Chapter 28

Conrad Ecklie was checking his e-mail when he heard a knock at his door. It wasn't surprising to see Grissom standing there, but it did surprise Ecklie that Grissom bothered to knock.

"Good morning, Gil."

"Conrad," Grissom replied as he stood in front of Ecklie's desk and placed a paper in front of him.

Ecklie picked up the paper and looked perplexed. "A request for a two-day leave to North Carolina?" Ecklie read as he looked up at Grissom. "Sidle's in North Carolina?"

It was Grissom's turn to look perplexed. "What? … No," Grissom said. "It deals with the Flemming case."

"Grissom, I thought you closed that case during your shift," Ecklie said. "We have two men in custody. What's going on?"

"One of the suspects in the Flemming case said he hid two bodies murdered by Garrison Thompson six months ago. According to Ernesto Alfonso, instead of burying the bodies, he hid them in a freezer located in the residence of a 90-year-old woman in Raleigh, N.C.," Grissom said. "Alfonso described where the victims were raped and killed and where he hid the bodies. The way he talked, there is a good chance the scene has been untouched."

Grissom knew what would be Ecklie's argument before it left his lips, so he tried to cut him off at the pass. "I understand this might be out of our jurisdiction, but the suspect is in our custody and his involvement in the rape and murder of these women will offer us a connection to him orchestrating the hits on eight people, including Seamus Flemming. One of the victims was a source in Flemming's investigation of Thompson while he was in North Carolina."

Grissom continued and made sure his demeanor was nothing but professional. "I'm not trying to step on any toes, Conrad. I just want to assist with collection. I have information on the case that might help the Raleigh P.D."

"Have you spoken with Raleigh P.D.?"

"Brass and I have talked with Captain Mike Johnson, who is familiar with Seamus Flemming. He was not against my offer to come and help."

Ecklie smirked, knowing Grissom must want this bad since he tried to get all his ducks in a row. "Well, gee, Grissom, I'm surprised you're not pushing to do the autopsy yourself?"

"The bodies will take a few days to thaw. I think we can make significant headway through processing the scene."

"A scene that is six months old?"

"And most likely has never been disturbed."

Ecklie put up his hands. "I suppose Catherine has been notified of your leaving?"

"Yes."

"So, you just made me a formality."

Grissom wanted to retort, but knew he shouldn't. "I believe notifying you is the responsible thing to do."

"I'm not sure how to budget this, Grissom. But I suppose you figure finding a way is the responsible thing for me to do. Right?"

Grissom wanted to reply, but knew he shouldn't.

Conrad didn't show it, but he was impressed Grissom didn't take the bait. Maybe Ecklie was a little disappointed, but he had work to do, so what was the point of prolonging the discussion.

"I'll see you in two days, Grissom."

Grissom nodded and left. He had a late evening flight, so he thought he could spend some time with Hank, take him to the sitter around 3 p.m., get paperwork done at the office and then head to the airport.

Hopefully he'd be able to sleep on the plane.

Nevertheless, Grissom took plenty of paperwork to read.

-----

Capt. Mike Johnson greeted Grissom at the airport. "Long flight Mr. Grissom?"

"Just Grissom is fine. Unfortunately a long layover in Newark," Grissom said, extending his hand to shake the Raleigh detective's. "I appreciate you coming out to get me."

"Newark International. Isn't that listed as a level of hell in the revised version of Dante's Inferno?" Johnson said with a smile.

Grissom smiled back. "I'd have to check on that."

"Tell you what. I'll take you to the motel to freshen up, but we would like to issue the warrant ASAP. …"

"That's not a problem, captain," Grissom said. "I only need about 20 minutes. If I could just get a shower and change of clothes, I'd appreciate it."

"Not a problem. And call me Mike."

Feeling better in a fresh set of clothes, Grissom found Johnson in the motel lobby. The officer offered Grissom a fresh to-go cup of coffee and after Grissom doctored his cup, the two left in Johnson's car.

"The address for the warrant is on the outskirts of town," Johnson said. "Owned by a Rosalita Martín, a 90-year-old widow who has lived alone for 10 years."

"Ernesto Alfonso told us he knew one of Martín's great-grandsons, who is in jail. Alfonso acted like her great-grandson and would visit the woman and use her house as a clearinghouse of sorts. He and Thompson would store things there and hold meetings there for illegal transactions," Grissom told the Raleigh captain. "Did you find anything on Thompson on your end? Aliases, anything?"

"Nothing of consequence," Johnson said. "Never arrested. Prints and DNA never came up for pending cases. Couldn't find anyone who knew him."

"What about the ranch where Davis Heiden worked?" Grissom asked.

"After you fellas broke the case on Mr. Heiden, I went to the ranch myself with the surveillance photo and prison photo sent by your Captain Brass. Now, we couldn't get anyone to admit they knew them. But I will say, some of those farm workers tensed when they saw those photos. Especially the surveillance photo of Chapute or Alfonso or whatever the hell you want to call him," Johnson said.

"Well, I think we might find something different at the Martín residence," Grissom said. "Thank you, by the way, for allowing me to come out to the scene."

"Like I said, Grissom, you helped us by finding Heiden's body and getting his killer, so accommodating your request wasn't a hard decision," Johnson said, glancing at Grissom as he continued to focus on the road. "You must be determined to bring justice for Jimmy Flemming to come all the way out here."

Grissom paused, but he glanced back at Johnson. "He seemed like a good man."

