The mood that settled over the lab was a quiet one for the first time in several days. People were intent on their work, their noses buried in their hardcopies as they moved from point A to point B. Nick finished his typing, clicking the mouse and leaning over to pull the paper from the printer as it slid out.
"There's not much here to go on," he said, reading it over before clipping it into a folder.
"This whole thing is just one friggin' mess," Warrick said, setting down the paper he was reading. "What'd you get from the parents?"
"Not much," he shrugged, reaching to the pager on his belt. "Did yours just go off?"
Warrick nodded, gathering up his papers, "Here we go…"
Nick followed him out and to the break room.
Everyone had an armful of papers, seating themselves around the table. Brass plunked down a scrumptious box of doughnuts in the middle of the table to lighten the weight of the long shift. Warrick was pouring a fresh pot of coffee. Nick grabbed a water from the fridge and sat down at the pow-wow.
"This is a good news, bad news scenario," Brass began. "We clearly have the attention of the Sheriff and the DA and we are now completely in charge of the bombing."
"Is that the good news or the bad news?" Warrick asked.
Brass' eyebrows rose, "You decide. Because this is a major crime against our own, we have to do everything by the book so there is no question about the accuracy of the evidence."
"What we don't need is an impending defense attorney accusing us of being overzealous and making the evidence fit the crime in order to get a conviction." Grissom looked uncharacteristically annoyed as he slid his glasses on.
"We're waiting on a warrant to search Rebecca Dalton's premises, and they're still trying to locate the potential boyfriend, we have a possible address from the cell phone found with Regina Dalton at the department store," Brass said. "We need that warrant, so… give me a slam dunk," Brass took a sip of his coffee.
The all organized their papers.
"We're already two steps behind. The evidence we have is circumstantial, and it points to a murdered suspect we can't talk to. We need to start by establishing a timeline," Grissom finished.
There was heaviness to the room. Tired. Overworked. Worried.
Sara drew a slow breath, tucking her hair behind her ear and opening a folder, shuffling several papers as she began to read. "Okay… first crime. Three boys killed at a cemetery, one with a gunshot, the other mauled by an undetermined pit bull terrier breed, and the third has a heart attack. A fourth escapes, lays out rubber to tires that currently are the ones of choice for a Honda Civic, two different sets of tires on the front and the back." She reached and picked up a doughnut, taking a bite. "Various scientific equipment recovered, fingerprints match all three vics at the scene, a fourth set unknown. A hole in the fence off an access road confirms possibly entry of the killers. Footprints and tire prints recovered from the access road are inconclusive; fibers recovered from the fence are 100 cotton from a white tee shirt. A bullet recovered from vic #2 matches a bullet recovered from a gang related multiple murder six months ago."
"I pulled the film from the cameras found at the cemetery," Greg said, pressing his eyes shut tightly and refocusing them as if he was trying to stay awake. "The pictures were a rough job. They were out of focus and just plain bad. Someone definitely didn't know how to use them. The shots recovered at the scene were random shots of them as they were setting up." He paused a moment, picking out a few choice pictures. "But! I cleaned them up enough to see the photographer in the reflection of the car's tinted windows. After a lot of cleaning up, this picture clearly shows the ambiguous twin's hair is blonde, allegedly confirming Regina's presence at the scene. It also confirms the vehicle is a Honda Civic. An interview with one of the victim's parents said that they were picked up by a friend in a Honda Civic." He flopped the folder on the table and got up, pinning the photos to the wall. "I tested a hair from the combing we took from the girl in the department store, her hair is brown and has been chemically processed. So it could have been blonde, but how could she have been kidnapping the same time she was dirt napping?"
"We're getting ahead of ourselves…" Grissom started. "Just the facts, we'll draw conclusions later." He finished his writing and looked up at the pictures. One particularly caught his attention and he got up to take a closer look, sipping his coffee.
Sara looked at the pictures and continued, "I was able to pull the surveillance photos from the intersections. A Honda Civic with a blond driver. We got one really good shot," she handed the pic to Greg to pin up. "The pic matches the police sketch, Lindsey ID'd her."
Nick looked over his notes and took over, "We got a call to the department store the following evening. A girl was shot at point blank range in the department store dressing room. The bullet matches the one pulled from the murder at the cemetery. A camera identical to the equipment recovered at the cemetery was in the dressing room with her and was missing a memory card. Clothes found in her bag were Lindsey's size, some identical to one's she was wearing when she appeared at the station. They still had the store tags on. Her ID identified her as Regina Dalton. Her prints did not match the fourth set of prints found at the cemetery even though the vegetation in her hair placed her there. Her prints did match the ones on the camera and were the only ones on it. She also had a large amount of cash. Fingernail scrapings did not match the dirt content of the cemetery, they were consistent with high end potting soil."
