Chapter VIII

It was the quiet she noticed first when she awoke. Lying curled on her side, she could not hear the even breathing that only occasionally now serenaded her upon her waking. If she were to inch back, she would not feel the solid warmth of another person. She would not feel a pair of arms reach for her and take her into her embrace. The absence struck at her.

She shivered. No arms around her, no solid heat in her presence, she was cold. She didn't even have any blankets. Her eyelids fluttered. Her blankets were twisted into her embrace, a makeshift form. Her other pillow was somewhere in that pile, lost in amongst the covers, providing body to the form.

She rubbed at her eyes and reached for her clock on the side table. Tilting it up, she peeked her head up and glanced at the time. Her head fell back against the pillow. She'd slept for five hours. Normally that amount of sleep wouldn't be considered a bad night, or rather, day for her, but given the sleep she'd missed with the flight the day before, she was still seriously lacking. Her eyes closed, not from her fatigue, but from her frustration. She wasn't sure what to do. She could try to go back to sleep, but the attempt would be futile and would only add to her frustration. She could try to call her husband and have a better conversation than the abridged attempt at the lab, but he would almost surely still be asleep, his sleeping habits far better than hers. It was four AM in Paris, and though they still needed to have a good conversation, to soothe some of those hurts that somehow still seemed to add up after their attempts at calling, and finally speaking, waking Grissom to have it was not the time. Until they could find the time to have the conversation they needed, she would have to live with the ever growing ache. The pain now, though, came more from the restraint in the conversation than from the fight before her departure. For the millionth time, she wished she hadn't left when things were so unresolved. He'd sounded so wounded at her words during the fight; she'd hurt him, but he'd sounded so sad and so lost when she spoke to him on the phone and she knew that leaving things the way they did only hurt more. The distance now only seemed to add to the strain.

She couldn't go back in time. It was impossible for her to undo the mistakes she made. She couldn't take back what she'd said when she'd wanted to lash out at him. She couldn't remove the absolutely despairing look from his face when she said them, nor could she remove it from her memory. Time only moves one way. The sand in an hourglass only falls; it does not fly up through the opening and rejoin the sand on top. The pain, the hurt, in those passing hours where they'd not resolved anything, had only accumulated.

Still curled on her side, Sara let the minutes pass. Not blinking, she was nearly unconscious as she stared at the wall in a daze. Her mind though was active, running through a number of different scenarios. She didn't' want to pass any time, apart from sleeping, in the condo. He still held such a presence there. It was the place they'd purchased together when they were just beginning to carve out a life together. Now, it still felt as though they were doing the same, trying to carve out a life together. The place still had all of his stuff, everything he'd left behind to join her, everything he'd been storing for that time they were finally able to settle down somewhere again. The condo was his simplicity and her vibrancy, his suggestions and her input, his and her style, his and her design, their compromise, their balance, and somehow, a place perfectly suited to both, for a time.

Pushing away the blankets, Sara decided to go for some dinner and then head into work, hoping, perhaps, she could get somewhere on her case. She couldn't call Grissom, and she didn't want to sit around in the condo where she was haunted by a life she still had, but didn't. Work seemed like the best place.

She sat up, rested for a moment, and then reached to her end table to grab her wedding ring. Holding it in her fingers, she stared down at the ring, such a simple band, but to her, on her, perfect. Sighing, she slipped on the ring and pushed herself from the bed. Drawers opened and she dressed. She grabbed her wallet, her keys, her phone, a bag with another change of cloths and headed out.

There were certain places she avoided eating at on her return to work in Vegas. The vegetarian restaurant she'd eaten at just before she'd been abducted was one of them. That evening she chose to dine at another, this one closer to her old apartment. She pulled in and parked in the outdoor lot, choosing a spot in the middle of the lot, clear, visible, open.

