Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they belong to CBS, and absolutely no copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 21
I find myself slipping back into consciousness, and could swear that I hear somebody talking. Oh dear god no, I knew I'd reached new levels of mental imbalance but the voices are just too much. How does that work I wonder? If you hear the voices and know you're insane, does that somehow cancel it out? Good god Sidle, shut your mental yap woman, it's far too early in the morning to embark on a rant, mental or otherwise. See this is what happens, you start thinking about stuff, which only leads to zoning out and then you wonder why you're hearing voices. Well, I'll tell you why you're hearing voices, it's because you talk to yourself you big weirdo.
Oh god, now I'm arguing with myself, too. I'm also getting the feeling I'm being watched. Oh shit, now I can add paranoia to my list of weird behaviour. Scratch that, I've always been paranoid. A doctor of mine said as much once, well, he didn't really say it but I knew he was thinking it. I couldn't help it, I have a phobia of doctors and he was waving various bits of equipment at me, and I kinda told him to back off or I'd break his legs. In any case, if I am being watched, then whoever it is ain't going to see much because I'm buried beneath Catherine, who at this point is looking at nothing else but the inside of her eyelids. I'm certain about that, because she's doing a great impression of a pneumatic drill, as she snores into my neck.
I crack an eye open slightly and survey the room, and it immediately becomes apparent that I am indeed being watched. Two sets of eyes peer over Catherine's shoulder, from her side of the bed, and I can practically hear, as well as see them grinning. I've heard people say they could almost hear somebody grin before, but never understood it till now. Catherine tightens her hold on me, and then wraps her legs around mine. I swear the woman turns into a monkey at bedtime, and is permanently glued to my side. God, I love my life.
"Hey Linds, hey Animal," I greet them both, as Jeremy blushes bright red at the use of his nickname.
"I hate that," his ears go a shade darker as I chuckle. "I bet Mom told you."
I nod, because it was indeed Nancy who told me that they'd all nicknamed him Animal, from the Muppet Babies, because he often used to growl like him when he started learning to crawl around the house.
"I think it's cute," I grin at him as he rolls his eyes.
"Bucket head, cute? Not in a million years," Lindsey pretends to stick her fingers down her throat.
"Well if I'm Animal, then Aunty Cath has got to be Miss Piggy," Jeremy snickers. "She snores like a freight train."
"I heard that, squirt," Catherine says all of a sudden, in a croaky voice.
"Way to go, nimrod," Lindsey nudges him. "We're in trouble now."
"That would depend on what time it is," Catherine snuggles further into me. "And you will be in trouble if I hear you using the word nimrod again, before you're eighteen."
Jeremy wears a smug grin, as Lindsey glares at him. "Sorry Mom."
I squint at my watch, "It's just after ten, sweetheart."
"In that case, I'll let you both off for the moment, but you're in big trouble when I wake up properly. Anyway, when are you guys gonna stop crawling into bed with us? You're 35," she says, as they laugh.
"I can see how you'd think that. That's because troll face, here," Jeremy jabs a thumb in his cousin's direction, "looks as if she's had a hard life."
Catherine buries her head in my chest, and shakes with silent laughter. I think he's been listening to Jeff again.
"Listen buttwipe, you better hadn't start burning my briskets, or I could just as easily kick you out of my room, and then you won't have anywhere to sleep next time you come over," Lindsey says, sounding so much like her mother.
"That's just fine, you go ahead and get hysterical, but when you're looking for company, don't ask me. I'll be too busy ignoring you to care," he replies smoothly as Catherine and I listen and try not to laugh about it.
"What is it with men? You so much as look in their direction, and all of a sudden they think you adore them. Don't bother bringing your butt over here again, I'll be the one busy ignoring you," she replies, and now she sounds like me.
"You ever get the feeling they're either growing up too quickly, or that they listen to us too much?" I say with a laugh.
"Oh yeah," she answers vaguely, never at her best in the mornings, because like me, she hates them.
In fact, some mornings it's like waking up next to Godzilla with its knickers in a twist. But I'm hardly the poster child for chirpiness first thing, and its nice waking up with somebody who feels every bit as resentful toward the world as I do that early in the day. This could be a match made in heaven.
"I learnt from the best," Lindsey beams, and points to her mother, trying to earn brownie points in the process.
"Aunty Cath, Linds is trying to say you get hysterical," Jeremy laughs loudly, as Lindsey shoots him a death glare.
"Can't argue with the kid, he's right," I say with amusement.
"Hey," Catherine complains, and reaches around behind me and digs her nails into my butt. "I do not get hysterical. I go postal, there's a difference."
"Stop that, I warned you once before not to dig your nails into my ass."
"What are you gonna do about it?" she cracks an eye open, and looks at me.
"Um…kiss you stupid, so I can keep my kneecaps?" I grin stupidly.
"Good girl, you're learning," she chuckles, and then kisses me gently.
"Ewwww!" both kids chorus, before turning the tv on, and then arguing over what to watch.
"Good morning, baby, last night was amazing by the way," she whispers, as Jeremy and Lindsey trade insults loudly.
"And so are you," I whisper back. "I love you."
"I love you too," she says, before I brush my lips against hers again, hoping we'll be afforded just a tiny bit of privacy because the kids are looking at the tv.
It wasn't to be though, the 'ewwww's' soon start up again.
"Turn the tv down, guys, I can't hear myself think," Catherine mumbles from under the duvet.
"You don't need to think, you're kissing Sara and you always say you can't think straight when you're kissing her anyway," Lindsey replies, and wrestles the remote from her cousin.
"Thinking straight?" I say in mock horror, "I should hope you're not thinking straight around me!"
Catherine's laugh rumbles against my chest. "Last night should prove I don't."
"What happened last night?" Jeremy asks conversationally, as he snatches the remote while Lindsey isn't looking.
"You crashed out like the lightweight you are," I tease him. "What's it gonna take for you two to amscray?"
"Excalibur on Saturday?" Lindsey tries it on.
"Not bad, troll face," Jeremy seems impressed, and she rolls her eyes him.
"How about you watch tv downstairs until we're up, and I won't ground you both for a month?" now I'm trying it on, and they look at me, as they consider it.
"You got a deal," Lindsey gets up and drags her cousin out of the room, closing the door behind them.
"Suckers," Catherine snickers, like we're nine years old too. "Wait for it…5…4…3…2…1…"
The door flies open again, and Jeremy pops his head in. "You can't technically ground me, I don't live here."
"Nice try kiddo, but while you're here, you get the same loss of privileges as Lindsey," Catherine winks at him.
"Ah man!" he shakes his head, and closes the door behind himself.
"Those two are beginning to frighten me," I say with a grin.
"They take after me and Nancy."
"Yeah I know, they never shut up, and so I figured they got it from you two," I giggle as she flips me on my back and leans over me.
I feel Catherine's hand snaking up my shirt, and while she knows we can't do anything because the kids are awake, she's going to tease me anyway. I let her, purely because I've turned into a pervert and she's like an addiction. Her fingers graze across my nipple, and I suck more oxygen in, in the hopes that my eyes will quit bouncing around in my sockets because of the way she's touching me.