"Catherine got the call from her sister while you were at the department store about Lindsey." Brass interjected. "I interviewed all the personnel at the ballet studio, and they confirmed the police sketch was accurate. A girl matching the description from the camera and intersection surveillance picked up Lindsey from ballet class at the same time Regina Dalton was found at the department store. I took the police sketch to the studio and they confirmed it was the same person."
"The parents then took their sweet time coming to ID Regina," Warrick said. "Dr. Robbins told us that the parents took three hours to get to the morgue even though they live a few miles away. I also talked to the funeral director where Regina's body is being prepared and he told me that the father called him to make temporary arrangements before they came in to ID her."
"There were just so sure…" Nick frowned, taking a drink of his water as he looked at his notes.
Warrick acknowledged Nick'c comment and continued, "Twenty four hours after Lindsey went missing, she shows up in the lobby, no knowledge of where she's been and sporting new clothes. Her clothes were from the same department store where Regina Dalton was killed, and some were identical to those found in Regina's bag."
Grissom stood back from the pictures, looking to his folder again. "Lindsey tested positive for Rohypnol, a bottle from the studio was spiked and explains why there were no defensive wounds. No one could confirm whether or not our suspect was in the studio or how the water got in there. There were also no signs of sexual assault. I was able to get hairs from Lindsey's clothes, brown and processed; but they did not match Regina Dalton. Her backpack then, blew up."
Nick handed off the folder to Grissom. "Pipe bomb," he said simply. "Anyone could have made it. There weren't enough parts to pull prints or tool marks. The timer was attached to a generic digital clock you could get at any store in the city. Nails and other generic projectiles were in it. It was definitely meant to kill someone, probably Catherine. I'm at a dead end though as far as tracing it, we'd have to find identical supplies at a suspects place in enough amounts to be incriminating."
"We can't confirm a place of residency," Brass said. "That's part of the problem. Regina seemed to be sponging off of people. The only address we have is for a cell phone bill. We think it's the boyfriend."
Warrick placed several camera stills on the wall with the others. "Surveillance tapes around the precinct caught a late model Honda Civic dropping Lindsey off, no view of the driver."
"Today we spoke with Regina's mother. Regina has a twin sister, Rebecca. Rebecca owns a Honda Civic, and mom was adamant her sister was at college and did not change her hair color," Sara finished the doughnut.
Grissom was silent, his fingers steeped as he tapped them against his lips. "So Lindsey's kidnapper and the fourth person at the cemetery allegedly involved in the murder of those boys is not the same person that was murdered at the store, even though the suspect is visually connected to both crimes. We're looking at a frame-up."
"You think Rebecca isn't as innocent as she looks?" Nick asked.
"It's the only explanation right now for the evidence we have." Grissom squinted again at the pictures. "The hairs on Lindsey and the prints at the cemetery do not belong to our dead girl, even though the police sketch is a match. That substantially implicates Rebecca."
"Rebecca had access to the car, knew the boys were going to be there, had the time to kidnap Lindsey and the away time from mom and dad to orchestrate and pull off murders," Brass said, writing on his notepad.
"But no motive," Grissom said. "And if she was kidnapping Lindsey, who was killing her sister and planting evidence at the department store? The cemetery evidence also points to more than one person."
"Where there's an accomplice, there's opportunity for more evidence," Sara said. "I think Rebecca had a beef with the boys and her sister, bumped them both off. Rebecca dyes her hair to match Regina's and does the deeds as Regina, she then dyes it back and claims innocence. Regina gets pegged for the crimes, and the evidence is enough to complete the circle and keep us off her back."
They all seemed to nod in agreement at the theory.
"Except the car," Nick started. "How'd Regina get the car?"
Their conversation faded into the back of his mind as Grissom stared at the pictures on the wall. "What if the girl at the funeral home is Rebecca?"
The silence in the room was palpable.
"What if blonde Regina had the grudge, and it was a tit for tat killing. A pact. She assists in the murder at the graveyard and kidnaps Lindsey in return for someone to kill Rebecca and plant evidence," Grissom continued. "She then dyes her hair and becomes Rebecca, counting on everyone to blame Regina because the parents believe she did it."
Sara continued, "Their mother said that she didn't even know what color hair she had anymore, but she knew Rebecca's never changed."
"So our constant is Rebecca. Our variable is Regina." Grissom was writing again. "Regina banked on that, and exploited it."
Greg grinned even wider. "We pulled her cell phone records. Regina made a call to Rebecca the afternoon she was killed."
Warrick leaned back in his chair. "She could have lured her to the department store. Someone pops Rebecca and then plants the evidence. We need to find out if they ever shared the car, and get the surviving twin's prints."
