Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to me, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Spoilers: through "Bull"
Note: this story includes the non-graphic deaths of children.
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Grissom was in a cell by himself, and the sight of him in a wrinkled shirt, his hair uncombed as he sat on the thin jailhouse bunk, made Sara's heart twist in her chest. He looked tired, the persistent exhaustion that had plagued him before he'd taken his sabbatical, and it was disturbing to see those clever, supple hands so idle, clasped loosely together and dangling between his knees. Normally, they were always busy; examining evidence, turning pages, cooking, touching.
It had been almost two days since she'd seen him, and Sara bit her lip; the urge to grab onto him and hold tight was almost overwhelming, the bars between them notwithstanding.
The burly sergeant who'd escorted her in gave her a gravely sympathetic glance. "Normal visiting times are five minutes, ma'am," he rumbled, "but if we ain't busy I might forget to come get you for a while."
Sara smiled wanly at him, thankful that this portion of the police department, at least, was willing to stretch the rules for one of their own.
Which one of their own he was thinking of, her or Grissom, didn't matter. She gave him a grateful nod, but the sound of his heavy boots treading back to the exit barely reached her ears; her attention was all on Grissom.
His face had lit at the sight of her, and he stood hastily, striding over to the bars, hands reaching through for hers. Contact was against the rules, but Sara didn't spare a thought for the rules as she grabbed Grissom's hands in a tight grip.
"Are you okay?" they asked simultaneously, then laughed, and Grissom stepped even closer, his eyes concerned.
"Have you slept at all?"
Sara refrained from rolling her eyes. "I will when I get home."
They were at the end of the cell block, and the next two cells on either side of the aisle were unoccupied; Sara blessed both the slow day for arrests and the consideration of whoever had chosen Grissom's cell. She knew some of the other prisoners were watching as best they could--anything new was entertainment--but if they kept their voices low they could be relatively private. "Seriously, Gil, are you all right?"
His thumbs caressed her wrists. "I'm fine. Everyone here has been very courteous."
"I dropped off some clothes and stuff for you with the sergeant--I don't know if you'll get them, but--"
"Sara." He shook her hands slightly to get her attention. "Please."
She blew out her breath. "I...understand what you were trying to tell me on the phone. About the evidence."
"But you don't accept it?"
"I...it doesn't matter, Gil." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "Greg came to see me. We think--Gil, you're being framed."
A slow smile spread over his face, pride and love mingling. "And what evidence do you have to support that?"
"Oh please." Sara snorted. "I should have seen it earlier, but..." Her humor vanished. "Gil, I'm so sorry--"
He shook his head, a sharp movement that cut off her apology. "What did I tell you on the phone?"
This time she did roll her eyes, but Sara pressed on to more important issues. "Do you have any ideas on who could be doing this?"
"Far too many." Grissom's mouth twisted. "There are some disks in the safe at home that have notes about my more...memorable...cases, but unfortunately..."
He trailed off, and Sara nodded in dry agreement. "It could be just about anybody, I know."
"Anybody with a knowledge of forensics, that is." He pursed his lips. "There's something odd about all this, but I can't quite--"
The exit at the far end of the cell block clanged open, and the hush was shattered by drunken cursing as two officers manhandled an extremely intoxicated and belligerent man through the door. Sara grimaced.
"I should go. Gil, I'll be back tomorrow but I don't know when--"
"Concentrate on what's important. They'll be arraigning me tomorrow morning, I believe."
Sara winced, and Grissom drew her left hand briefly within the bars and dropped a swift kiss on it. "Go."
She let her fingers brush his unshaven cheek, and did, obeying his unspoken desire to keep their farewell short. The drunk was safely, if noisily, in his cell, and the sergeant nodded respectfully and let her back out into the world.
Grissom's kiss still tingled on her hand, and it was that phantom sensation that let her sleep at last, his pillow under her head.
The arraignment was like a nightmare, albeit a brief one. Sara arrived at the courtroom early, in her best working suit, but there were already others there--all the Nightshift, several techs--and, oddly enough, Ecklie.
