No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

- The Who, "Behind Blue Eyes"

Chapter 25

Nick's left leg pumped up and down anxiously as the truck drew nearer and nearer to Under Sheriff McKeen's Lake Mead property. He hadn't spoken a word to Grissom since they'd left the lab's parking lot. The hour of silence allowed for the creation and growth of an anxious tension between the two men. Nick had no words for Grissom at the moment, nor did he care to voice any of the thoughts drifting in and out of his mind. While he had defended Grissom earlier that day, and knew that his supervisor was just as invested in the outcome of the case as he was, he still held a lingering anger and almost resentment at how long Grissom took to inform any of them about the case. So, he said nothing and nothing was said in return. The silence between them was just that, not comfortable, yet not uncomfortable, wordlessly acknowledged, accepted and agreed upon by both men. Nick could feel it, but he would not break it. Each mile that drew them nearer to their destination only brought more silence, and with it, more tension.

The drive to the cabin took them along a narrowly paved road stretching a few miles before bringing them to McKeen's driveway. They pulled onto the paved drive, passing through a grove of trees providing shelter from the road. They neared the cabin and Nick let out a whistle, marveling at the stone walkway leading up to, and winding around the massive cottage of log and stone. Nick pulled the truck to a stop and stepped out, closing the door behind him. He took a few seconds to stare at the beautiful cabin belonging to a man so vile and undeserving before shaking his head in disgust and moving to the rear of his vehicle. He opened the back up and pulled out one kit, handing the other to Grissom.

It was only moments later when Brass pulled up behind Nick's truck and stepped out of his own car. Nick nodded at Brass, watching Brass nod back at him before the detective's gaze moved from him to the cabin. Nick turned to glance back at the cabin and noticed that Grissom had already wandered up the stone path and was standing in front of the cabin. He followed after, coming to rest just behind Grissom.

"We'll have to start by finding McKeen's boat."

Nick nodded from behind Grissom, though he knew Grissom hadn't seen. "Property's large, but the layout looks fairly straight forward. This pathway looks like it leads out front. It should take us to the water."

Grissom looked back at him and nodded. Nick followed as Grissom slowly walked along the pathway and to the front of the cabin. They both looked towards the water, finding only an empty dock floating outwards, away from the shore line. "Where's the boat?" He looked over at Grissom, hoping Grissom possessed the insight necessary to answer the question, and noticed Grissom looking away. His eyes followed Grissom's line of sight and he grinned. Grissom turned to him, grinning also. "Boathouse," they said simultaneously.

Nick reached the boathouse first, finding the door locked. He turned back to Grissom. "We need bolt cutters."

"I'll have Brass grab some and bring them down."

Nick nodded and turned back to the boat house, studying it. While the cottage looked as though it was new or newly renovated recently and the yard recently landscaped, the boathouse looked older and, for now, untouched. Light green paint was peeling from the sides, the door's only lock was a hardware store purchased key lock, and the 3'X2' cement pad in front of it was cracked and revealed the year 1967 carved into it. "McKeen puts money into renovating property and cabin, but not boat house," he murmured to himself.

"Next on the list for renovations?"

Nick jumped. He hadn't heard Grissom approach. "Uh, yeah that makes sense."

Behind the men, footsteps could be heard. Nick turned to see Brass trudging up to them, bolt cutters in hand. "Nice boathouse. Fits in well with the rest of the property."

Nick couldn't help but grin at Brass's sarcastic quip and offer one of his own. "Maybe he's sentimental."

"Jeff McKeen, sentimental? Yeah, that man oozes sentimentality."

"Bolt cutters?" Grissom's voice broke through and Nick found himself turning sheepishly back to his supervisor. He reached for the bolt cutters and moved towards the door, braking open the lock.

The door didn't close properly. As soon as the lock was removed, the door blew outwards, and Nick was hit by the unmistakable smell of bleach. "McKeen's done some cleaning in here recently."

He was joined at the entrance by both Grissom and Brass. Grissom stood next to him, scrunching his nose. "Bleach. McKeen would have cleaned over a week ago. The old wood must have absorbed the odor."

