Chapter Ten

I-90

Modern technology had greatly aided in the field of forensic anthropology. With the latest digital simulators, reality could be transformed into pixels and digits. Twenty-one tissue depth markers transmitted the skull's structure across to the software that Teri had loaded onto the computer. Green grid lines stretched and flickered as the software confirmed that the information was enough for it to work with. The bottom left corner flashed a series of blueprints that would closely match the skull. Teri clicked on one. Even though the software had an extensive databank, she didn't consult it. The long and narrow structure, the midline protruding to form a boat-like shape along with the cheekbones – her educated assumption would be Caucasian descent.

Based on Doc Robbins' findings of hair samples on the skull, the man had been dark-haired. For the sake of convenience, she chose dark eyes. Taking into account the assumed age, she modulated the skin folds accordingly. It took about a minute for the computer to take the inputs and scan an image on the screen.

She had a face to show the CSIs.

Catherine flipped close her phone with an exasperated sigh. Lindsey wanted to go out with her friends and, rebellious that she was, she didn't take a "No, you can't" very well. Catherine had to alternate between concerned explanations and stern threats of grounding to, finally, win the tiny little battle with her daughter. But, this battle, she knew, was likely to be repeated in the next couple of days. It was a regular occurrence now.

If being a mother is hard, being a mother of a teenager is akin to climbing the Andes.

She helped herself to the coffee pot. The brown liquid that poured out of the snout

looked far from appetizing, but at least, Catherine sniffed, it was fresh and it helped restore some of her strength.

"Cath." A tall, handsome CSI walked in, wearing his trademark smirk.

"Rick! I thought you weren't coming back until Thursday."

"Yeah, what can I say, I missed Ecklie."

She grinned back. "I'm sure he'll be glad to know that."

"Yeah, speaking of Ecklie, I gotta go see him." The look on his face clearly showing his displeasure at the idea. "Have you heard from Grissom?"

Catherine shook her head and took a sip of the distasteful brew.

"Do you think he'd be back?"

She looked up. "Why won't he?"

"C'mon Cath, you've known him what, twenty years? How many times has he taken such a long vacation?" He leant against the table, crossing his arms. "Did you know he's been gettin' teaching offers?"

"He's a CSI, Warrick. It's who he is. I don't think he would abandon that."

"Yeah, but I think this job gets to the best of us."

Before Catherine had a chance to ponder over Warrick's sudden insight, her pager sounded. Nick's 'Teri's ready' flashed on her screen.

"Sorry, Warrick, gotta take this."

He raised his hands. "Lemme not keep you."

On her way out, she couldn't help noticing that his left ring finger was empty.

Year by year, everything seemed to be getting smaller. There was a time when phones were a large metal box with wires thick as ropes and a handset that weighed as much as a dumbbell. Now phones were getting flatter, tinier, and compact with almost every other technological invention – videos, music, messenger, calendar, and camera – that there is. The first computers would have easily spanned a 100 by 100 ft room. Now, people carried them along in their back pocket. Keeping that in mind, it was beyond imagination how much information – and potential – was stored in the computer labs of the HQ.

"I'll run the face against the missing person's files, see if anything pops up." Nick was saying. "These cold cases, man, I hate them. And you know what's the absolutely sad part? Doesn't matter how much time passes, some of these families still have hope."

"For some of these families, hope's all they have, Nick." Teri murmured.

"Hey guys." Catherine walked in. "You got a face, Teri?"

Teri nodded, sliding back the chair a little to move away from the monitor.

She was watching the CSI's face when she caught a blur of movement downwards. The vision was too quick, but the sound took a while, and by then she knew what had happened.

It wasn't until a loud crash boomed into her ears that Catherine realized she had dropped her coffee mug.

Nick and Teri sprang to their feet simultaneously, shock and concern written on their faces.

"Cath, what's wrong?"

"Catherine, are you alright?"

"I-Is this the man? Is this the face you got, Teri?" Catherine's voice was shaking as a thin branch caught in a tornado.

"Yeah." Teri said, looking at the blonde, then at Nick, and back to her. "I may be wrong on one or two features, depending on how accurate we are in our analysis of age, but it's as close as we can come to getting an image of what he looks like."

"Catherine?" Nick gently touched her upper arm. "Do you recognize this man?"

"Walter Lansing Jr Pickerton, called himself Lan 'da' Man." Her eyes hardened. "I knew him, alright."

"We dated, briefly, when I was in my teens."

Nick and Warrick were alone with Catherine in her office. None of them knew how this recent development would affect the case, the least of not being whether Catherine would be allowed to continue supervising it.

"So, how briefly was briefly?" Nick asked.

"Until I caught him with this woman, Janice, then wife of Harold Barclay."

"Barclay? Of the record label?" Warrick frowned.

"The same. Lan thought he could use the missus as a direct flight into a contract with Barclay."

"What do you know about the guy?"

"Wealthy family, old money, practically owned the town where I grew up. Lan was the only son, the heir. Girls he hooked up with were treated like queens until he swatted them away after moving on. Didn't stop the female population of the town from loving him, though."

Warrick and Nick exchanged glances. Catherine's relationships – and the various forms in which it failed – were no secret to the lab. It was one of the most active topics of discussions among the younger lab rats. As soon as one of them caught the faintest whiff of a new guy, bets that would amaze even Warrick were placed on how long the affair would last and what would cause the rift. They were caught between curiosity about the reason this time and their respect for Catherine's privacy.

"Anyway," She continued. "He wanted to be the big name in the big city. I moved out with him. We traveled much of the West Coast, seeking opportunities, doing little gigs. It went on for about a year."

Nick scratched the coarse stubble on his head. "So, how does this all connect to Sara?"

Catherine blinked. She was so far back into the past that she had, for a moment, forgotten about the matter on hand.

"I don't know." She finally managed to say.