The meal was the largest she'd had in some time. She was so hungry from lack of food over the past day and a half, she nearly tried to make up for it in one sitting. By the time she finished, paid and walked some of it of to get rid of that bloated feeling that had hit about a half hour after finishing, and then made it to the lab, she was only three hours early for shift. It was six AM in Paris. Grissom would be just up or just waking. She thought of calling him, but didn't want to wake him if he was still asleep. She said she would call, but he usually phoned in the mornings, so, she decided she could wait. If he phoned. She wished she could be sure he would, but they had just spoken the night before, and after such a strained conversation, she was not sure he'd want to repeat it again that morning.

Sighing, Sara made her way through the halls of the lab. Various lab techs on the swing shift glanced at her as she passed, checking their watches and letting out their own sighs. They must have been hoping it was a bit later. Perhaps their day had dragged on. Well, she thought, they still had three hours. She had three hours to try to figure some things out before everybody she needed to see on the case got in. Perhaps it was too early to start work, but she didn't know what else to do. Besides, it was only three hours early, nothing Catherine could give her grief about.

The beauty of her work arrangement, with all of the time she took off to see her husband, was the amount of overtime it allowed her to put in. As long as she didn't work a double every single day she worked in a month, about twenty days on average, she would never be in danger of maxing out on overtime. So, on days like these, where she wanted to bury herself in work, or days when a major case hit and she had to put in a large amount of overtime, she could.

She pulled out her case file and made her way back through the halls. Tucking herself into a corner, she immersed herself in the file, checking over case notes, photos, documented evidence, witness statements, and the like. Her eyes wandered over the pages, flipping from one to another, interrupted by brief intrusions of lab techs entering and exiting the break room with mugs full of coffee, and then by the vibration of her cell phone.

Given that the time was nearing closer to shift, Sara knew the call could be coming from Vartann or Greg, though her hope was that it was a decidedly more long distance call instead. She pulled the phone from her slacks and looked at the display. Her eyes closed on their own accord and she sunk back into the chair cushions. She opened the phone and held it to her ear. "Hey," she spoke quietly, "good morning."

"Good evening, Sara."

She smiled softly and curled her legs beneath her, her hand tugging her ankles under her thighs. She looked at her watch. They wouldn't have much time to speak before he left for the University, but it was such a relief to hear his voice.

"Hi," she spoke again, tears in her eyes. She wiped them away and swallowed the blockage in her throat before attempting to speak again. Thankfully her voice came out lighter than she felt. "So, getting ready to head out for work?"

"Yeah." She could almost see him nodding on the other side of the line and her soft smile reappeared.

"Where are you, now? At work?"

She nodded, snorted out a soft laugh at the involuntary action, and then replied, "Uh, yeah."

"Did you get any sleep?"

Her eyes closed again. "About five hours."

"Sara…"

"I'm rested," she cut in. "Look, Gil…"

"Listen, Sara…"

Sara laughed softly, though it was a somewhat strained laugh. "You go."

"I miss you."

Her fingers tightened their grip on her phone. Her eyes closed yet again and she burrowed into the chair. She could hear his breaths over the line and wondered if he could hear hers. Her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. "I know. I miss you too."

"Listen, there's…" Grissom paused and Sara waited, a nervous tension beginning to coil in her stomach. Grissom's breaths came across the line a little quicker.

"What?"

She could hear the long exhale of breath. "No, look, never mind. It's not something we should get into now. You're at work."

Sara let out a long breath. "Yeah."

"And I'm about to head into work."

"Yeah."

"Be careful."

"I will."

"I'll call you later."

Sara bit at her lip again. Her head bobbed up and down in a quick nod. "Yeah, okay."

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

She hung up the phone and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. There were tears at the corners of her eyes that she reached up to wipe away. The conversation had not gotten any easier. She sighed and sat up, returning to her file.

For the next while she reviewed everything, the X-rays, the cause of death, position of the body, stab wounds, defensive marks, approximate measurements of the weapon, blood spatter, and so on. A few swing shift CSIs entered the break room on their way out from work. As they filled their cups for their trips home, filled out reports and readied to leave, they had the television on. Sports highlights came first, filtering into Sara's ears in bits, more problems for the big three in Miami, another week of debate on whether or not Brett Favre would make yet another start in Minnesota after another loss and another injury mounting on the abundant losses and injuries the quarterback was already shouldering that season.