Nick nodded and stepped inside, looking around at the surroundings. The building was mostly empty, save for some buckets, cans and rope. The boat was parked right in the center, covered by a tarp. Beside him, Grissom began snapping photographs. He walked over to the tarp, lifting the edge and peeking under. Brass came up beside him, and took hold of the tarp. Together they peeled it back and exposed the Under Sheriff's extravagant motor boat.

After several more photos of the boat and the interior of the boathouse, Grissom gingerly climbed into the boat to begin processing. Nick moved to follow, but Grissom shot him a look that told him he would be better off processing the rest of the room. His annoyance of his supervisor grew, but he shook it aside for the case and for Warrick. He took on the rest of the boathouse, working slowly and carefully, searching every nook.

Time passed and he hadn't found anything. Every so often he found himself looking over at Grissom perched in the boat, working in his own little world, seemingly unaware that Nick was still even in the same room. Nick made audible anything he came across in the room, but Grissom wasn't responding…or telling Nick anything about what he might have found. The silent treatment, the lack of professional courtesy, was wearing on him, and his frustration increased. More time was passing and his search was turning up empty. "Grissom…" He looked over at the boat and waited for a response. Grissom was still perched in the boat, head down. "Grissom…" He tried again, hoping his louder, more irritated tone would capture Grissom's attention, but still no response. Nick moved towards the boat, and stood beside it. "Grissom!" When Grissom's head lifted, Nick continued. "Have you found anything?"

"No usable prints on the inside of the boat. Some blood and more bleach. Any DNA would be degraded. McKeen must have placed a tarp or some plastic down in the boat before putting Pritchard's body in here."

"So we have to find the plastic?"

"Pritchard was killed nine days ago. Chances are the plastic has been thoroughly disposed of by now."

"Shit!" Nick kicked a can in frustration. Their best bet on getting something had been the boat and that shot was blown to hell.

"Nick, calm down. You need to control yourself. You're damaging evidence."

Nick's frustration was coupled by his anger and his annoyance at Grissom. He should have been working on this days before. Maybe it wouldn't have been too late then. "What evidence? A can? We have nothing. The boat hasn't given us a damn thing."

"We'll get it from somewhere else. Catherine is checking financials and Greg is checking phone records. Maybe they'll turn something up."

"And that will help? We need physical evidence Grissom. You know that. We aren't going to get a warrant for McKeen's DNA without physical evidence. You said that. You told us what we were up against. You're the one always preaching the Holy Trinity of forensics. We need physical evidence to tie the Under Sheriff in."

"I am well aware of what we need Nick."

"Bullshit. You aren't at all aware of what we need. We needed to find out right away what was going on, not kept in the dark. We needed you to be honest. We needed to start working on this earlier. We didn't need you to try to protect us. We needed you to be a leader and not a maverick trying to go on this all alone. I don't need to control myself. I am in control. Maybe not like you, but I am going to express my frustration over this." Nick paused and looked at Grissom trying to calm himself. "I tried to be like you, man. I did, but I can't. It's too hard. It's too hard to act like this doesn't affect me. It does. I loved Warrick and I'm pissed as hell at the thought that his killer could go free."

"This affects me too, Nick. You think I haven't thought about Warrick every day since he was killed. I need this too."

Nick let the conversation fall and took in Grissom's forlorn expression. He paused to gather his thoughts before speaking. "Grissom, look, you know I respect you more than any man alive, with the exception, maybe, of my own father. I know what this case means to you, but you aren't in this alone. We are all in this. We need to help, and we need you to tell us what you're thinking, so we can solve this and move on together. I know you're a private man, Griss, but I don't understand why you can't even share with us."

"Because that doesn't help us find the evidence we need to catch Warrick's killer."

"Well, what will?"

"I don't know. I need to think. Finish up in here. I'll be outside."

Nick watched Grissom's back as Grissom walked out of the open door. He shook his head and looked back at the can he'd kicked in frustration. Bending over, he picked up the can and set it upright before turning back to his work.