The room was crowded, which wasn't unexpected given the sheer number of cases that went through it each day. Sara recognized a few faces on the far side of the room; parents of some of the slain children. Some were set, some were tearstained.
She bit her lip, conflicted; she wanted to defend Grissom against them, but at the same time, she knew that they could know no better than to believe in his guilt. After all, you set it all up yourself.
A wave broke her out of her shame, and Sara saw Brass pat the seat next to him. She joined him, keeping her voice down under the ongoing sound of other court business. "Thanks for the call yesterday."
Brass grimaced. "Yeah, what can they do, fire me?" He squeezed her hand briefly, an unexpected display of affection. "Have you seen him yet?"
"Yesterday." Sara squeezed back, then folded her hands in her lap and did her best to look decorous. "He seems to be okay."
Brass humphed, and would have said something, but at that moment Grissom was escorted into the courtroom.
He was flanked by an officer of the court and by his lawyer; the latter was a short and deceptively mild-looking man. Later, Sara would be glad of him, because Bhupendra Saxena was one of the best criminal lawyers available and honest to boot; but at the moment all she could concentrate on was Grissom.
He looked...well, delicious, the sight of him in a suit always did that to her, but also very tired, and Sara worried at once whether he'd had any breakfast at all. But he was calm and dignified, and while he didn't turn his head as he came in, she saw his eyes flicker, and knew that that sharp glance had taken in all the audience. He knew she was there--he knew they were all there.
His turn came up fairly soon; this particular arraignment court was moving efficiently. There was a mutter as the charges were read, and many heads craned to see what was going on. Seven counts of murder in the first degree, kidnapping, aggravated assault; the list was damning.
The judge was a tall woman with dark hair running to grey and a grimly lined face. She eyed Grissom without favor or disfavor, as if she'd never seen him before; an achievement, Sara knew, since Grissom had testified before almost every criminal court judge in the city, and most more than once. "How do you plead?"
Grissom lifted his chin and returned the look calmly. "Not guilty," he said in a firm low voice.
Another murmur ran around the room. The D.A., who was as tall as the judge but much younger, stood quite straight. "In light of the heinousness of these crimes, the People ask for remand, your Honor."
Grissom's lawyer protested gently, his lightly accented voice reaching through the courtroom without apparent effort. "Your Honor, Dr. Grissom is a respected citizen and an officer of the law. The evidence in this case is entirely circumstantial and my client is not a flight risk. We request bail."
The judge's expression did not alter as she listened to both pleas. "No bail," she said without hesitation. "The defendant is remanded to custody."
With a rap of her gavel, it was over, almost too quickly to take in. Another mutter rose, one with some triumph in it. Sara didn't recognize the woman weeping noisily on the other side of the room, but it wasn't hard to guess that she was the mother of one of the murdered children.
With no further ceremony, Grissom was taken out again, not looking back. Next to Sara, Brass stirred. "That's that."
Sara sighed and tried to relax her shoulders. She hadn't really expected a different outcome; despite Saxena's words, Grissom could easily be considered a flight risk, and given the publicity concerning the murders, he might actually be safer in custody.
As long as they keep him confined alone--
As if reading her thoughts, Brass spoke. "Don't worry, I've put out the word. Anybody who touches him, or lets him get so much as a stubbed toe, is gonna have to answer to me. And then the Sheriff, if there's anything left over."
His smile was meant to be reassuring, but his eyes still held worry, and Sara knew why. Even with the best of care, accidents still happened. And the two kinds of prisoners most at risk in a prison population were cops, and child abusers. The fact that Grissom was actually neither would not count at all.
"How long until a trial, do you think?" she asked as they rose and began to make their way out of the room.
"Faster than usual," Brass opined. "Media involvement and the fact that he's an insider--they're going to want to get this one out of the way as soon as they can."
Greg met them as they entered the hallway outside the courtroom, giving Sara a hard brief hug. "Hanging in there?" he said in her ear.
"Yeah." Sara pushed down the lump in her throat.
He nodded. "Later," he said, barely above a whisper, then stepped aside for Nick.
