Chapter Thirteen

Out of Sight

Catherine caught herself in the reflection from the glassed walls. The way her hair bounced over her shoulders, testimony to the salon treatment it received a week earlier; the way her legs balanced perfectly on her heels as they briskly carried themselves across the corridors; the way her steps were perfectly coordinated with Sara's, as if in a marching band. For seven years, they've been down the same path, in the same fashion, for the same purpose. She couldn't remember the details of what they talked about, the words, or even which particular cases. She only remembered that they had done it so many times before that it had become just another one of her workplace habits.

But today it was different. She hadn't realized the routine until today when it had been changed. And the change was so subtle, so unexplainable, yet so real. The conduit that gets established between them every time this routine occurs was lost. Nothing flowed between them, not info, no evidences, and no theories. The set in Sara's jaw didn't give her any indication of what the brunette was feeling. They had almost neared her office, right at the end of the hallway, when they saw Nick walking towards them in big strides.

"Hey Cath, guess what? I've checked into Greenberg's background. He was adopted by a Ruth Greenberg. There's no record of his biological family because, get this, it was destroyed in the 1989 earthquake. He never went through Child Services, which makes me think that Ruth actually knew his real parents. Ruth died a few years ago, but she's survived by siblings and I was thinking of paying them a visit."

His enthusiasm was only met with silence and a grim exchange of looks between the two women.

"Some…thing wrong?" He frowned.

Catherine lifted her shoulders and dropped it with a sigh. "It's not our case anymore, Nick."

"What?"

"I just spoke to Ecklie and he's handed it over to dayshift."

"Whoa, Ecklie did what?" Nick gave a disbelieving gasp. "Why would he do that? He can't do that."

"He just did."

"Is it because you were involved with Lansing?"

It was Sara's turn to be shocked. "You were involved with him?"

Catherine looked nowhere in particular. "Yes, when I was sixteen."

"Gosh, Catherine, is there anything else I don't know?"

"Well, we can't just stand around and do nothing." Nick said.

"No, we won't be doing nothing. You and Warrick have a 415 at the Palermo."

Sara noticed the quick flash in Catherine's eyes that she could only interpret as an idea forming.

October 7, 1989 Beckwith Circle, Cambridge, Massachusetts

Sara was frustrated as the loud slamming of the front door once again broke her concentration. She rose from her bed and put aside the text book that was balanced on her belly. The strain on it reminded her of how heavy the book was.

"Sara!"

"I'm studying!" She yelled back.

That didn't deter her roommate from bursting the door open.

"Yes, yes, I'm disturbing, I know. I'll leave you with your precious books. Just promise me you're helping me choose a dress for Friday night." Josie paused. "Peter's taking me to meet his parents."

"I will."

"You are the bestest friend, Sar." Josie beamed, hurrying out of the room.

Sara was ready to flop back into bed when the door flew open again.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. There's a Vanessa Munoz waiting for you down by the foyer."

At that, Sara stiffened, her eyes going wide.

Sara walked towards the single closet in her bedroom. She slid open the door and stared at her wardrobe. Dark, sober colors greeted her back. On the top shelf was a box. She stretched and took it out. A duct tape had firmly sealed it close. She hadn't opened it in more than a decade, but she never got around to throwing it away. Whether it was moving to San Francisco or coming to Vegas, she carried the box with her. It wasn't a reminder; it was a part of her.

With a knife, she tore the tape and the flaps bobbed a little as the pressure released from them. She carefully pried them apart.

The papers had browned with age. As she ran her hand over them, she recognized the crispness that had been preserved over years of non-use. Sara looked up, fighting the fear overpowering her. Her knees had gone frail and something cold had settled inside her stomach. With trembling fingers, she untied the string that kept all the paper together. Using extreme gentleness, she perused through them until she found what she was searching for.

"What's wrong?"

Vanessa looked very much the same, except it was the first time that Sara was seeing her outside of formals. She had on a simple tee and jeans that hugged her curves complimentarily.

"You are looking well."

"I am well. What's wrong?" Sara repeated. "Is she-"

"She has started having seizures again. But this time it's worse. They are moving her out of Modesto."

Despite her resolve otherwise, Sara couldn't help the tears from wetting the corners of her eyes. "T-to where?"

"For now, we don't know. The East Coast, maybe. Maybe Florida."

"Oh. And you? Will you fight for my mother even after she's moved?"

Vanessa sighed. Even if it wasn't immediately noticeable, Sara knew that others must see the weary lines that made the woman seem so much older. It gave her no small amount of guilt to know that her mother's case was the reason for it.