Grissom's pulse was racing when he walked out into the open air. Nick had said essentially the same thing as Catherine had only a couple of days before, but what could he do? What did they expect of him? His mind was in overdrive. He was trying to be forthright, but there was so much going on, he could only handle it the way he had always done before, focus on work, solve the case, and finally move on. He knew Nick was right and Catherine was right, Brass and anyone else calling him out was right. He had to make the effort because he needed his team to help him see this through, just as he knew that they needed him.

He began to pace around the beach in an effort to calm himself and clear his thoughts. He was just as angry as Nick at the lack of evidence, but he also had that gnawing fear that if they didn't find what they needed to convict the Under Sheriff, they were doing more than allowing the man ultimately responsible for Warrick's death to go free. He'd been working so long and so hard, it was difficult to fully clear the thoughts from his head. His fatigue fueled his anger, his fear, and his frustration. He was well aware of the toll the case was taking on him. He'd been closed off and obsessive, anxious and paranoid and he was fighting all the impulses within himself that told him to stop. He just needed one minute of clear thinking and maybe he'd know what to do next.

It was hard to do any clear thinking. Images ran through his mind, of the Under Sheriff, of Nick in the room without evidence, of Sara. Even the beauty and calm of Lake Mead's water lapping gently against the beach did nothing to clear his thoughts, but at least the air was fresh, unlike the pungent, bleached air of the boathouse.

Grissom turned sharply, looking back at the boathouse as his brain began to clear and he began to focus on the science. The boat had been present for bleach, but not enough for the odor to soak into the wood of the boathouse and create a scent so strong it could choke them a week afterwards. He strode quickly towards the door and looked in. Nick was printing the outer, top rim of the boat.

"Hey Griss, I've been able to lift a few prints from the front of the boat here. Most of them look like they come from the same source, but I've found a couple that don't fit in." Grissom nodded and continued to stare at Nick and at the boat. "Grissom, what is it?"

"The boat. It was present for blood drops, but not for spatter. Pritchard's body had several punctures in the abdomen. Plastic wouldn't catch the cast off along the sides of the boat, and the sides are clear of blood, except to a narrow trickle, where I think Pritchard was dragged into the boat. His body wasn't stabbed in this boat."

"It wasn't stabbed where he was shot either. There was absolutely no evidence of stabbing at that scene or on the dock. Catherine and I were sure he'd been stabbed in the boat."

"He may not have wanted to take that risk. The lake is a large recreation area. He may have been afraid someone would see him."

"So, where?"

"Nick, how much bleach do you think you would need to clean this boat?"

"Not much, really."

"Yet the amount of bleach that must have leached into the wood to create this smell…"

"He was cleaning the boathouse."

"Yes. Call the lab and have them impound the boat. I'll call Catherine and have her finish processing it there. We'll search the cabin while we're waiting for the boat to be picked up. Once the boat is out of the boathouse, we can process in here properly."

And so they worked, looking through desk drawers and garbage in the cabin, their search not yielding anything. When the truck to haul the boat to the lab did pull up, Grissom let out a harrumph, as his impatience was beginning to show through. He called for Nick and together they moved back into the boathouse, both noticing how the bleached odor still hung in the air.

The boathouse seemed larger without the presence of the boat. Grissom looked about the empty room, eyeing where to start. His eyes landed on the void created by the removal of the boat. The color of the wood seemed off. He nodded to Nick. "Discoloration where the boat was." Nick nodded and handed him his luminol. The glow of the compound lit up the discolored area. He sprayed around the room, finding evidence of cast off, and being followed by Nick who was scraping away at the wood behind him. When the room was all lit up, he followed Nick, both searching for an elusive piece of wood that held blood but no bleach.

Sample after sample they collected, hoping one of the hundreds of slivers of wood held blood where the DNA had not been degraded. They worked through the evening and into the night, dismantling boards, scraping, and testing. Grissom cut around cracks, hoping to find places where blood seeped in and was untouched by bleach. He and Nick worked silently, side by side until the interior of the boathouse was only a shadow of its former self.

After sealing and marking his evidence, Grissom went off in search of Brass, finding him sitting on the front steps of the cabin, keeping lookout over the driveway. "We're all finished up here. Nick's loading up his truck. We'll be out of here in a minute; I just need to do something quickly first."

