"Tell me what you want," Grissom said decidedly, from across the table. He was in the interrogation room once again, seated across from Natalie Davis. She was blank, if not composed. "I need your help. I'm giving you a chance to make things right."
"She seemed... surprised, Mr. Grissom," she said, cocking her head side to side. "Pleasant. Like a girl before she trips and falls." Her lips seemed to devour the last few words. Her eyes were wide and full of false innocence. Grissom looked visibly distraught by her commentary. She noticed. "She didn't recognize me," she continued softly. "In a way, I hoped she would. I've seen her. She spoke to me once." Grissom scowled. "It was easy, though. To capture her." He stared hard at her eyes. "The needle went in so quickly. She was easy to move once she'd gone limp."
Grissom shuddered beneath his shirt and looked away. Thinking, he considered another way to talk to her. She was a delicate subject. And time was running out fast. So fast. He needed a clue.
"She was like a doll, wasn't she?" he asked. "Not very strong, I would imagine."
Natalie's eyes lit up. "Mhm."
"Soft."
She hoped to shatter him. "So soft. And smooth. Like porcelain. She barely put up a fight."
"Where do you keep your dolls, Natalie?" Grissom said gently.
"I have but a few, at home on the shelf. This one though..."
"Where..?" Grissom insisted.
"I put her in the truck."
He nodded. "Do you play with your friends?"
She shook her head. "No. You wouldn't play. You wouldn't have let me play."
"How did you play with such a big doll?" he asked, his insides twisting with every word.
"Dragged her. It was a shame to get her so dirty. Her pretty hair." She closed her eyes.
"How did you play your game all by yourself?" he inquired, staring intently at her face.
"She looked empty. Like the stare on a face after a deadly fall..."
"How did you play?"
"She tried to move. She couldn't. She couldn't."
Grissom's heart pounded. "How did you move the car?"
At once, she replied: "Physics," she said, as if having been shaken into consciousness. "Mr. Grissom. Like glue. Like bleach and blood. I have the tools to play my game. I always play alone. Alone."
"You are smart," he said, appeasing her. His hand squeezed his knee in frustration.
She almost smiled, seeming to forget him.
"Show me the hands that moved the car," he said, acting his enthrallment.
She held out her hands and showed him their backs and fronts. Something caught his eyes. Her palms were scratched and seemed to don the marks of a rope burn. He noted some slivers. Her eyes were closed again.
He stood, hating himself for what he was going to do. "Natalie," he said softly. "You're a good girl. Do you trust me?" She opened her eyes, adoring his attention. He walked towards her, taking her hands in his. She seemed to flush a bit. He pulled her to her feet.
"Mr. Grissom..." she whispered.
"The dolly needs to change her clothes," he said, sickened by himself. She raised her arms. He stared into her eyes. "What must she wear?"
"A pretty gown of silk and lace," she said, a childlike look of fascination on her face.
He put his hands on her hips, fumbling for the bottom of her shirt. She smiled, her hands up above her head. His heart beat terrible thuds in his chest. Sweat formed on his brow. His fingers were damp with anticipation. Slowly, he raised the material up over her stomach and her ribs, clean over her bra and up over her head. She stood there, her slim, girlish figure half-exposed to his darting eyes. She was pleased.
"She waits," she said, smiling slightly, her eyes downcast and unaware of him as he traveled around behind her, staring hard at her body.
Bruises. Tall. Cylindrical. Wood cuts. Slivers. Mud, not yet washed away.
Rain is falling, pouring on them. Natalie is struggling in the mud, pulling hard on something. She slips, losing her grip and landing forcefully against something. A post, perhaps. She has a wild look in her eyes.
Sara, unconscious in the grit, water tapering in around her.
Rope burns on Natalie's hands. A truck. A tow truck. Placement. Elaborate pulleys. A dangerous struggle. A high place. Close to the road. Somehow, the car is placed.
Sara crushed.
Natalie hummed softly to herself, goosebumps forming on her blue and black shoulders. She looks sore, but she doesn't seem to care. Grissom's breathing quickened.
"How did you do it?" he asked, losing a portion of his feigned composure.
Natalie looked at her hands, apparently understanding the situation. Her eyes were wide. She began to scream.
Grissom spun her around. "How did you do it?" he shouted into her face. She continued to scream.
Furious, but satisfied with his results, he exited the room, leaving her confused and distraught, and half-undressed. Brass was waiting for him outside.
"That was gutsy," Brass said. "Did you get what you were looking for?"
Before Grissom could answer, his cell phone rang. It was Nick.
"She used a car jack," Nick's voice rang out through the speaker. "It's here at her apartment. We found some blood on it. A small amount, and it's human."
"Good, Nick," Grissom said, his eagerness evident in his voice. He felt accomplished. They had a chance.
"Yeah, she couldn't have moved it very far. It's fairly heavy," Nick's voice continued. "The site must be close to the road."
"Thanks," Grissom said, ending the call. He dialed another number and Brass watched patiently, every so often peering in through the window behind him to check on Natalie. She had redressed and was rocking once again in her seat, her hands fumbling with one another.
"Yes, may I please speak to James?" he said with urgency. A pause. "James. This is Gil Grissom from the crime lab. Can you please narrow down the search for me?" Another pause. "Yes. Restrict it to locations with nearby trees, poles, or other high places, as well as fences, logs, or fallen trees. Yes. And close to the road." A final pause. Grissom's eyes lit up. "Thank you, James." He flipped the phone closed.
Brass looked at him questioningly.
"Recall your men, Jim," Grissom said. "Eleven locations, coming in by fax."
They tore off down the hall.