"I don't know. We have branches all over the country, but they might not take interest. It's not personal for them."

"It's not personal for you either."

"It wasn't."

"Let this go, Vanessa. You can't win. She can't win. She's alive and not suffering the death penalty, which is more than enough."

"Is it? Is it enough for you, Sara? Does it justify your mother's humiliation?" Vanessa snorted. "But then again, how would you know what condition she's in. You never went to visit her."

"Don't do this, not today." Sara looked down at her shoes.

Vanessa came closer and clasped her hands in front of her chest. "Sara, she's going away, maybe forever. She might never come back; you might never get a chance again. Just see her this one time."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Don't ever come here again, Vanessa."

"Sara-"

"You keep doing this and it kills me to tell you no every time. So, just… don't."

The silence was so complete, yet so unbearable. Sara wanted to cry, yell, or both. But she couldn't. She had resolved to put her past firmly behind and as much as she liked Vanessa, seeing the woman wasn't helping her do that.

"Very well." Vanessa's voice was like chipped edges of ice. "I will do my best for Laura. But in the event that I cannot offer her justice-"

Sara's nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms.

"I'm giving you my address and number alongwith contact information for some of my friends. If, for some reason, you can't find me, ask them, they'll know." She heard what sounded like scribbling on paper. "I hope one day you will stand up for her. She doesn't deserve this; not the pain and certainly not her daughter's disregard."

When she finally opened her eyes, Vanessa was long gone.

The Crime Lab looked recognizable, yet not familiar, during the day. The bright shafts of sunlight slanting down and the speckles of dust dancing in them gave the atmosphere a sepia, grungy look. The modern edge that the hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of instruments brought to the place was lost in the placid mood that usually accompanied afternoons. Droopy, hungry, and sleepy masks covered the faces of the lab techs.

It was certainly not the first time Sara had been inside the Crime Lab during day. But she barely noticed the passing of hours while she was working overtimes. One shift merged into the other and, before she knew, she hadn't gone home for more than 24 hours.

This was different. She wasn't staying back on a case. She wasn't going through extra reading. She wasn't called for help. She had no reason to be here, none official, anyway. She felt wary as she walked across the hallways, just the way an intruder feels. She expected someone to question her presence any minute. But her trip went by without incident.

Catherine had said she shared her office with another supervisor. Thankfully, the other woman wasn't fond of paperwork. She took her job, more than her title, seriously, and was probably in the field somewhere. That bit of information Greg provided. He apparently found her quite easy on the eyes.

Sara casually pushed open the door, one eye alert for any signs of Sharon Rekieh, otherwise known as the dayshift supervisor. Assured that no one was giving her suspicious looks, Sara walked inside.

She suppressed her smile at the huge, plastic ducks placed conspicuously on the desk. One of them, the blue one, was actually winking. She gave it a pleading look, "Shh. It's our secret, OK."

She didn't have to search a lot for the folder, as she had feared. Catherine, or perhaps Rekieh, had placed it right on top of the other piles. She picked it up and then quickly glanced around towards the windows. She didn't detect any presence and it was quiet outside. She returned her attention to the thing in her hands.

The folder was thicker than she had expected. Browsing through them, she saw a lot many printouts about everything from GenSyn's IRS information to news clippings. Each had tiny little notes made at its bottom in what she recognized was Catherine's writing. She flipped past them until something caught her attention. She went a page back.

Suddenly, there was a noise behind her. She froze, almost dropping the folder in the process, mind running to think up an excuse. Through her terror, she saw the door was still closed. She heard one of the techs shouting at someone else to be careful and not throw stuff around. Even though they couldn't really see her through the shuttered windows, she still eased into the shadows to be safe. It wasn't until everything went back to silent that she allowed herself to breathe.

She took out a notepad from her jacket and a pen and began to scratch in the details that had interested her. Her hands shook and she silently cursed herself. Finished with that page, she continued reading. Sara copied down info from few more sections before closing the folder and carefully placing it back into its original position. That whole business must have taken less than ten minutes, but she already felt like she had been there an hour and she could feel her heart muscles thump against her ribcage.

Sara went to the windows and slowly lowered one of the slats. She checked to see if there was anyone outside. Assured, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

With an air of casualness that she hoped was convincing, Sara closed the door behind her. She pat her jacket to make sure she hadn't forgotten her notepad. She had just turned the corner when she collided with a solid body.

"Sara?" Catherine blinked when she had recovered from the collision. "What the hell were you doing in my office?"