A Few Days in Las Vegas Chapter 10
They did make it to the driving range. A bucket of golf balls, a couple of rented golf clubs, and Grissom was giving her a golf lesson. Simple things like grip, stance, posture, Sara learned quickly. He showed her a swing hitting a ball over two hundred yards.
She stepped up to take his place. "Should I aim for the marker?"
Grissom nodded. "Try for the two hundred marker." He smiled as she gave her hips a slight wiggle, placed the club's head against the ball, and lifted the club. A second later the ball shot from its tee traveling an unseen arc to the three hundred sign before it hit the sign and bounced onto the ground. He placed another golf ball before her.
"Are you sure you've not done this before?"
"Never."
Her swing was perfect again. Five times she hit a golf ball at least three hundred yards. Others noticed and stopped to watch. Grissom heard a bet made between two men. He put another ball in front of her. She grinned.
"How many do you want me to hit?" She asked.
"As many as you want, babe." He was smiling. "Try for ten, but don't overuse your arm."
She hit ten more balls between two and three hundred yards. Money changed hands behind her.
"Are you sure you've never done this?" Grissom asked.
"Promise. But I do shoot a gun. I've played softball and tennis. Eye hand coordination—I've always had it." Her smile spread across her face. "I've never known anyone who played golf."
"You do now. Next time, all day, on the course."
--
Sara packed her carry-on suitcase, gathered all her small things into her shoulder bag, and wore her new boots. Grissom watched. He knew if he touched her they would not leave the house in time for her flight.
She promised to call as did he.
He promised to be in San Francisco a day before her roommate's wedding.
She said she would return for another golf lesson, for another walk in the desert.
He knew it was easier for her to leave him.
She thought it was easier for him to stay.
She told him not to park, just let her out at the terminal. He parked.
Grissom got a pass to walk to the gate and they stood with backs to a wall, waiting for the last boarding call.
"I'll miss you," he whispered.
The announcement for last passenger boarding came.
Sara turned to him, pulled him into a kiss, and broke off smiling. "Go catch your killer, Grissom."
He reached into his pocket and placed a folded paper in her hands. "I'll see you in a few weeks." He watched as she disappeared into the airplane.
--
The plane lifted into the late afternoon sky before she dared look at the letter. One part of her brain insisted that it was just a letter, telling her something he did not want to say. Another part of mind told her it was a goodbye note. Even after he promised to come for the wedding, after he said they would play golf together, she could not shake the feeling of dread as she unfolded the plain paper.
"Dear Sara,
You will find that I can not say words that I know should be spoken. This is what I wish I could say to you, one of Shakespeare's sonnets—
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:-
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
I'll see you in a few weeks. I will miss you until then.
Sincerely, Grissom
Sara's eyes watered as she folded the note and closed her eyes.
--
"We fingerprinted everyone in that house! We have dusted every surface. I feel like my lungs are coated with dust—no match, nothing." Catherine slumped over the table, exhaustion showed in her eyes, then she sat up and reached for another comparison card.
Grissom watched from the doorway. In four days, not much had been found. All the garbage had been sifted and searched. The coat hanger had cut into the victim's neck indicating strength or anger or rage. He had talked to Sara twice tonight, miles apart and stuck in offices catching up. She had just made one suggestion.
"Where is the list of everyone who was in the house?" Catherine slid a paper across the table. "List of neighbors?" Another paper came his way. "Fingerprint list?"
"What are you thinking?" The question came from Warrick Brown, still a bit embarrassed about not finding the coat hanger.
"We missed someone. The victim knew who did this. She let him or her into the house, took him into the bedroom." He passed the sheets of paper to Warrick. "Cross check as I call out names."
Near the bottom of the list, four names were not on the fingerprint list.
"Who are these?" Grissom asked.
Catherine looked up. "Four kids—standing outside." She began to sort fingerprint cards. "They are not here."
"Get the tech in here." Grissom said.
Within minutes the woman appeared, along with Captain Brass.
Grissom breathed through his mouth, silently chanting a mantra of "be calm, be calm."
"Why don't we have fingerprints on these four?"
The woman chewed on a fingernail. She looked at Brass before answering, "They were kids in the yard, just looking. No one brought them in."
Brass said, "We'll get someone out there now."
Grissom's attention went back to the tech; his voice softened. "You did nothing wrong. As a matter of fact, you did an excellent job." He handed her the print from the trash can. "Can you make four copies of this one?"
Later, he was able to share the rest of the story with Sara. He heard her laugh as he related details. "Seventeen years old, a high school senior, sex in the afternoon with a real Mrs. Robinson—without the daughter, was Brass' description. Until the victim decided it needed to end. When she laughed at the boy, he twisted a coat hanger and she was dead. Never meant to kill her." He heard Sara sigh over the phone.
"Isn't that what they all say?" She asked.
A/N: Next one, San Francisco! And a wedding--leave us a review for the conclusion (or for the entire story), suggest a title for the next one!! Thanks.