"You're so easy," she husks, doing that thing she does, where she chuckles throatily in a breathless whisper sort of way.
Well, two can play at that game. I slide my hand down her side, across her hip and down her thigh, where she automatically leans to one side and allows me better access. As I cup her through the thin cotton of her underwear, her breath hitches, and it's my turn to chuckle.
"Now who's easy?"
"You weren't playing fair," she says. "You went in for the kill; I merely fondled you a bit."
"You're annoyed because I won this round. Doesn't matter in any case, the kids are home and you're not gettin' any, Willows." I grin evilly.
"Fine, I'll sort myself out," she says, flashing me an evil grin of her own, as she moves my hand out of the way and cups herself, instead.
Just moments later, I know she's gone commando as her underwear is thrown over the side of the bed, and her hand disappears under the covers again.
"Cath," I suddenly sound like a rusty hinge. "That's…sooo hot."
"Feels great too," she wiggles her eyebrows at me, then bites her bottom lip as she closes her eyes and moans very softly.
"Oh sweet Jesus," I groan, feeling the bed shudder under the weight of her movements. "Stop that."
"No."
"Then at least let me play too."
"No."
"Catherine Willows, if you don't quit being beastly toward me, I'm calling your mother."
"And tell her what, exactly? That I'm getting myself off?" she stills her hand, and laughs. "She'd kick your ass from here to Reno."
"Why do you insist on torturing me?" I complain, as my bottom lip wobbles in mock sulk mode.
"Call me strange, but it turns me on when you complain about it," she starts up the movement of her hand again, and my throat suddenly goes dry.
She turns over on her back, and presses her head into the pillow, as she speeds her movements up a little, and I'm left laying here feeling like the last kid in the queue when being picked for a team. Her gasps come in little breathy whispers and her hips move to and fro, as her entire body begins to rock back and forth in a gentle rhythm. She's driving me insane. Do I lay here and start playing my own game, or do I muscle my way in on hers or what?
"Catherine."
She stops again, and gives me the evil eye. "What? Are you gonna lay there complaining, or are you gonna gimme a hand here?"
"I'm not sure," I snort with laughter, but then quickly shut up when she turns her back on me and resumes her 'activities'.
Shit.
I very quickly decide I'm not going to let her get away with it, and I spoon her from behind, as my hand slides across her stomach and down to cover her own hand, where she is evidently very busy. She gasps quietly, pressing back into me as I slip inside her with ease, her arm bumping against mine as she helps the proceedings along a little. She hisses quietly, and flips over on her front, throwing her leg over my hip so she can allow me deeper access. She covers my lips with her own, her tongue snaking over mine, lips vibrating with silent moans. One arm threads its way around my neck, and pulls me closer, while the other hand slides between us again. This time the intention is not to touch herself, but to touch me, and I'm the one who's suddenly gasping when her hand slides inside my shorts and begins to rub against me. You wouldn't think we spent hours last night making love, yet here we are doing it again, as if we can't get enough of each other. A little voice tells me we shouldn't be doing this right now, not when the kids are here, but another little voice says it okay, because neither of them go anywhere without sounding like elephants on the stairs and we'd have time to stop.
"Oh god, Sara," she rests her forehead against mine, and speeds up the rhythm of her hand.
"Let it go for me baby, I'm right here with you," I murmur as I capture her lips again.
That is, until her cell phone rings.
"Fuck!" she swears loudly, and takes a few moments to compose herself before she reaches over for it, and takes a deep breath as she answers. "This better be good, Gil, you're not on my favourite list of people right now…okay, but you'll need to give us an hour…yeah, see you later."
"What's up?" I lean up on my elbow, as she rolls over toward me again.
"We're being called into work. Sometimes I could quite cheerfully strangle him."
"Ah, you're kiddin' me?"
"I kid you not. Dayshift is swamped, Swing shift has been called in already, and they're not making a dent in it."
"Let me guess, Sci-Fi Week?"
She nods. "Sci-Fi Week."
I throw the covers aside, and swing my legs out of bed. "I'm beginning to hate this job. I want a normal life."
"Quit pouting, you love it," she grins, taking hold of my hand and following me into the bathroom.
"I did, until it interfered with my quota of sex."
"It wouldn't have, if you were any faster," she says smoothly, as she flicks a wink over her shoulder.
"Yeah yeah, go on, blame the geek," I grin.
"If the geek hurries up, then we can finish what we started, in the shower," she says, as I lock the door behind us, and her t-shirt is thrown in my direction with a sultry grin.
I don't need telling twice.
***
I check the clock on the dash, the orange numbers glowing in the darkness and telling me it's almost 8pm. I haven't stopped all day, and I know Catherine has been equally as busy, but we haven't had the opportunity to work together much tonight. We've just been taking cases as and when they come, and pairing up with whoever is free. Which didn't really go all that well, and I knew inter-shift competition was strong but there's some real animosity going on.
That said, I did manage to get my own back. You know me, never one to shy away from a challenge; I set about driving them nuts. It's amazing how many different ways you can truly drive a person to distraction if you really try hard enough. Catherine and I were paired up with a guy named Tim earlier on this afternoon when we were investigating a road traffic accident. I think at one point, he was ready to jam his head in the glove box and cut his own oxygen off when I relished telling him about the most gruesome case I'd ever worked on. Okay, it was a teeny white lie; I hadn't worked on the case, because the case had come out of a crime novel. But it turned him an interesting shade of green, which was pretty entertaining because I'd never seen a man quite that colour before. Needless to say, he enthusiastically threw himself from the vehicle the minute we got back to the lab, and has refused to look in our direction since.
My phone rings and I snatch it from my belt, eager to answer it because the display tells me it's Catherine. "Sidle's care home, for the recently traumatised."
"You know Tim is never going to be the same right? Last time I saw him, he still hadn't touched his sandwich," she laughs on the other end. "Where are you babe?"
"Just parking up outside, now."
"Good, Grissom wants to see us all, before we go back out on assignment."
"Okay, I'll see you in five, sweetheart."
"Look forward to it, Sidle," she says huskily, which causes me to have flashbacks to this morning, and I grin uncontrollably about it.
A few short minutes later, I walk into the break room and see that it's utter chaos. I don't even recognise most of the people in here and I'm again reminded that thanks to Ecklie, there are two distinct elements in this lab, dayshift and Nightshift, and never the twain shall meet. Nobody seems to care about Swing shift; people seem to think it's made up of those that nobody else has any room for, so consequently nobody takes any notice of them. Except for that time last year, when it got interesting because Catherine was Swing shift Supervisor for a while, but even she was glad to re-join us.
"Can we have a little hush, please?" I hear Catherine's voice raised above the loud noise, as I step in the door.
The noise continues quite loudly, and I see her head suddenly appear over the crowd. She sticks her fingers in her mouth before whistling loudly, as the noise stops abruptly and everybody turns to face her.
