Author's Note: Okay, so this is, as all my pieces are, GS becoming GSR. It is set somewhere around the end of Season Five, and yes I employ some poetic licence with timelines, episodes and forensics. Its fiction, isn't it? After all, all we really want is the GSR, and there's plenty of that.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the show, I have nothing so suing me really would be a waste of time that could be better spent writing Sara back in for Season Nine.

Things began to speed up. Taking a second painstaking sweep of the third john doe paid off, and yielded a trace substance that they were able to identify as a particular brand of flour, which, after a few tries, lead them to a bakery off the Strip. There they found a rather frazzled manager missing one of his regular staff – a man fitting john doe's description that the manager identified as Eric Kidd. They still couldn't identify a correlation between Kidd and the other two, but the manager gave them Kidd's last known address. They stood in the bakery parking lot while Grissom radioed Brass to ask for a unit to meet them there.

There they found nothing. An empty house, perfectly in order, devoid of anything out of the ordinary. Stifled again, Sara leant against the Denali, needing some air to aid her thinking.

"Alright. Talk this out with me. " Grissom nodded.

"Harry Fields is unemployed. Matthew Harding fixes cars. Eric Kidd is a baker. No obvious connection. Fields used to be married to Melanie Wilson who is now the girlfriend of Harding – clear link. Fields can make bombs, he has an old car in his garage, possible connection to Harding. "

"The crux of it is Fields. It has to be. He's the only one who makes bombs, as far as we know, and he must have had a grudge against Harding. My money's on him."

"But where does Kidd fit in?"

"Wrong place, wrong time?"

Sara looked over the sheet the manager had pulled from his file, an employee profile filled out by Eric Kidd. Glancing down it once nothing struck her. The second time, however…

"Hey," she said, abruptly.

"What?"

"Eric Kidd has an emergency contact listed." Grissom raised his eyebrows in anticipation of what came next.

"It's Melanie Wilson."

They stared at one another.

"I'm going back into the house." Grissom was striding away before she could say anything else, kit in hand. Inside, he assembled the ALS and nodded to her to hit the lights. She pulled back the bed sheets as he worked the light methodically over the mattress. There in the centre lay their quarry – not one but two samples. Sara collected those while Grissom went over the rest of the bedroom.

"The rest of it's clean." Grissom announced.

"Well, this should determine if Melanie Wilson has had her finger in the third pie." He grinned at her phraseology.

"A three.. pie.. problem. You might say." Sara lowered her protective glasses and dropped the samples into her kit.

"You might say, Sherlock."