After their sporting news addictions were satisfied, or after they had discovered how much they had won or lost that evening on the bets they'd placed, the swing shift CSIs switched over to the news. The main story was still the bombing at the café just off of the University of Bern campus, and Sara's ears perked up. Two more people had died in the past several hours, their injuries too critical. The rest of the critically injured were expected to make full recoveries. Officials did not yet know who had committed the terrible act, but were confident they were close to discovering the perpetrators.

Sara flipped her file closed and stood up, nodding at the swing shift CSIs in a subtle greeting. If they were on their way out, then night shift should be in. The other CSIs were not yet in the break room, but perhaps in their offices. The night shift lab techs would be in their labs.

She sent a text off to Greg, telling him she was heading to audio visual and asking him to meet her there. She tucked away her file, and then took the surveillance videos from the MGM Grand out of evidence. Approaching the AV lab, she peeked inside to find Archie sitting before his computer. She stepped inside and gave him a half smile. "Hey, Arch."

Archie looked her up and down. "Hey, Sara, listen, about yesterday, I'm sorry…"

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it."

"I didn't think…I forgot about Grissom being in…"

"It's okay, alright?"

She hoped he'd heed her words and let the subject drop. Archie studied her. "You sure?"

"Yeah, Archie." She looked at his uncertain smile and decided he needed a little more reassurance. "Look, I reacted before I got all the facts. I shouldn't have."

"It's natural, you know."

"Yeah." She grew silent for a moment and then handed the surveillance footage to him. "Look, can you go over this? I'm looking for anyone who may have gone through the parking garage and dumped a bloody sweatshirt. Look for anyone who looks suspicious and see if you can track him through all of this other footage. We think our perp may have escaped by the monorail, so pay close attention to the surveillance footage of that area."

"No problem."

"Thanks Archie."

He nodded. Sara turned just as Greg stepped into the lab. "Hey."

"Hi, Greg. Archie is going over surveillance footage."

"Good. I passed by DNA. The new lab tech looks like he's a little overwhelmed. It may be a little while longer before we get any results."

Sara smirked. "Maybe you should help him," she suggested.

Greg sighed. "Really?"

"Hodges hasn't paged with anything from trace yet, and you know how quick he is to let us know he's a master. I have to check with Mandy in prints, to see if maybe she came up with something, but we need DNA, Greg."

"Yeah, okay."

"Thanks Greg. You're the best."

"I know."

He turned and left. Sara laughed at his retreating form. Her pager beeped as she moved toward the print lab. Vartann had shoes. Veering away from her original path, she changed destinations. Like Hodges, Mandy had not yet paged her, so she decided she would give the print tech a little more time before annoying her by peering over her shoulder as the results came in. She moved towards the layout room, passing tox on her way by. Henry stopped her, calling out the door and meeting her in the hall. "Hey Sara, I ran tox on your vic. She had a blood alcohol level of .05, but other than that, she was clean, nothing else in her system.

Sara took the report and glanced at it. She hadn't really expected anything different from it. "Thanks, Henry."

Henry nodded and stepped back inside his lab. Tucking the tox report in the file, Sara continued onto the layout room.

"Hey Sara," Vartann handed her a pair of Gucci men's loafers. "Here are your shoes."

"Great. What size are you?"

"Eleven and a half."

"Ah too bad," Sara grinned. He quirked a brow and she teased, "Your feet are too big." She stopped, looked around and turned back to Vartann. "Give me a minute."

Sara left the layout room and jogged down the hall. "Hodges," she called.

Hodges turned and looked at her. "Yes?"

"What size shoe do you wear?"

His face held a look of suspicion. "Why?"

"Just answer the question, please."

"Size ten, normally."

"Normally?"

"I have a wide forefoot. If the shoe isn't fit for width, I sometimes go up a half size."

"Okay," she drew out. "Good enough. Come with me. I need you for a minute."

"Sara, I'm busy. I've been running trace on Nick and Dr. Ray's scene all day. I haven't even gotten to yours yet. If you want your results..."

Sara shook her head. "It'll just take a minute."

"Will this be a case breaker?"