"Thank you! Right, where are my crew?" she looks around for us, and we have to squeeze our way through the crowd to get to her. "Okay, listen up guys we got a…"
Before she's had chance to get halfway through her sentence, the noise starts up again even louder than before, and this time she's pissed.
"HEY! QUIET!" she looks at them exasperated. "If you're going to talk, do it a little less loudly. Ecklie, can't you have everyone spread out a little more? I don't know how the hell I'm meant to brief my shift if I can't hear myself think."
"Why are you briefing them, anyway?" he asks, grabbing a look at her ass, while I glare at him.
"No reason, I just happen to be Nightshift Assistant Supervisor, which means I'm in charge right now since Grissom is busy," she rolls her eyes at him.
Ecklie merely shrugs and turns his attention back to the guy he's talking to. I've noticed he's become a lot colder toward her since she and I got together, and while he never liked me before, now he's downright hostile whenever he has cause to talk to me. I just carry on smiling, because Catherine is amazing and she's mine and he hates it. After him bitching at Grissom almost constantly about us being an item and working together, I suspect he'd love to split us up at work, but there's absolutely nothing he can do about it, which pisses him off even more.
She grinds her teeth in his direction, and raises her voice again as she turns her attention to us instead. "Okay, here's what I'd like to do, if everyone from nightshift could please file out into the hallway, for me. You'll be given new assignments if required, and those of you who are still working on cases will shortly be allowed to get back to them, got it?"
Nods and murmurs abound as people shuffle out, and the room empties out considerably. She places her hands on my shoulders as I grab her around the waist, and set her back down on the floor. She winks at me, my face going warm as the entire lab seems to choose that exact moment to look in our direction. I watch her retreating form and quickly follow with a grin on my face, yep, she's definitely mine and the entire lab knows it. Thank you god, you've more than made up for everything else that's rained down on me from above.
"Right, those of you still working on cases…anybody got any problems they need to discuss?" Catherine's eyes wander over the assembled crowd.
"Yeah, I'm working a 419 in a warehouse and I got stuck going solo because there was nobody else available. Can I get some help please, Catherine?" Pete Murchison, one of our recent hires, stands on his tiptoes and looks over the crowd at her.
"I'll sort something out for you Pete, don't worry…where's Peewee? He should be just about done on that arson case," she refers to Tony Herman, otherwise known as Peewee for obvious reasons.
"I'm here, I'm here," he comes rushing up the corridor red faced. "Sorry, traffic is murder."
She smiles at this. "Peewee, can you do me a favour, and work secondary with Pete, please? He'll bring you up to speed on where he's at."
"No problem, Catherine," he nods and smiles as he joins Pete at the back.
"Anybody else?" she looks around and nobody else appears to have a problem. "Right, thanks guys. Those of you still working cases, on you go. Those that aren't, stay behind."
She methodically hands out assignment slips, and people pair up and go off to their scenes. I take this opportunity to lean against the wall and indulge in a fantasy or two. I swear there is nothing quite like watching Catherine in charge. She's confident, willing to listen, and doesn't take any shit so people know not to push her too far or take advantage of her good nature. They'd be dicing with death if they did, let me tell ya. No wonder I'm hooked. But the nicest part is, there's another side to her that they don't see. They see the confident sexy career woman who gets things done come hell or high water. Me? I get to see the softer, gentler, loving side of her.
The side that looks adorably grumpy some mornings when she wakes up, and the one that refuses to go to sleep unless she gets a goodnight kiss and is allowed to snuggle with me. They don't see how incredibly romantic or tender she can be, and the way she cries at films when she thinks nobody is looking, and then lets me hold her when she knows I am looking. I see all that and more, and there isn't a day that goes by that doesn't make me so happy that I had a chance with this amazing woman. I don't know what I've done to deserve it but I know this much, I will fight to keep her and if Eddie thinks I won't, he's seriously underestimating me.
Pretty soon it's just our team left, and just as she's about to sort us out, Grissom glides up the corridor and purloins the assignment slips. Completely oblivious to the fact she's doing just fine on her own, he takes charge again right at the very last minute and begins flapping around and chivvying us all about. She grits her teeth, knowing he is often completely oblivious to things like manners. But just lately, he's been different, so I wonder what's to blame for his apparent rudeness this evening. And then it clicks, he has somewhere to be in the morning.
"Nicky, I need you with Greg, armed robbery at Johnson's Car Dealership. Warrick, suspicious circs in Henderson. Ladies, I want you on a B & E in Summerlin."
"What did you get?" she asks, trying to get a look at his slip, as the guys grin and get back to work, knowing she's going to complain about Grissom any minute now.
"Nothing special," he says, with a slight smile, thereby indicating to us that he's lying his toady little head off.
"Gil…" she raises an eyebrow, indicating it would be smart to tell her.
"Incendiary device in a mailbox," he trots off, still snickering about the look on her face.
"Gilbert Grissom, you big sneak!" she puts her hands on her hips, and glares after him. "He did that on purpose, we've got the most boring case of the year, while he goes off and plays bomb squad."
"I'm the boss, I've earned the right to pick my own cases," his amused voice echoes from the other end of the hallway.
"Now he's stealing my lines," she throws her hands up in the air, and concentrates on glaring in his general direction in such a way that could very possibly make him spontaneously combust by the power of thought alone.
"Come on, Willows, we'll get you your very own bomb next time. Time for work now, wave and let's go bye bye," I grin at her, and start off toward the exit, as she slaps me on the rear end for my cheekiness.
"I've earned the right to pick my own cases," she mimics childishly. "Let's just see how he likes it when Terri gets here. I hope she bitches him out from hell to breakfast, it would serve the little sneak right."
Oh god, please tell me it ain't PMS.
"Sorry, babe," she smiles sheepishly at me. "Touch of PMS."
Oh dear god, shoot me now.
***
I steal a quick glance at Catherine as she gazes out of the window in quiet contemplation as I drive to our scene. As awful as it sounds, I would've found it easier working on my own, and then I wouldn't have had to keep pretending that everything is okay. Fact is, nothing is okay. Ever since Eddie kindly delivered his threat last night, I've not been able to relax, I feel sick with worry and it's getting worse. Everything seemed fine this morning, until I remembered his words just as we were leaving for work, and the heaviness descended on me again.
I think Catherine is beginning to realise that there's something seriously wrong, despite my attempts at hiding it. We're getting to know each other better all the time, and Catherine is more intuitive than most. I can tell she senses it, but so far she hasn't mentioned it, and I think she's hoping I'll talk to her about it before she has to ask. Pretty soon, that could be the case, because now matter how hard I try, I can't find a solution to the problem, at least not one that we could all be happy with. Not that I can really afford to tell her, because the first thing she'd do is hunt him down, and tighten her hands around his throat until he turned a lovely shade of blue.