Brass nodded and walked towards the vehicle. Grissom looked around and turned his back to Brass and Nick, dialing his cell phone. He'd been gone all day, and needed to check in with Sara, if only to ease his ever existing fears momentarily. He glanced over his shoulder, deciding to ignore Brass watching him, and made his call. "Come on Sara, pick up," he whispered under his breath, only to have his call directed to her voice mail. He sighed and turned around walking to where Brass and Nick were waiting.

"Get a hold of Sara?"

"Voicemail."

"You've got to stop worrying so much. She's fine. The Under Sheriff is playing mind games with you. You keep obsessing this way and you'll let him win."

Grissom nodded only to humor Brass. He hated that Brass kept watching him and kept trying to reassure him. Brass wasn't the one dealing with the Under Sheriff's insidious threats. Realistically, he knew Brass was probably right, but emotionally, the only reassurance he could accept was seeing for himself that Sara was alright, and seeing the Under Sheriff behind bars. Soon, he hoped as he climbed into the passenger seat of Nick's truck.

Dawning her coveralls, Catherine tied back her hair and prepared to process the boat in front of her. Grissom had told her what he'd accomplished, which amounted to a rough overall sketch of where the blood was wiped away. He'd printed the interior, and Nick the exterior. Her task was to get deeper and try to find blood hiding in the nooks. Her other task was finding an estimate of the distance of the boat's last trip. She was glad for the job. It would be a lot more interesting and far less mind numbing than continuing to scroll through phone numbers with Greg. She climbed into the boat and hunched down, beginning her search.

The sound of her name stopped her before she'd even had a chance to start. Straightening up, her head popped out of the boat, as she kneeled on the floor of the boat. She turned her head to the sound to find Ecklie watching her. "Conrad."

"Hello Catherine."

"Did you need something?"

"You brought in Under Sheriff McKeen's boat."

"Yes, I was just about to begin processing it."

"Be careful. If anything happens to the boat, any rips or cuts or tears and the Under Sheriff will have our heads. Try to be careful in your search. He loves this boat and he's already seething about the search of his property."

"I'll try to remember that." Catherine hissed, pissed that Ecklie would suggest she should be concerned about McKeen's property.

"I'm looking out for you, Catherine. If you don't find what you need to convict him, and the Under Sheriff's property is destroyed in the meantime, he will have your head along with Grissom's."

"If there is evidence hiding in here, I'm going to find it. I don't give a rat's ass about the damage."

"Just try to be careful. As I said, McKeen loves this boat."

"How would you know that?"

"I've been on it."

"You have?" Catherine sat straighter, her eyes narrowing as they focused on Ecklie. "Have you been to his cabin?"

"A few times."

"So you and McKeen have socialized." It wasn't a question. She studied Ecklie and saw the stress lines running across his face. Ecklie could be a pain in the ass, but he wasn't really a bad sort and she felt a little sorry for him. The only person close to facing as much pressure as Grissom over the past few days, and really the past few weeks had been Ecklie. Everyone knew he'd been bucking for a promotion with the Under Sheriff's announcement to run for Sheriff and now his hopes were dashed, even if the Under Sheriff went free, and by some miracle, was elected Sheriff. Catherine's earlier curiosity faded and her voice softened. "What do you make of all this?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to believe it, but when Grissom makes bold statements and goes after someone, I've learned to believe and trust him. Even with his judgment being diminished, it's hard to allow that he could be wrong."

She could tell Ecklie had been reluctant to share that information, but he had and she nodded her head in agreement. "He doesn't go after anyone just to go after someone, or to get closure. Never has. I don't think his judgment could ever really be obscured."

"You trust him with this?"

"Yeah, I do. He's right. We just have to prove it."

"Then tear apart this boat if need be. Just," Ecklie ran his hand over his balding head, "just find what you need to put him away. I'll handle the rest."

Catherine gave Ecklie a silent nod and watched as he turned and walked out of the room. She hunched back over, diving into the depths of the boat, hoping that somewhere, some droplet of eluded both plastic and bleach, and was waiting for her to find it.