Chapter 10
Passing Grissom's office on his way to the A/V lab, Greg happened to glance in and catch sight of Sara. She was sitting in one of the visitor's chairs, staring off into space and idly tapping her fingers on her leg. She held a paperback book in her other hand, but it was closed, so she hadn't been reading it.
"Hey, Sar!" Greg called softly, stepping into the office. "How you holding up?"
Turning towards Greg, as she unfolded herself from the chair, Sara's eyes locked onto the love bite on Greg's neck. After a friendly hug, she pulled back again, eyes straying to the mark that stood out purple and black against Greg's creamy skin. "He must be special, if you let him do that to you," she said softly, not bothering to answer Greg's question.
Greg felt himself blush, "I never told you..." he trailed off.
Giving Greg a small smile that just revealed the gap in her front teeth, Sara said, "How long have we known each other, Greg? I've always prided myself on my observational skills. There were cues there to be read, if one knew how to read them. And unless I miss my guess, he's a CSI with a Texan drawl to die for."
"You're not weirded out, are you?" Greg allowed a small, nervous smile to settle on his face.
"Nah. I figured it out years ago. It was Nick I wasn't totally sure about. It seemed that every step he took towards you had him turning around and taking two away again. I guess he finally figured out what he wanted." She sighed, meeting Greg's eyes with her own concern filled brown eyes. "Be careful, Greg. He's lost his best friend. I think it would probably kill him if he lost you, too."
Greg knew Sara wasn't warning him to be careful with Nick, but to be careful with himself. While being a CSI wasn't nearly as dangerous as being a patrolman or detective, it could still be dangerous, as was evidence by all of the things that had happened to their own team over the years, culminating just days ago in Warrick's death at the hands of one of their own.
"Oh, good, Greg, there you are," Grissom's voice caused both Greg and Sara to jump, as they hadn't heard him enter the office.
"Hey, Grissom. I'm on my way to the A/V lab to start looking at missing persons reports. Just stopped in to say hey to Sara," Greg said, as he turned towards his boss. "Well, I guess I'll see you later, Sara," he said, turning back towards Sara momentarily, before heading out the door.
"Greg," Grissom's voice stopped Greg in his tracks.
Turning back towards Grissom, Greg said, "Yeah?"
"If you see Ecklie coming, you go the other way. He won't be as understanding of that as I am," Grissom gestured with his chin at Greg's neck.
"Sure thing." Greg turned towards the door again, feeling his face heat. This wasn't exactly the reaction he'd expected from Grissom.
"And Greg," Grissom said, stopping Greg once more.
"Yeah?"
"Tell Nick, not so high next time. You need to be able to cover those up."
Snorting out a half laugh, Greg said, "Yeah, we already talked about that." Before Grissom had a chance to stop him again, Greg high tailed it out of the office to the A/V lab.
After settling in at a computer terminal, Greg logged in and pulled up the program he needed. In this day and age, missing persons reports were digitized the moment they were taken. Pictures were scanned and attached to the relevant files, making it possible for police departments all over the world to access the information, if they thought they had found someone reported missing elsewhere.
After quickly pulling up the autopsy reports, which included pictures of the boys, Greg printed up a picture of each, to use for comparison against the missing persons reports. An addendum to both reports caught his eye, and he glanced quickly through it. DNA had finally come back on both boys, confirming that they were brothers. This would make his search through missing persons reports much easier.
After inserting a few search parameters, Greg clicked on the search button and waited. As he'd started the search with the parameters that it be narrowed to the Las Vegas area, it didn't take long to receive a list of brothers who'd been reported missing within the last seven days.
It wasn't a long list, only containing ten kids, five pairs of brothers. Clicking into the first report, Greg quickly dismissed it, as the kids looked nothing like the autopsy photos. It was the same with the second report, as well. The third one, however, had him dialing Brass's number.
The phone only rang twice, before Brass's voice was on the line, with his familiar greeting, "Brass."
"Brass, this is Greg. I think I may know who our two dead boys are. Dean and Alex Kinney, ages 9 and 8. Both went missing three days ago. They spent the afternoon at a friend's house, but never came home. Their mother, Paige Kinney, tried to report them missing when they didn't come home. PD wouldn't take her report for forty-eight hours, though." Grabbing a slip of paper, Greg wrote the mother's home address down, as he rattled it off to Brass.
"I'll meet you there," was Brass's no nonsense reply.
Grabbing the two photos and the paper with the address, Greg rushed from the A/V lab.