See therein lays my dilemma. Normally, if I had a problem, Catherine would be the first person I'd go to. She's easy to talk to, she gives practical useful advice, and she can always seem to find a way around things. Except when it comes to her daughter, she's extremely protective of her and will go absolutely ballistic any time she perceives a threat. This is why I'm pretty sure she'd rush in before she had time to think, and I know we have to avoid that at all costs, because Lindsey would be gone before she could blink. Eddie said as much, and I really don't want that to happen.
It feels as if I'm beginning to lead a double life here. I'm doing the one thing I said I'd never do, and that's keep secrets from her. But at what point does protecting somebody you care about cross the line, and become a case of lying to them? I'm pretty sure I missed something that everybody else seems to know. Once upon a time, I was the scientific, logical, unapproachable and completely closed off Sara Sidle that I'd had to learn to be. For a time, my friends in Frisco changed all that, but once I was back out in the world on my own, my old fears reasserted themselves and before I knew where I was, I was back behind the glass wall that kept the rest of the world at bay.
I hate being that person. Granted, science was important to me, being logical equally so. But it didn't keep me warm at night, and it still wouldn't if I found myself on my own again. It didn't hold me when I felt scared, didn't dry my tears when I felt so lonely that it would feel like my heart would break in two. Science didn't nurture me, or love me, or make me feel as if I had a purpose in life beyond remembering to breathe, although I tried to convince myself it did.
Catherine on the other hand, does all of that, and more. She makes me want to forget about that logical side of myself that only sees the world in black and white, because I never believed I deserved anything beyond it. But she makes me believe that I do, she makes me want to be the kind of person who believes that anything is possible, even when science tells me it isn't. I'm only human, and we all need to dream, we all need to let go and have fun, and act nuts once in a while. I fully believe that life is too short to take anything too seriously, unless you have to. And these past few weeks, has seen me doing exactly that.
With Catherine, I can be the person I want to be, not the person I felt I had to be. So I'll continue ranting away like a mad woman, say and do stupid things just because I can, because Catherine loves me and for the first time in my life, I'm truly happy. And that's why I can't slide back into being the old me, if I do that then I've lost her forever, because I'll shut myself off and Eddie will have achieved what he set out to do. That's why I know I have to tell her, irregardless of whether she will go through the roof or not, because I can only protect her for so long, and in the end, the decision is hers to make. So fuck Eddie, and fuck his little games. The minute I get a chance, I'll gonna tell her and I'll just have to hope she listens.
I'm practically on autopilot and before I know it, we're already inside the property we've been sent to investigate. This case doesn't really require us both, but Grissom knows we've spent most of the day apart and he still has us officially paired off, even though we've more than learnt to get along. I mean, she and I are living together now, so I'd say he's more than achieved his aims. Having said that, we enjoy spending all day with each other. We hadn't had a cross word, and living in each other's pockets seems to suit us. Yeah, I know, its enough to make you sick.
"Saz, come here a minute, please?" she kneels near the window, and motions for me to come closer.
"Can tell you've been on the phone to John recently," I laugh at the use of my nickname.
"It's cute, I like using it," she grins at me, and then points her flash light at a small piece of jagged glass. "Does that look like blood to you?"
She knows it is. She just wanted an excuse to get me within six inches of her. I get a better look, leaning much closer to her than I really have to, just like she wanted. It's a little game we've devised, whereby we can be as close as we like whenever we need to under the guise of looking at the evidence. It's weird how things change, at one point she and I would try and work a crime scene with as much distance between us as we possibly could, and now you'd be hard pressed to fit fresh air between us.
"I'd say so," I reply, with satisfaction, knowing if they have previous, we'll pick them up pretty soon. "Here you go Sherlock, knock yourself out swabbin' it."
"You're in a cheeky mood tonight," she grins, and takes the swab from me, before she carefully gets a sample of the blood. She then removes the piece of glass from the frame and bags it.
"I'm trying for getting laid, why else would I misbehave?" I make the effort to try and be normal, there's no sense making myself ill with worry, not when I've made the decision to tell her.
"Again?" she says, pretending to look shocked. "That's what, eight times already this week?"
"Ah, you're keeping count," I chuckle. "It would have been double that number if I'd had more energy, but between Grissom and Lindsey, I'm beginning to flag."
"That's why you're ordering me around then? Saving your energy by being bone idle." she nudges me with a laugh.
"Nope, this is foreplay. It's my turn to play at being Nightshift Assistant Supervisor, because you've been clearly having too much fun in that role, tonight. From now on, you're a lowly CSI Level 3 with absolutely no management responsibilities."
"In that case, I've got a stack of paperwork on my desk that you can play around with. I'll borrow your lab and put my feet up while I listen to rock music and eat potato chips."
"Busted," I laugh. "I was at a loose end, and you were in a meeting."
"You were slacking off, because you're sleeping with the Nightshift Assistant Supervisor, and you thought you'd get away with it," she chuckles, as we begin gathering evidence bags together, and storing them in a cardboard evidence box for transport.
"Not to mention having photographic evidence of my supervisor indulging in transvestism. I could probably get an office, and my own team on the strength of that," I grin wickedly, as we move onto the next stage of our investigation.
"I never realised you could be this ruthless," she watches as I kneel down this time and inspect a faint series of marks on the wooden floor, using the flashlight to get a better look at the nearest print so that I could photograph it before lifting it.
"Could you pass me the electrostatic dust print lifter, please, honey?" I bat my eyelashes at her, and she does. "Thanks. I can be ruthless; I just don't do it very often."
"What if I told you ruthless people got laid more often?" she laughs as my head shoots up.
"You wanna take care of this? I'll be in the car, honking the horn at five minute intervals making sure you work your ass off."
"I said ruthless people got laid more often, I didn't say you would," she snickers as I shoot a mock glare in her direction.
"I was gonna propose to you later on, don't think I'll bother now," I watch with satisfaction as her mouth drops open. "Result."
"That wasn't funny, I'd marry you tomorrow but I don't want to be the one tell my mother," she giggles.
"Oh god, I wouldn't want to tell her either, she's only just decided she'll let me live. Definitely looks like shoe prints," I say, holding the print up so I can see it better. "It's very faint, but its there."
"Nice work, sweetness," she takes a look, as I hand the sheet to her. "Size 10, 11 maybe?"
"I concur, Captain, and we're probably looking for a male assailant. If not, I feel sorry for any woman with boats that big."
She snorts, and shakes her head at me. "You've been watching Star Trek again."
"God, first my science programs and now Star Trek. Are you ever gonna let me watch anything?" I banter back and forth with her, trying to dispel the gloomy feeling inside.
I'm edging back to feeling hopeless again, and I keep trying to tell myself that as soon as I get the opportunity to tell her, that everything will be okay because she'll know what to do, she always does, she's smart.
"Yeah, provided I don't need a physics degree to get any further than the opening credits."
"You're a very intelligent woman, sweetheart, you understand it just fine. You just pretend not to, because you don't think it's as sexy as when you cry all over me because you're watching the Hallmark Channel."