Grissom smiled slightly.
"If Regina has assumed Rebecca's identity, wouldn't the parents know?" Greg asked.
"By the reaction of the parents? Probably not," Sara said.
"But why kill and frame her sister?" Greg asked.
"To get away with it," Nick said simply. "Why be a shadow when you can be the golden child? I saw those pictures at the house; it was very obvious who the favorite child was. I agree with Grissom, Regina concocts a crime specifically making it obvious that she did it, then gets rid of the only person who can finger her, Rebecca. Neither girl has prints or DNA in the system. Perfect crime."
The room was silent.
"The girl in the funeral home is Rebecca," Sara blinked. "Regina has assumed her identity to get out of trouble and become the favorite daughter. They're burying the wrong child."
"Is this enough for a warrant?" Grissom asked, raising an eyebrow.
Brass tentatively nodded, "Enough to pay a visit to…'Rebecca' and at least get her prints. After they match the prints on the camera and the fourth at the cemetery… and I'm sure they will, we'll get whatever other warrant we need." He got up, moving into the hallway and making a phone call.
"But… why kidnap Lindsey. Why the bomb?" Warrick's face was confused, annoyed even.
"To throw us off?" Greg guessed. "If it was a pact, would she necessarily really known what it was for?"
"Not necessarily, but you're right Warrick," Grissom said, tapping his pen on the table. "It doesn't fit. It's random. It's off. We know a girl kidnapped Lindsey, but when she returned, she mentioned a he. Who's the he?" Grissom asked.
"Mrs. Dalton mentioned a Bobby Cross," Sara said.
"A crime for a crime. Maybe the 'he' helped at the cemetery, and the 'he's' repayment was a vendetta against Catherine," Warrick leaned forward. "I'll agree with that."
"Pull all the name's on Catherine's cases, cross reference them with this kid," Grissom said to Greg. "The rest of you worked overtime, you need to get some sleep. Brass and I will visit Rebecca and the boyfriend. I'll page you if I need anything."
The silence hung.
"Good work," Grissom nodded, gathering up his things and everyone's reports. "If this is a vendetta against Catherine, it's possible whoever orchestrated it isn't satisfied with the results."
"You think they might come after Catherine again?"
"If our pact theory is true, one party got four murders, the other got a botched bombing. That doesn't seem fair does it?"
"We got our warrant," Brass nodded as he stepped in, "I'll add another uniform at her house."
"What time is it?" Nick suddenly said.
"About eight thirty," Sara said.
Nick looked panicked. "I gotta go," he jumped up suddenly and made a beeline toward the locker room.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Neysa flipped up the cuff of her white linen shirt and looked at her watch. She set the folded newspaper down on the table, running her fingers along the rim of her empty coffee cup.
She knew he would do this.
Sighing, she got up and bussed her table, the weekend morning quiet compared to some of the workday mornings. The sun spilled through the golden sun screens on the front windows, giving the whole café a warm and inviting feel. She didn't feel like being warm and inviting anymore.
Picking up her bag, she made her way to the restroom.
The front door pushed open, Nick's sunglasses clenched tightly in his fingers as he searched the nearly deserted café.
"Dammit," he swore, moving toward the counter. "Was there a woman here, about my height, dark short hair, dark eyes? She would have been alone?"
"Sure," the girl at the counter said, swirling a napkin over a small spill and looking across the cafe. "You just missed her."
One hand went to his hip; the other went to his hair. How was he going to get out of this one?
She stepped out of the restroom, moving toward the door when she spotted him. A sharp pang went through her chest, and she moved in the other direction as she made a wide circle to avoid him.
"Neysa," he started.
…too late.
She kept moving toward the door, his footsteps behind her indicating she wasn't going to get out of this one. His hand stopped the door as she pushed it open. Her look was irritated as she grabbed his wrist and flipped it over to put the watch near his nose.
His face was genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, can I explain? Please?"
Neysa's lips pursed tightly, looking down quickly at his clothes, then back to him. "You haven't slept since I talked to you last have you?" She let go of his hand.
He shook his head.
"You've got five minutes," she said.
"I'm going to get something to eat."
She nodded, retaking her original seat. Sitting, she slung her bag over the back of her chair, leaning her temple on her fingertips as he got some coffee and a muffin, coming back to the table.
"Every time I see you, you're dashing from or to something. Do you ever get time off?" she asked.
He took a drink of his coffee. "This one's a little different."
"That girl," she commented. "You know her?"
He nodded. "Her mother is my boss."
She drew a slow breath.
"I shouldn't have told you that," he said, leaning back.
"My lips are sealed," she said.
"We're having a really hard time with it," he said. "I had to deliver a report to my temporary supervisor before I could come down here. It was really important."