As he was about to pass the Trace lab, Greg caught sight of Nick leaning over the microscope. Hodges was no where in sight, for which he was grateful. Changing direction mid-stride, he went in to let Nick know what was going on.
"Hey, Nick," Greg spoke, as he moved up to the microscope to look into the second eye piece. This particular unit was set up so two people could look at the same specimen. "Is that the fiber Doc found on the second body?"
After glancing up to shoot a quick grin to Greg – which the younger man didn't see because he was too busy looking down the scope – Nick turned his attention back to the fiber he was studying. "Yeah. It's trilobal, so it's from vehicle carpeting. Hopefully this isn't something that's widely used."
"Good luck with that," Greg's voice held no sarcasm, so Nick knew he was sincerely wishing him luck. "I think I may have identified our boys. I'm meeting Brass at the mother's house. Hopefully she'll be able to give us a positive I.D."
Nick straightened from the microscope. A sad but hopeful look settled in his eyes, and Greg's arms ached to pull the older man into a reassuring hug.
Instead, he settled on a hand on Nick's arm, gently squeezing, and a murmured, "See you later, Nicky," before turning and rushing out the door to meet Brass.
Several minutes later, he was pulling one of the department Tahoes in behind Brass's Taurus. The neighborhood was well kept, but it was obvious that the people who lived here struggled for the things they had. The houses were well maintained, no evidence of peeling paint or missing roof tiles. The front yards, while kept mowed, were perhaps not as green as lawns in some of the more extravagant neighborhoods.
The house Greg and Brass stood in front of was cut with the same cookie cutter mold as the rest of the houses on the street, just as well kept as the rest. The front yard was enclosed by a three foot tall chainlink fence, and there was evidence of kids all over the yard. The family must have had more than the two boys, as there were toys for much younger kids, along with the scooters, bikes, and other assorted toys eight and nine year olds would be into.
The two men went in the gate and up to the door, where Brass took a breath and pressed the button for the doorbell. Inside the house, they could hear the chimes ring out their presence.
A few moments later, the door opened, and an attractive blond in her mid to late thirties took one look at the two men on her front step and collapsed in a screaming heap on the floor. Her hysteric cries of, "No! God no! Not my boys! Please, God!" had Greg dropping to his knees beside her. He could only imagine what it must be like, to open the door and find a cop, badge clipped over his suit pocket, and a CSI wearing his vest, and knowing the only reason they would be there.
"Mrs. Kinney. Mrs. Kinney, please," he felt helpless. There was nothing he could say to her that would make it better. The chance that the pictures he had tucked away in his vest were not her two little boys was so slim, he couldn't tell her that maybe it wasn't them.
From deeper in the house, a wail arose – the other little one who's toys decorated the yard.
Brass gave Greg a look, then murmured, "I'll go get the child," before moving deeper into the house.
Greg laid a comforting hand on the mother's back, and suddenly found himself sitting on the floor, the hysteric woman clinging to him and still crying. Her screams had subsided into heavy sobs.
When Brass came back into the entryway a moment later, a little girl of about three clutching his neck tightly, Greg said, "Ma'am, your daughter needs you."
Sobs subsiding into sniffling, the woman finally pulled back from Greg. As she climbed to her feet, Greg caught sight of an embarrassed look on her face. When she took her daughter from Brass's arms, she buried her face in the little girl's hair for a moment, and when she looked up again, she had somewhat composed her features.
"I'm sorry," she finally managed.
Still not sure what to say, wishing so badly he could say it wasn't her boys, but sure in his heart that she would confirm they were, Greg finally said, "Maybe we should sit down."
Nodding jerkily, she lead the two men into the living room, and sank heavily into an arm chair.
"You're here about Dean and Alex, aren't you," it wasn't a question, and the dread in her voice was nearly palpable.
Brass introduced themselves, first, "I'm Captain Jim Brass, and this is CSI Greg Sanders." Then, "Yes, Mrs. Kinney. We think we may have found them. CSI Sanders has pictures we need you to look at, to positively identify them."
The three year-old girl clutched at her mother, peeking out from the crook of her mother's neck to smile shyly at Brass and Greg. Mrs. Kinney buried her face in her daughter's hair one more time, before taking a deep breath and nodding at Greg.
Reaching into his vest pocket, Greg pulled out the photos and set them on the coffee table in front of Mrs. Kinney.
She didn't touch them, just stared at them, one trembling hand going to her mouth. Fresh tears began trailing down her cheeks, but she managed to keep her composure this time, though it appeared to be very tentative.