She follows me across the hall and into the kitchen, where the Perp evidently made himself at home, because the kitchen counter still contains the remnants of his gourmet munchfest. Foie Gras, Prosciutto, stuffed olives, and a bottle of Christal. Not bad, the people who live here must have some serious cash. A look at the contents of my fridge would pale in comparison: a six pack of Bud and a half empty jar of Cheez Whiz that looks older than Lindsey.
"I don't always cry," she gets busy dusting for prints at the back door.
"You always do, because there's always somebody on there with a fatal disease. Don't you find it a bit depressing?"
"I'm a sensitive soul, I can't help it," she waves her fingerprint brush at me.
"If only the entire lab knew that Catherine Willows kick ass CSI, cried at the Hallmark Channel," I giggle at the prospect.
"You tell anyone, and you know that fatal disease thing you were talking about? You'll have one," she raises an eyebrow at me, as she begins lifting the couple of prints she found.
"I got one already, it's called being in love," I shoot back.
"I don't know whether to slap you for that, or be touched in a really weird way," she laughs, and snaps her gloves off. "That's me finished. You done?"
"Certainly am, sweet cheeks," I nod, as her cell phone rings.
"Willows. Catherine's expression changes and she rolls her eyes. It must be Grissom. "Right, we'll be there, in about twenty minutes."
"Another case?" I ask, when she hangs up.
"Yeah, apparently there's nobody else free, and he's eager to make up for stealing the most interesting case of the night."
"Or it could just be that he's giving us this case, because he's picking the doc up at the airport in the morning…" I trail off, letting her think about it.
"That sneaky…" she closes her eyes and counts to ten quietly. "I'm calm, he's a sneaky asshole, but I'm calm."
"He's trying to get out of there on time so he can get laid," I chuckle.
"Aren't we all, honey," she husks, as I begin drooling.
"Doesn't look like we're getting to go home any time soon, though. What kind of case we got?" I ask, as I pack my stuff neatly back into my kit.
"419 downtown. Fatal gunshot wound, male Vic, right outside The Bellagio."
"I can think of worse cases," I pick up my scene case. "We might be able to catch a show. Could be pretty romantic, if you ignore the stiff."
"Did I ever tell you, that you're weird?" she grins.
"Several times, and you love it, or why else would you encourage me?"
***
By the time we get to The Bellagio, it becomes readily apparent that Vegas is indeed in a state of total chaos. The Strip is crawling with tourists, and even though I can see the police cruisers with their flashing lights, I can't see the crime scene, and so that would suggest to me that it hasn't been secured properly. That's not a good thing, especially not with a crowd this size, and especially not during a murder case. The defence team at trial would have a field day. Catherine looks extremely ticked off about it, and I can't say that I blame her. Whoever is in charge here isn't managing the scene properly, and they're about to catch hell from her.
"Hey," Jim Brass suddenly appears, and helps steer us in the direction of the scene.
"What the hell is going on?" Catherine asks, over the noise of the crowd.
"I don't know, I just got here myself," he undoes his top button, and loosens his tie, before mopping his brow. "Vegas is crazy tonight, I haven't had a minute to myself."
"Vegas is always crazy," she replies, instantly calming down because it isn't his fault, as she takes hold of my hand whilst we try to force our way through the crowd. "But it doesn't help when all the hotels in town are offering 25 off because of Sci-Fi Week."
"Hey Simpson," Brass barks at a nearby officer. "Where'd they teach you to secure a crime scene? The Keystone Academy?"
The officer scowls, and looks harried as he pushes members of the crowd back. "I can't help it. I've got six officers on scene to control a crowd of about two hundred people, which equals not enough in my opinion."
"Well radio in for backup, you moron," Brass gives him a dressing down, as Catherine and I finally get to the front of the crowd, and duck under the yellow crime scene tape.
I stand back and get a good look at my surroundings. The victim is a white male, is between 40 to 45 years of age, perhaps close to six feet in height, and of lean build. The body is laying face up on the sidewalk, approximately two feet from the edge of the railing around the perimeter of the lake. A gunshot wound in the middle of the forehead, is the obvious cause of death at this point, but we'll know more once we've taken a look and gotten the Assistant Coroner's opinion. But he's obviously wealthy, he's wearing an expensive looking suit, and I'm guessing the big Rolex on his wrist is expensively authentic. I'm confident we can rule out robbery as a motive and I say as much as Catherine nods her agreement.
"Oh shit," Catherine says under her breath, and puts her hands on her hips in an 'oh why me' gesture.
"What's wrong?" I snap on some gloves, and stand beside her.
"I'd be surprised if you and I got home before Lindsey's next birthday," she echoes my earlier comment.
"Why?"
"The Vic," she points to the body. "Danny Scolari."
"Oh god, not the Danny Scolari?" I'd never seen him face to face, only in pictures.
Danny Scolari was Vegas' very own drug baron. And despite numerous attempts to pin him down, by all accounts, he was Mr Teflon.
"The one and only. I'd be surprised if this didn't start a turf war," she says, and she'd be right, because I can imagine his associates, for the want of a better word, would be just a teensy bit royally pissed that he was dead.
"Gonna need some luck finding the worm that did this, and even if we do, I'd be surprised if he wasn't dead before the ink dried on the arrest warrant."
"I'm beginning to think you're right, we need new jobs," she sighs heavily, and calls Brass over. "Looks like it's going to be one of those nights."
He saunters across to us, looking tired and out of sorts. "What's up, ladies?"
"Hate to ruin your night Jim, but say hello to a very dead Danny Scolari," she bends over and retrieves a pair of latex gloves, before slipping them on.
"Oh goddamnit," he groans, and rubs a hand over his face. "Some nights I wonder why I do this job. I swear this place is turning into Dodge City."
"You know what they say about Dodge," Catherine grins.
"I tried gettin' the hell out, keeps pulling me back in. I'll call the coroner, by the time he gets here. and fights his way through the crowd, you should be done."
I wish I had his confidence.
"Thanks, but before you do, we need the scene cordoning off properly. We also need to keep prying eyes out, we especially don't need the media hanging around once word gets out," she says and she's got a valid point, the last thing we need is for this to get plastered all over the ten o'clock news.
"You got one of those screen things in the truck?" he asks, as he ponders on the problem.
"God knows," she shrugs, and turns to me with a grin. "Have we got one of those screen things in the truck?"
"Why does everyone ask me?" I roll my eyes with a laugh.
"If it requires being put together or taken apart, you're the first one I come looking for, sweetie," she winks, brazenly.
"That's code for, Sara, shift your ass and go put my shelter up. Slave driver," I shake my head and wander off back to the truck.
I return several minutes later with what I assume to be the item she's looking for. We don't tend to use them very often, but I guess its going to come in handy tonight. I roll my sleeves up, and begin assembling it, and pretty soon we have ourselves a private space amidst all the chaos.
"She's a genius," Catherine beams, as Jim chuckles.
"Alright spill, you're being entirely too nice, what are you after now?" I chuckle, as she goes to flash me the finger and thinks twice about it because Jim's standing there.
"Aww ain't it sweet, together five minutes and the urge to kill each other is strong already," he laughs, and mops his brow again, even though the night air is cool.