He, too, insisted on a hug, this one longer and redolent of support. When he let her go, his face was concerned. "You know he didn't do this, Sar."
Shame and annoyance--at herself, for missing the obvious--swelled, but she just smiled grimly. "I know."
Nick's grin was not very happy. "Cath's on a tear about this whole thing, so 'Rick took her out before she could lay into you. But you've got our support." He patted her shoulder. "You need anything, you let us know."
A suspect, Sara carefully didn't say. Greg was already risking his career to investigate the situation, and Sara didn't want anyone else from the night shift getting involved; there was a good chance that even if they could prove Grissom innocent, Greg and Ronnie and Sara would still lose their jobs.
Besides, too many people involved and we'll lose any hope of secrecy. "Thanks, Nick," was all she said.
He nodded, and left. Sara didn't grudge him; after all, it was the middle of the night for him.
"You should get some sleep," she reminded Brass, who was still at her side. He chuckled without much humor.
"Yeah. Look, I'll walk you out; the media's going to be lying in wait."
"In the parking garage?" Sara asked, suddenly amused, and he smiled.
"You never know. Indulge an old man in his paranoia, huh?"
There was no one in the garage, however; the media hounds were apparently sticking to the front steps of the courthouse. Sara let Brass see her safely to her Prius, and as she opened the door he laid a hand on her arm. "Hey. As an officer of the law, I have to stay impartial."
Sara nodded, wondering where he was going with this. Had Greg asked him into their little cabal?
Brass let out a breath. "But if you need anything--information, a question answered, an update--you can call me. I won't know what it's for, of course--" His eyes gleamed. "--but hey, you're a CSI. Always asking weird questions, you know?"
Her heart warmed. "Absolutely." Sara smiled at him. "I'll keep that in mind, Jim. I may have a lot of questions."
Some of the tension in his face relaxed. "Good, good. Glad to hear it." He stepped back. "Go home, get some rest."
"You too." Sara swung down into the driver's seat. "Jim--thanks."
He tossed her a casual salute, and walked off towards his own car. Sara closed her door and started the engine, feeling somehow much better than she had when she'd arrived.
She found a text message on her phone when she got home, from Greg, announcing that the second meeting of Operation Save Grissom would be held the next morning. Sara itched with the need to do somethingsooner, but the timing made sense. For one thing, he and Ronnie need to sleep before shift.
She would have preferred to spend the afternoon going over the case data yet again, but Ronnie had taken her thumb drive with her and Greg had removed the printout, so that no trace remained in the house of their activities. Instead, Sara retrieved Grissom's disks from the safe and began working her way through the files on them, using her own laptop.
The knock on the door, when it came, was not entirely unexpected.
Sara closed the files, and on impulse put the disks into her sweater pocket before going to answer. As she'd thought, the little front stoop of the house was crowded with a worn-looking Vartann, another officer, two Dayshift CSIs, and Ronnie.
"Ms. Sidle, we have a warrant to search your house," Vartann said formally, holding out the paper.
Sara took it, unfolding it and scanning it out of habit, but as she expected it was in precise order. As soon as she looked up, Vartann nodded. "Please step outside."
The closed expression on his face told her, paradoxically, that he hated what he was doing. Sara gave him a small smile and obeyed.
When she didn't scream at him, Vartann relaxed slightly. "Do we need to clear the house?" he asked, his voice conveying regret.
"No. Go ahead," Sara told them, and moved aside. The Dayshift CSIs were rigidly formal, while Ronnie refused to meet Sara's eyes at all.
Sara approved. It was the perfect touch.
The CSIs and Vartann entered the house, while the officer--a woman--remained outside with Sara. Sara seated herself on the front steps and prepared to wait. The disks were a slight weight in her pocket, and she was glad for her own forethought; if the murderer really were an insider at the lab, she didn't want them knowing that she was aware of the frame.
Not yet.
If they were being extremely thorough, the CSIs might confiscate her laptop, but she doubted it. They would certainly take Grissom's computer, but that didn't worry her--there was nothing on it that would incriminate him. She'd already checked.