She nodded and was quiet for a long time, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs gracefully. Her palms rested in her lap as she watched him eat, then her eyes turned to watch the scene beyond the window. She didn't seem to want to talk to him.
He felt badly. She was angry with him. He'd promised.
He took another drink of his coffee. She seemed distracted, distant as he watched her profile. Hair was completely brushed back from her face, her features strong and beautiful, devoid of any make-up whatsoever. A sapphire blue camisole peered out slightly from the oversized lined shirt. He was still curious about the silver chain that glinted at her collarbone. Her fingers had moved from her lap, absently rubbing her elbow, one fingertip swirling gently around the bone.
She gasped, not able to catch her breath. He pinned her elbow onto the side of the couch with the toe of his boot. A distinct cry of pain escaped her lips as he leaned on it with his full weight. The grunt of pain turned to a scream as he leaned further into it.
He chewed slowly, unable to shake the suspicions that burned at the front of his brain like wildfire. He remembered that day, how could he forget?
She took a quick breath, reaching behind her and pulling her wallet from her bag. She flipped through it, pulling out several dollars and set the billfold down on the table.
"Hey, no way," he started. "I got this."
"Mr. Stokes, finish your breakfast. You do not have to buy my coffee."
He nodded slowly as she got up, eyes resting on the billfold that had flipped open on the table. There were several pictures in the clear plastic flaps, the one that was open to him was one of what appeared to be Neysa; a girl held to her chest by one arm as she leaned down behind her and was pressing her cheek against hers. She was about Lindsey's age, bright strawberry blond hair in perfect ringlets had sprung from a loose ponytail. The girl looked like she was wearing a black riding outfit. They were both grinning widely at the camera, Neysa's cheek pressed to hers. Neysa's hair was much longer, the color hard to determine under the black riding helmet she was wearing.
She sat back down, putting her change in the billfold.
"Is that you?" he went out on a limb.
She blinked, turning the picture toward her. "Yah," she half smiled.
A warmth washed over her eyes. He felt compelled to ask.
"You like to ride?"
She nodded. "I used to ride. My ex-husband owned horses. I taught lessons for a while."
"Is the girl a student?"
The air between them suddenly became cold. Her thumb ran across the picture and she turned it to him so he could look again.
"Elina, wonderful child, she loved everything. Riding, singing… life," was all she said as she closed her billfold and put it back into her bag.
"She looks like you," he took a drink of his coffee.
"She's my daughter," her voice was quiet, she was warming her hands on her cup as if she was chilled. Her eyes had focused on the table, and then rose slowly to meet his as if she was ready for a smack across the face. "I married young, I divorced young. She's the only thing I didn't regret."
Her willingness to give him a second chance after the other night finally became clear. She'd mentioned how impressed she was about taking care of Lindsey.
"You're expecting me to leave aren't you?" Nick asked.
"Are you going to?"
"Why would I?"
"Most men bolt at the thought that a potential relationship might be saddled with children."
"I'm not most men."
"That's why I'm still here," she finished, setting her cup back on the table. "To tell you the truth, you look absolutely exhausted. Why don't you head home, we can continue this later?" She pulled a napkin over to her and a pen from her back pocket and wrote down her number. "You seem really busy with this case, I'm just getting in the way," she started. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep. Call me after work tomorrow and I'll come pick you up. We can have a real breakfast."
He nodded, "I like the sound of that."
"Me too," she smiled and kicked back the rest of her coffee as he bussed the table.
They left together, the heat of the pavement already stifling. Her collar ruffled at her neck slightly as she slid on her sunglasses.
"I walked from the hall, I'm heading back that way. The equipment room is calling my name."
"Hey," he started. "I'd like to meet Elina sometime." His face was serious.
"I really wish you could," she pressed her lips together, pulling her bag over her head and across the other shoulder.
"I'm serious."
"Mr. Stokes… Nick," she began.
It got his attention. She'd never called him by his first name. He tried to read her eyes beneath the sunglasses, to no avail.
"Perhaps if there was a man like you ready to save her life, I wouldn't be half way across the world trying to start over."
His lips parted slightly as he realized what she'd just divulged to him. He started to apologize.
"You didn't know," she smiled slightly, her hand resting on his cheek. "It's okay. Don't tiptoe around me because of it okay? Go home and get some sleep."
He nodded slowly. Before he could reach up and touch her fingers at his cheek, she let go; walking back toward the concert hall with her hands in her pockets.
His lips pressed together tightly, it was on the edge of his tongue.
"Do you believe in coincidences?" he asked suddenly before she was out of earshot.
A grin lit her lips as she half turned, studying him for a long time.
"You are a strange cup of tea Mr. Stokes," she began. "I believe in fate." She lingered a moment, then turned and continued walking.