"I've always wanted to kill her, tonight is no different," she says, playing for and getting a laugh from him.
"Funny," I stick my tongue out at her. "Are we actually going to get some work done, or are you two senior citizens gonna stand there and gossip all night?"
"Ooh grumpy," Jim teases. "Here's my reinforcements, I'll let you ladies get on with your work."
Very shortly after, we hear the sounds of the crowd being pushed further back, and loud complaints to the effect float on the night air. The scene is now adequately secure, and there are enough officers to stop anyone getting near, so we're finally able to begin our work.
A quick check of the perimeter of the scene yields nothing, and I'm glad it no longer includes tourists falling over each other to get a look at what's going on. Cath and I meet up in the middle, and kneel down either side of the body. We're technically not allowed to touch the body until the Assistant Coroner gets here, but we are allowed to check for identification, just so that we can confirm he is who we think he is. As Catherine moves his jacket aside to check in his pocket, she pulls out his wallet and flips it open.
"There must be at least five grand in here," she says in awe, a thick wad of cash clearly visible. She then pulls his driving licence out, and shows it to me. "Definitely Scolari."
"Suppose it was too much to hope that it was a look-a-like," I say with a sigh, and carefully check his other inside pocket.
"What you got?" Catherine asks, looking interested.
"9mm Beretta," I hold the gun between my thumb and forefinger, before checking to make sure the chamber is empty, and sliding the clip out to make sure the gun is safe for transport.
"Murder weapon? Looks recently fired," she says, as I hand the bag to her, and she examines the gun, which we'll check for fingerprints back at the lab.
"Could very well be," neither of us could tell without the actual bullet, but judging by the size of the wound, it's possible. "Wonder why they didn't toss it in the lake, or take it with them, as opposed to leaving it with the body?"
"Good question, I'm glad they didn't though, I don't fancy wading around in there."
"Why not, you look great in a bikini."
"You want half of Vegas admiring my rack too?" Catherine asks, raising an eyebrow, as the corner of her mouth tugs upwards in a smile.
"Good point, but I'm willing to allow it just this once, for the sake of science," I laugh, as she shakes her head and ignores the comment.
I watch as she gets down on her knees and bends over close to the pavement, as she tries to get a look at the back of the victim's head without touching him. Typically for Catherine, her brain is racing along at a hundred miles an hour, as she formulates a theory as to what could have happened. Usually, she's more often that not correct, or near enough to say she's at least more than half right.
I tend to try to work the same way now if I can, because if there's one thing she taught me, it's this: relying on the physical evidence to tell the story as Grissom always says is fine, but sometimes the evidence doesn't tell the whole story, and the whys are sometimes just as critical as the how's. Having said that, I can't even begin to conjecture what happened here. I don't know Vegas the way Catherine does. I've not had the same experience of what goes on behind the bright lights, and I'll be relying almost entirely on her instincts for this one.
"We should check his hands for GSR, when David gets here," she says, mentally going through her personal checklist.
We both knew that testing the victim's hands wasn't necessary, but somebody somewhere along the line would want to know why we hadn't. In this case, the victim would have to be good to shoot himself in the forehead, and place the gun back in his pocket before he finally decided to turn his toes up and croak. The guy also couldn't have grabbed the gun because he'd have been dead a few short seconds later, even before he'd hit the floor. But some asshole attorney somewhere was going to attempt to discredit us all, and we had to be ready. Just as we did for every case, and this was no exception.
Testing for GSR wasn't always conclusive anyway, even people who haven't been anywhere near a gun can still have traces of Barium and Antimony on their hands. Also, having GSR traces on your hands doesn't always differentiate from having fired a weapon, as opposed to just handling one. And in any case, if somebody had washed their hands, or there had been more than a few hours in-between firing the weapon and being tested, then it would be useless to do so because there would be little or no traces left. And I won't even get into the fact that not all ammunition contains both Barium and Antimony.
Music suddenly blares on the night air, and the sounds of water being fired under pressure from the fountains, echo all around us, announcing that the next show has started. The crowd begins cheering, and it's getting so loud that I can't hear myself think. I hope the officers are continuing to keep the crowd back, because I really don't fancy having to work the crime scene from the lake.
"Wanna lay it out?" she asks, knowing that for the moment, there's no more we can do until David arrives.
"Other than stating the obvious and saying he was shot somewhere in-between being here and being alive, I've no idea. Go ahead; I'm interested to know what your train of thought is."
"I'm not entirely sure, either, but I do know he wasn't killed here," Catherine says, as she finishes labeling the last of the evidence, and stows it in the evidence box. "Aside from guessing that nobody reported gunshots, there's no blood on the pavement, and there's none at the back of his head, so it wasn't a through and through and his circulation had quit long before be ended up here. There isn't any leakage from the wound onto his clothes, nor is there any sign of obvious trace evidence, so somebody was meticulous."
"Looking at a professional hit, then," I say as she nods. "How the hell would you just dump a corpse in one of the busiest streets in the world?" I take my gloves off, and rub the talc from my hands.
"In a crowd this size, how many people would notice, or even question a couple of guys apparently holding their drunken friend up?"
"I don't know, I can't say for sure. We tend to notice stuff like that but we're inquisitive by nature because it's our job to be."
"Exactly, but as for Joe Public? They're here for the show, they're not looking at anything else," she snaps her gloves off and tosses them into her kit, as I nod my agreement.
"What are you thinking? Your mind's been ticking into overdrive since the minute we got here."
She looks down at the floor, bites her lip as if in quiet contemplation, and then squints up me. "Just a niggling feeling."
"What kind of niggling feeling?" I'd learnt to trust her niggling feelings, they'd paid off before.
"Plain view of the Tangiers," she says, looking pointedly at me, her gaze holding mine.
"And that's important because?"
"Sam owns the Tangiers," she replies, and I had forgotten that he did, till now.
"Sweetheart, you'll have to forgive me for being a bit slow here, but what would this have to do with Sam?"
"Danny Scolari has been waving his ass at Sam for years. He spent a lot of money and time in the Tangiers, mostly buying and selling drugs in quantities most of us would be amazed at. But Sam could never prove anything, because nothing ever changed hands on the premises, and you don't piss a guy like Scolari off unless you want a half a dozen holes where your chest used to be. Sam might be a lot of things, but he isn't stupid and I guess he figured the old adage was true, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer still. The cops have been after him for a long time too, but nothing ever sticks. The only way to get rid of somebody like Scolari, is to bump him off."
"But wouldn't that be next to impossible? These guys are usually surrounded by minders."
"Exactly, so whoever it was that popped him," she makes a shooting motion with her hand, "had to have been somebody he either trusted, or somebody he didn't believe posed a threat anyway."
"Could it be connected to Tony?" I say, referring to Sam's son, who had been killed by his brother Walt three months ago. "He must have done business with Scolari over the years."
"It's always been said that Tony bought enough coke from Danny to finance his Malibu beach house. I wouldn't be surprised if Sam hadn't bided his time. He's old school, he doesn't believe in drugs. I found that out the hard way."