"You'll help me tie up a loose end."

Hodges let out an exagerated sigh and followed her into the layout room. Sara lifted the loafers and handed them to Hodges. "Here, put these on."

Hodges eyed the pair of shoes. "You want me to put those on?"

"Yeah."

He continued to eye them.

"Hodges, they're clean. Vartann just bought them."

Hodges glanced over at Vartann.

"Just put them on."

Slowly, Hodges bent and removed his shoes. He slipped on the loafers.

Sara rolled out a long piece of paper onto the floor. She turned to Hodges. "Lift your foot."

Hodges lifted his foot. Sara rolled ink onto the outsole. "Okay, run across the piece of paper."

Hodges ran on the paper and stopped. He looked at Sara. Sara bent over and studied the shoe prints left behind. She looked up at Vartann. "The tread kept most of its detail. It's slightly smeared from the running, but not enough to match the smeared treads at the crime scene." Sara turned back to the path of treads. "You know, the treads at the scene were very bloody. Drew Bray's loafers were absolutely soaked in blood. I think we need to try it with more ink."

Vartann nodded.

"The shoe needs to be soaked."

Sara poured the liquid ink into a tray. "Here, Hodges, step in this."

"My pants..."

"Just dip the bottom of the shoes in and then run along the paper again, next to the tracks you've already laid down."

Hodges let out a breath. He dipped the loafers into the ink. As he ran, the ink dripped from his foot and spread out from the treads. It was the same indistinct tread as found at the crime scene. Sara looked up at Vartann again. "Well, evidence suggests that the shoe prints leading to and from the store could have came from Drew Bray's shoes."

"Corroborates that part of his story."

She nodded and turned to Hodges. "Thanks. You can put your own shoes back on."

Her pager buzzed. She looked down at it. "Mandy's paging me to the print lab. Here's hoping she's got something." She held out a bag for Hodges to slip the ink soaked loafers into. Quickly, she documented her results and cleaned up the layout room, Vartann giving her a hand. He took the mess from her. "Go check on prints. I'll finish cleaning this up."

She rewarded him with a wide smile. "Thanks." Then, she made her way to the print lab.

"Mandy, tell me you have something."

Mandy's eyes were on her screen. She handed Sara a couple sheets of paper without removing her eyes. "Prints on the cigarette case match your victim."

"Any others?"

"Nope, just hers." She handed Sara another print out. "Several prints on the two water bottles. Most unknown, could be distributors, store owner, other customers, and so on. One set of prints found on both water bottles did match the victim's boyfriend."

"Figures. Anything else?"

Mandy looked at Sara. "I've had this running all day." She handed Sara a sheet of paper containing a long list of names. "Matches from your elevator."

Sara looked at the long list and tilted her face back to Mandy's, her eyebrow raised. "All of these came up?"

"Work cards are in the system. Most of them work at the MGM Grand doing various jobs, a couple of dealers, security, food and beverage, valets, store clerks, you name it. Every name on there came off of a work card."

"What about anybody who doesn't work at the MGM Grand. Any names stick out? Like they're in the wrong area?"

Mandy shrugged. "You can look over the list."

Sara sighed. "Do you have anything else?"

"I have matches on two sets of partials on your purse."

"And?"

Mandy handed her a sheet of paper. "A match to your victim."

"Yeah?"

Mandy held out another sheet. "And a match to your victim's boyfriend."

"That's it? Nothing more substantive? Both are expected. It's her purse, and surely he would have held it for her, or removed something from it for her at some point."

"That's not all. Greg lifted another partial that didn't belong to either. It wasn't much to work with, but I ran it through IAFIS. No name came up, but it did match a print lifted from a crime scene two weeks ago outside of the Las Vegas Convention Center. The case is still open."

"Who handled it?"

Mandy pulled up the file. "Dayshift. Lead on the case was Jeremy Haigh."

Sara smiled. "Thanks Mandy. One last question, do you know what kind of scene?"

Mandy's eyes moved over the file. "It was a…407."

"A robbery?" Sara took the sheet of paper from her. "Mandy," she looked at the print tech, "thank you."