! Wait up!"
He turned around to see Greg run up to him with a piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. "What is it, Greg?"
"I have here in my hot little hands the address of one Ella Wallace, who lives outside of the Carson City area." He handed Grissom the paper. "You want me and Warrick to go now?"
"Why are you still here? Go!" He handed Greg the paper and Greg took off down the hallway.
Ella Wallace lived in a dilapidated house just outside of Carson City. She was a small, old, frazzled woman who couldn't keep her eyes off of Greg, which made the poor guy uncomfortable. "What do you want?" she buzzed.
"Ella Wallace?" Warrick asked.
"Who wants to know?"
"Warrick Brown, and this is Greg Sanders. We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We're here to talk to you about your son."
"My son?" she groaned. "What did that good for nothing little bastard do now?" she asked. Greg cocked an incredulous eyebrow at Warrick.
"May we come in?" Warrick asked.
She stepped aside and replied coldly, "Yeah. Whatever."
Warrick and Greg followed Ella through the house, staring at the photographs. They all sat down. "Your son is Walter Wallace, right?" Greg inquired.
"Last time I checked his birth certificate, I was," she replied. Greg had to admit, she was amusing.
"Miss Wallace, I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but the other night, there was a break-in at the Las Vegas Mortuary."
"It's been big news," Greg chimed in. "I know you must have heard about it somewhere."
"No, I haven't," Ella replied. "You see, I don't watch the news. Don't even have a TV. See?" She motioned forth with her hand and they noticed the absence of a television.
"Well, it was an arrest attempt on your son," Warrick replied. "Are you aware that he was wanted in connection of four skinning murders of young women in the Las Vegas area alone?"
"Oh, God," Ella groaned.
"As a result of the arrest attempt on your son several days ago, two police officers were shot and killed and one of our best CSIs, Sara Sidle, was taken. We don't have very long to find her, but we're hoping that maybe you could point us in the right direction of where your son is."
"You need me to help you," she rasped softly. Warrick nodded. She exhaled. "I feel for you boys, truly, from the bottom of my heart, I do. And if I could help you, I would. But I haven't seen my son in months. All that I can offer you is the last known address. I'm sorry..."
"Anyway that you can help us is completely appreciated by the Las Vegas Crime Lab," Greg replied.
"Miss Wallace, thank you for your help. Any lead that we can get right now is needed. We have about four days before Sara could be potentially skinned alive and we have no evidence to go on."
Ella grabbed a piece of paper from the coffee table. "My son was always a sick boy," she murmured. "Always used to catch him out in the woods, around with the roadkill and he was always a hunter..." She scrawled the address down and handed it to Warrick, exhaling. "This is the last address I knew he was at. I'm very sorry that I can't help you boys more. I wish you the best of luck in your search."
"Thank you," Warrick replied at her sincere tone. The two men stood up.
"This is great!" Greg exclaimed.
"Our first lead."