"Are those your boys?" Greg asked as gently as he could. They had to have confirmation, either way.
Nodding jerkily again, Mrs. Kinney managed to whisper, "What happened to them?"
Brass tried to take control of the situation, "Ma'am, do you know of anyone who might want to hurt your boys?"
Eyes widening with some emotion Greg couldn't quite pin down, Mrs. Kinney raised her voice to a near shout, "What happened to my boys!"
Glancing at Brass with a slight shake of his head, Greg said, "We're not at liberty to say right now, Mrs. Kinney. I'm sorry. We need your help, though, so we can find the person who did this to them." Looking around the living room, at the family pictures hanging from the walls and covering most surfaces, Greg decided to take a different approach.
"Your husband's in the military?" he asked, having noticed a family portrait with everyone in their finest. PFC Kinney dressed in his dress blues – though Greg wondered if they were called dress greens, since they were Army issue, instead of Navy or Air Force. The insignia on the man's uniform told Greg that he was a Private First Class.
"Yeah. He's on another tour in Iraq. He's been deployed so many times, his daughter hardly knows him. He was in the middle of deployment when she was born," she sighed bitterly.
"When was the last time he was home?" Brass asked, his mind moving along the same lines as Greg's, as his own first thought was whether or not PFC Kinney was truly in Iraq or not.
"A little over two months ago. For two weeks." Mrs. Kinney brought a trembling hand to her mouth again, as she stammered, "Oh, God! How am I going to tell him?"
"We're going to have to talk to him. Do you know how we can get in touch with him?" Brass asked, knowing it wouldn't be her who broke the news to PFC Kinney.
"I really don't know. When he's Stateside, he's stationed out of Fort Irwin. The only reason I live in Vegas, instead of on the base in California is that my parents left this house to us," tears brimmed in her eyes again.
"It's okay. We'll contact the commander at Fort Irwin. They'll get us in touch with him. You can be sure he'll be home to help you with arrangements," in his mind, Brass added, if he isn't under arrest for the murder of your boys.
"You don't think he could have had anything to do with the death of the boys, do you?" she asked, uncertain.
Greg spoke up, this time. "Has he given you any cause to feel he might have done something to Dean and Alex?"
The little girl in Mrs. Kinney's arms had fallen asleep, Greg noticed. Mrs. Kinney's hand traveled up to the little girl's ear, resting there, as though she couldn't bear the child to hear what she was about to say. "I-I don't' know. The last time he was home, he was so... different. Distant. He'd jump at the slightest sounds, he wasn't sleeping well. When it was time for him to go, he seemed almost... relieved, as if he could deal better with being in the middle of that hell over there than he could deal with being here."
As Greg made a checklist of PTSD symptoms in his head, checking off every single one just from what Mrs. Kinney described, he said, "If he hasn't been Stateside for two months, then there's no way he could have been responsible. We'll contact Fort Irwin, find out your husband's location for the last few days, and go from there."
Tears brimmed in her eyes again, several spilling over down her cheeks, but she didn't speak.
Rising from the couch, Brass said, "I'm sorry for your loss. We'll be in contact if we have any further questions."
Feeling as though there was more to be said, Greg vowed, "We'll find the person responsible, ma'am! The county's best CSIs are on the case!" He wasn't bragging, just stating a simple truth.
Outside, Brass promised Greg he'd run down the location of the husband, then they parted ways.
Back at the lab, after briefing Nick and Grissom about the interview of Mrs. Kinney, and having nothing better to do, Greg began processing another of the mattresses.
Nearly six hours later, Nick found him in the garage just finishing up the second side of the mattress he'd been working on.
"Hey!" Nick greeted, running a hand through his hair tiredly, as he watched Greg seal the plastic back around the third mattress.
"Hey, yourself!" Greg replied just as tiredly, as Nick moved to help him return the mattress to the evidence locker.
"You ready to go home? Brass called earlier and said he's still trying to run down PFC Kinney's location, but it would probably be another day before we have anything concrete on him." Greg thought Nick's eyes didn't look quite so haunted. He figured that fact that they case was starting to move along, if slowly, was lifting Nick's spirits. He knew Nick had spent the majority of the night trying to run down a make and model of vehicle for the fiber Doc Robbins had found. He'd made very little headway.
Letting out an exhausted sigh, Greg said, "Home sounds good. Food and bed, in that order, sounds even better."
Nick headed out to the parking garage, while Greg stopped by Trace and DNA to drop off the samples he'd taken from the third mattress.