"You're not really suggesting Sam did it though, are you?" I ask, thinking that there could be dozens of opportunists out there who'd been in the right place at the right time, and managed to bump him off.
"I wouldn't say he's incapable. When any major player gets bumped off in this town, I always ask myself whether Sam was involved. Only problem with that kind of question is he's always got a motive. I'm not saying he's responsible, just saying the niggling feeling is there."
"Is the guy really that dangerous?" I suspect her answer will be yes, and if it is, we're definitely moving to Alaska.
"He is, if you cross him. He might be my father," she moves closer to me when the music gets louder, and a jet of water is shot 250 feet into the air, "but even I don't fully trust him. Just another reason I've never told anybody he's my father, not even Eddie, because as much as I want him out of my life, I wouldn't wish Sam on him."
I nod my understanding, she'll only ever tell Eddie about Sam when she's relatively certain she has to, but she knows she runs the risk of Sam taking drastic measures. I can't really say I'm shocked, I knew he had a reputation, and she's just basically confirmed most of it is true. Not that I would ever have gone to him to ask for help over Eddie anyway, because he's the kind of man to want something in return and there's no way I'm playing those games with him, that option is completely off the table.
"If it is him, we'll never know," I look across the lake, and then back at her again. "He's not that stupid."
"Yeah I know, I'm sure he's had plenty of practice," she says, sounding more of a realist than a cynic, and I can't argue with that.
"Why Sam, though?" I still didn't fully understand where she was coming from. "I mean, there's any number of people around here that would be more than happy to take a cut of the action once this guy was dispatched."
"You know anyone with enough balls to not only kill Scolari, but dump his body out on the middle of the Strip on a night like this? There's only one man with enough neck to do it, and he's probably watching what's going on from his office window, not even half a mile from where we are right now," she says, and not only does she have a point, but she's managed to send a chill down my spine too. "I'll never prove it, but I'll always wonder."
"Listen babe, I say this with the greatest love and affection, but your family is a bunch of wacko's and if you really love me, you'll emigrate with me to the North Pole, or somewhere equally as difficult to get to," I grin cheekily, and not for the first time today.
She laughs at this, and the bright lights of Vegas catch her eyes and make them sparkle. She takes my breath away, and I'm determined not to lose her, I love her too much for that. I know that I've made the right decision in deciding to tell her. I want to protect her, but I know that I'll have to protect her in a way that means she'll be made aware of the truth.
I just hope to god that she doesn't go postal before I've handcuffed her to the bed for the three weeks it will take for her to calm down. Eddie has pushed her beyond her limits these past few months, she's scared and she's angry, and yet she tries to keep it all inside. To everyone else she seems fine, but I know she isn't and she won't admit it, even to me. I want her to realise that she doesn't have to be strong all the time, that she's always got me to fall back on, but she finds it hard to be any different, and I can't say I really blame her what with everything Eddie put her through. I've been in her shoes, I know exactly what it feels like, and I didn't have anyone to protect me at the time, which is why I tried to shield her from it. But all roads lead to Rome, and no matter how many times I think about it, or try to convince myself otherwise, the fact remains: she has to be told.
"Where do you go when you do that? When you're thinking?" she asks, her eyes looking right into my soul. "Especially lately, you'll look at me and then you're off somewhere inside your head."
We move away from the body while we wait for David to arrive and lean against the railing. The view over the lake is pretty, and were it any other time, I'm sure I'd be mesmerised by the water, the lights, and the sheer proximity of the woman I love more than life itself.
"With just one look, you take my breath away and I get lost in my dreams," I explain with a smile.
She begins grinning, and her grin gets wider. "What kind of dreams?"
"Not kinky ones, if that's what you're thinking," I reply, and she pouts with disappointment, before grinning again.
"You're getting boring in your old age."
"Okay I'll own up, they're sometimes kinky," I admit with a smile, "but tonight it was about how much I love you, and how I don't want to lose you."
"I love you too, honey," she rests her arm against mine and gazes into my eyes, knowing we can't have proper physical contact while we're at work, but we're as close as we possibly could be under the circumstances, "and you've got more chance of Grissom wearing heels to work than you have of losing me, I promise you."
"See, that worries me, because I could actually see that happening," I giggle.
She scrunches her nose up and nods. "You know what, me too. Bad example, but you know it'll never happen right?"
"I hope so."
"Jesus, Sidle, you're cheerful tonight," she teases, and nudges me with her arm.
"Next time we have a night off, we're coming back here and we'll try this again. That way, we can watch the show, I can hold you close, kiss you until you're breathless and then you'll know exactly how I feel when I look at you," I'm sure I'm blushing, but she's gone back to grinning like a maniac again.
"Oh I love this romantic side of you, who knew, huh? You used to march around the lab with a face like a wet weekend, who knew so much passion bubbled under the surface," she giggles wickedly.
"Shut up, Willows," I blush even further which causes her to carry on laughing about it.
"But I'd be very happy to be your date for the evening, I can't promise any more than that though, because I'm in a relationship with a cute brunette and she might take offence."
"She freakin' well would if she caught you talking to anyone else like this!" my eyebrows reach my hairline as we both laugh.
"That's where you don't have to worry, I'm extremely faithful, never cheated on anybody, never would. Like I told you before, I don't see the sense in looking elsewhere when I've found the woman that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with."
"I wish you both luck Cath, I feel sorry for her though," I laugh as she forgets where she is, and nudges me in the ribs. "But seriously, I know and I trust you completely, or we wouldn't be where we are now. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to spend forever with you."
I can't keep doing this, I need to tell her and I need to tell her right now.
"Cath, there's something I need to talk to you about," I take a deep breath and prepare to tell her, until the plastic gets pushed aside and David waves at us, as he waits for permission to come stomping in.
"Hey Sara, Hi Catherine," he blushes automatically, the same way he always does, especially now that he knows we're together.
"David," Cath grins at him. "We're all done; you can do your thing."
"Crazy busy tonight, huh?" I say, as he shakes a body pouch open, and I curse his lousy timing.
"Tell me about it, my assistant is still trying to get the van closer to the scene, its nuts," he works quickly and diligently, before looking up at us again. "COD looks like a single gunshot wound to the forehead. Let's see, given the Vic's temp and the ambient air temperature, I'd tentatively place time of death between 7 and 7:30pm this evening."
"Great, can we get some fingernail scrapings, and go over him for GSR?" she asks, hands poised over her kit.
"Sure," he blushes again as he smiles, and keeps a watchful eye on us as she gently scrapes under the nails, and I run the adhesive disc used for collecting GSR over his palms. "Prints?"
"Its easier doing it at the lab, I'd rather get all this wrapped up as soon as possible," she replies, labeling the envelope and securing it in her scene case.
Jim soon appears, looking as if he's pissed off with his lot in life. I can't say I blame him, I would be too, but then if we'd wanted the nine to five life, we'd be off doing something a little more mundane.