Unless--the killer gets to the hard drive afterit reaches the lab--
Her spine crawled at the thought, and Sara made a mental note to mention it to both Ronnie and Greg. It wasn't likely, but better to cover all the bases.
The search took hours. Sara expected that; this case was worth the Dayshift CSIs' jobs, at least, and they would be careful. When the kitchen was cleared, Sara talked her attendant officer into letting her back in to make coffee, though no one else would accept any. Sara took her cup and went back out to the front stairs, sipping and watching the sunset redden the sky.
Various of their neighbors came out to watch for a while, but none of them approached to ask questions; she and Grissom weren't exactly close to any of the other families, being both antisocial and workaholics. She was grateful for their reticence in this case. I don't want to have to try to explain this to anyone. Grissom's arrest had been on the news, of course, but Sara didn't think her neighbors knew exactly who she and Grissom were.
Eventually Ronnie and one of the other CSIs came out to process Sara's car. Vartann emerged too, and gave her a receipt to sign for not only the evidence--Grissom's computer, some of his tools, various other items--but also his Mercedes. Sara winced slightly at the thought of what the poor vehicle was going to go through, but signed. Ronnie was keeping her promise.
When it looked as though they were packing up, Sara stood, stretched, and strolled over to one of the Dayshift people, a rather sanctimonious young man named Randall. He frowned as she approached, and Sara took a somewhat malicious enjoyment in the knowledge that she was taller than he was. "Did you guys get the safe open that easily? No one asked me for the combination."
All three CSIs exchanged glances, confusion and rue marking their faces. "What safe?" the other Dayshift CSI asked finally.
Vartann put his hands on his hips, exasperated. "Ms. Sidle...show us the safe, please."
Sara held back a snicker and led them back inside. As she went up the stairs she could hear Vartann, just behind her, grumbling under his breath about Ecklie and his people.
She reached to the sill above the bedroom door and retrieved the safe key, and smiled at him. "Don't be too hard on them, Sam. It's not in the usual place."
The CSIs had to crowd back against the wall as Sara reversed direction and led them into the master bath, which fortunately had enough room for everyone. Stepping over to the built-in towel warmer, Sara braced her hands on either side of its frame and pressed her thumbs to the catches set into the metal.
The warmer popped loose, and she swung it out on its hinges, revealing the fire-rated safe behind. With the ease of practice, Sara inserted the key and punched in the combination, then opened the safe door and stood aside. "Please note," she said pleasantly, "that I am not impeding this investigation in any way."
The weight in her sweater pocket belied her words, but it was only a small exception. Sara stood by and watched as Ronnie photographed and Randall went through the safe's contents, which included extra cash, important papers, and a few pieces of Grissom's mother's jewelry. In the end, though, they took nothing; none of it was pertinent to the case.
The CSIs went back downstairs as Sara closed and relocked the safe and replaced the towel warmer. As she put the key away, Vartann broke the silence. "Why? They'd never have figured it out."
Sara gave him a tired smile. "Because Ecklie would have noticed it was missing, and then they would all have gotten in trouble. He would know that Grissom would have a safe somewhere."
Vartann nodded slowly. "I think you should have let them, but your choice, Sidle."
They headed back down the stairs, and Vartann sighed. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but the PD's in an uproar over Grissom."
Sara glanced back at him. "Oh?"
"Yeah." He rubbed his forehead. "Half of us think he's innocent and this is all some kind of crock, while the other half swear they knew he'd snap someday."
She snorted, and Vartann grinned. "Yeah, I know. Look, is there anything you need out of his lab office? 'Cause that's where we're headed next."
Sara shook her head. "Just make sure they don't break his fetal pig jar."
"Yeah," Vartann repeated cheerfully. "Creepy as hell, you guys."
He loped off to collect the CSIs and leave, and Sara locked the door after them all and looked around at the mess. The search hadn't been destructive, but there were plenty of things out of place and there was print powder everywhere. Sara sighed.
"Well," she muttered, "at least now I have something to do."