"Jesus, that's gotta be the first time I've attempted to interview a crowd that size," he mops his brow, and takes a deep breath.
"Any luck?" I ask, as Catherine stifles a yawn, and rubs her eyes.
"Nobody remembers seeing anything. The first they knew about it was when some broad screamed, and tripped over the corpse."
"Gunshots?" I ask while I remember.
"None reported," he shakes his head.
"Was he already on the deck?" Catherine asks this time, trying to slot another piece of the puzzle into its place.
"She says she saw two guys haulin' their apparently drunk buddy along, and then all of sudden, he was on the floor and she tripped over him. She noticed the hole in his head, and screamed blue murder."
"Ah shit, how do you always do that?" I ask her, as I slap my hand against my thigh in a cheesed off gesture.
"I can't help being good, babe," she shrugs her shoulders with a shit eating grin. "It's just natural gift, I guess."
"God, doesn't it make you sick?" I roll my eyes, as Brass chuckles.
"Tried gettin' a description of the guys but she only saw them from the back, they quickly disappeared into the crowd, and she didn't see them again. Now the media are trying to get a shot of the body, pardon the pun, and we're no closer to finding who did this until you do that geeky stuff you do back at the lab."
"And even then I wouldn't guarantee it," Catherine says with a sigh. "If you hear anything else, keep us posted."
"Sure thing," he smiles.
David soon has the body zipped inside a pouch, and we're both soon able to leave the scene. Jim escorts us back to the Tahoe, and tells us to keep him informed, which of course we'd forget to do because it isn't like we do this often, it isn't like we sometimes do this several times a night. Oops getting a little sarcastic here, I'm either horny or tired, could be both actually. Catherine is wearing jeans tonight so that could account for it. As I drive away from the scene, I open my mouth to pick up where I left off before, and tell her about Eddie but her cell phone rings and its Grissom, so I take the hint and concentrate on driving. Later, I'll tell her later.
The lab is still in a state of chaos, and for once, I'm glad we've pulled a difficult case. It means I can concentrate on the task at hand, instead of being assigned to numerous different cases, and have trouble keeping up. I know when all of this is over though, I'll end up spending a fortnight in court, we all will, and people will begin to wonder which one of us is banging the DA.
I take a sip of my coffee and swallow it quickly when I realise it's still slightly too hot, as I take I advantage of the relative peace and quiet that Catherine's office affords me, while I set about finishing off a stack of paperwork. Ecklie appears to have requisitioned my lab for something or other, and I can't get any peace in there. Maybe they're desperately trying to find a cure for male pattern baldness. But I have news for the asshole, he could grow his hair halfway down his back and he'd still be a prick.
I just hope that the case will start moving along soon. I'd like to get home sometime in the near future, not to mention do something as outrageous as spend some time with my two special girls, eat, and get some much needed sleep. Still, we do seem to have copped for the biggest case of the month, and it gives me a sort of grim satisfaction to know that for once, we can demand our tests get priority over everyone else's and it will actually happen. The case at the moment though is largely at a standstill. The autopsy can't be brought forward, Doc Robbins is already too busy and we'll have to wait our turn. But we are running as many tests as we can right now. The weapon has been dusted for fingerprints and the few partials we found are being checked out. The Vic's was printed on arrival at the morgue, and his prints will be checked for comparison against the prints on the weapon. The fingernail scrapings have been sent to DNA and his clothes as well as the GSR samples have been sent to Trace, but we're not all that hopeful. The body was too clean, so clean that we definitely still think somebody wanted it that way.
I'm not so sure I really want either of us working this case anymore, especially if Catherine's suspicions are correct, and Sam is involved. But I remind myself we don't have proof, and until we have proof then no ethical lines have been crossed. Hopefully it also means I'll get to live longer. I'm not worried about Catherine where Sam is concerned, he worships the ground she walks on, and he knows she isn't afraid of him. We've already established he could do away with me if he wanted to, and with Scolari dead, I might have moved one further up the queue.
There's a tap at the door. "Sara?"
I turn around in Cath's chair, and smile across the desk at Mandy. "What can I do for you?"
"I er," she looks around the office nervously. "Is Catherine around?"
"She's with Grissom at the moment, why what's the matter?"
"I need you to come look at something, please."
"Sure," I reply and leave my paperwork as I head toward the fingerprint lab, feeling apprehension bubbling in my stomach.
She sits back down in front of her computer, and does something geeky with the keyboard, that even I wouldn't understand, and a print pops up onscreen.
"This is the print from the gun, which you submitted to me earlier on tonight, right?" she points at the screen, looking just as uneasy as I feel.
"Right," I nod; I'm with her so far.
"I'm gonna press search again, right?" she does, and I'm still with her, why is she explaining this like I'm a five year old?
"Mandy, what's going on?"
"That's what's going on," she points to the computer once again, as it beeps, and a perfect match is thrown up.
To say I'm surprised would be an understatement, because I was so sure the gun would be clean in the first place, and I wasn't sure if the partials would actually be good enough for a match. I'm so totally gobsmacked that you could have had the occupants of the playboy mansion march past me stark naked, and writhing provocatively and it still wouldn't be enough to make me utter a word.
"This isn't a mistake right?" I ask, nearly a full five minutes later when I manage to find my voice again.
She shoots me a withering look, as only Mandy could. "Not a mistake. I checked it, more than once."
"And you've run them against the decedent's prints?"
"Yes, and they aren't his prints on the weapon," she rolls her eyes, and looks at the screen again. "It's not a mistake; the record kicked out matches the partials from the gun, without a doubt."
"Right, thank you. Keep it all together for me, please? I'll need to come back later," I say, as she nods, and gets busy doing something else.
I wind my way down the hallway towards Grissom's office, and automatically pat my pockets in search of a cigarette. No matter how many times I try to give up, something happens and I feel myself heading right back toward starting again. I have a feeling that before the night is out; I will have indulged, yet another time. I take a deep breath and round the corner, knocking on Grissom's doorframe. He's on the phone and waves at me, while Catherine turns and smiles from where she's sitting in front of his desk.
"Cath, we've got a problem," I say straight off, and kneel beside her chair as her face drains of all colour, because she can tell by the expression on my face that something is wrong.
"Of course I'll be there, you know I wouldn't miss a chance like that, my little peach," Grissom coos into the phone, and turns pink when Catherine and look askance at him.
"Hit me with it, I know I probably won't like it, but hit me with it," she rests her palms on her thighs with a slight thudding sound.
"Got a hit off the partials we found on the gun," I reply, and take another deep breath. "You're right, you won't like it."
"It can't be Sam," she says in a voice barely above a whisper, because Grissom is within earshot. "He's not that stupid."
"Is there a problem with your case?" Grissom is now off the phone, and looks at us with concern.
"Huge problem," I nod, "It's just turned seven different shades of difficult. Got several partials off of the gun, and IAFIS kicked out a match."
"Who is it?" she tries again, looking more than a little rattled.
"Eddie," I say, as her eyebrows shoot up in shock. "Eddie's print was on the weapon."