"He was," Johnson said. "At first I just thought he was some kind of sleazy journalist, but he was different. He really wanted to help those farm workers. He was convinced someone was abusing that community. Not many people would stand up for them. I'm just sorry I couldn't help him more. But after he came back from Iraq, his sources and leads dried up."

"And he headed for Vegas," Grissom continued.

"I saw those crime scene photos. Brutal way for a young man to die," Johnson said. "And I suppose a brutal way to find someone. It's amazing what we see, isn't it Grissom?"

"My fiancé once told me it never ceased to amaze her what people do to each other. … " Grissom didn't even continue his thought. He simply looked out the window.

"I hear that," Johnson said.

Johnson called to find out the ETA of the patrol car, the coroner and his dayshift CSI, Teresa Fabian, who was fluent in Spanish. "They should get there when we do."

True to his prediction, the patrol car, coroner's van and lab issued pick-up pulled into Rosalita Martín's residence at the same time. Johnson and Grissom got out of the car, and Johnson waited for Grissom to retrieve his kit. "You packing, Grissom?"

Grissom patted his familiar silver box. "Just gloves, print powder…"

"Ah," Johnson said, knowingly. "Well, in that case, keep close."

Grissom nodded.

A diminutive, yet alert woman answered the door after Johnson knocked. Teresa Fabian introduced herself and the fellow visitors and explained the reason for the visit. Although she did not fully understand why the police were at her door, Martín politely invited them into her house. Before making their way to the back room where Alfonso said "business" was done, Grissom wanted to show Ms. Martín a few photos.

"Señora," Grissom said, using some of the only Spanish he felt comfortable using. "Do you recognize either of these men?"

Fabian translated the question, to which Ms. Martín answered eagerly with a smile. "She is saying, yes, she does recognize both men. This man," Fabian said, translating for Ms. Martín, and pointing to the booking photo of Ernesto Alfonso, "is her vis-nieto, her great-grandson, Henri. She said the other man was one of Henri's friends, but she did not know his name."

Grissom smiled and nodded to Ms. Martín. "Señora, how many times did your vis-nieto visit you?"

Again, Fabian translated for both Grissom and Martín. "She said Henri visited her about once a week, and his friend came with him to the house maybe five or six times."

Then Ms. Martín asked a question of her own for Fabian to translate. "She's asking where Henri is. She hasn't seen him in several months."

"Tell her he sends his love," Grissom said. "He will be living out west for a long time."

Fabian translated and Ms. Martín seemed thrilled with the answer. Johnson asked Fabian to tell Ms. Martín they would be searching the house and especially the back room as detailed in the warrant. While the patrolmen stayed with Ms. Martín and the coroner stayed in his van, Grissom, Johnson and Fabian went to look for the room in question.

The "room" was actually a shed wired for electricity in the back yard. The chain link fence in front of the shed included a double-sided gate, wide enough to accommodate a compact car. Ms. Martín's husband had served as a butcher in the community before he died 15 years ago. He had kept several large freezers in the shed.

It was the first thing Grissom noticed when they entered the small building. While Johnson and Fabian instinctively drew their weapons, Grissom drew his flashlight and shone it on one of the large freezers. With his hands already gloved, he walked toward the large freezer and tried to open it. It was sealed shut.

The trio looked around and Fabian found a crowbar, which Grissom used to pry the door open. He was successful and inside they found what they were looking for.

But it was anything but a happy occasion for Grissom. "I believe this may be Lydia Ortiz." The body was wrapped in plastic. "Mike, would you mind getting the coroner in here?"

Johnson went outside and returned moments later with Neil Rodeski, coroner for Wake County, N.C.

"Grissom, this is our head coroner, Neil Rodeski," Johnson said.

"Pleasure," Rodeski nodded, knowing an handshake at a crime scene was out of the question. "Let's see what we got. Could you help me, Mr. Grissom?"

Before removing the body, Fabian placed a tarp upon the floor. Grissom and Rodeski then removed the body from the freezer and placed it upon the tarp. Grissom and Fabian observed as Rodeski carefully cut open the plastic covering revealing the frozen corpse of a woman, presumably Lydia Ortiz.

"Well, it's safe to say she is deceased," Rodeski said. "An autopsy can't be done for a few days with her frozen solid."

"True, but we can process and make observations now," Grissom said. "Ms. Fabian, would you mind taking photos?"

"Yes sir."

With that, Grissom joined Johnson who was taking a crow bar to another freezer. "Sealed, like the other one," Johnson said. Once pried open, a second body was discovered. "What did the suspect say about this one?"

"Could be Lydia's mother, Lisette Ortiz. I'll get another tarp."

Rodeski removed the second body with Grissom's assistance and pronounced her as deceased allowing the CSI's to process. For the next few hours, Grissom and Fabian made sure to gather as much as possible from the freezers, plastic coverings and bodies. The women's necks were sliced, much like that of Davis Heiden. Because the plastic coverings were not saturated with blood, Grissom presumed the women had bled out and died before being wrapped in the plastic and placed in the freezer.

Before the coroner took the bodies away, Grissom debated whether to gather evidence from under the fingernails. Since he would still be in town the next day, he opted to collect in the morning, knowing the extremities would thaw faster than the rest of the body. Grissom also took several photos of some blood spots on the corpse presumed to be Lydia Ortiz.

"Dr. Grissom, I did take photos of the body…," Fabian said.

Grissom finished with his close-ups and got ready to cut a sample from the woman's clothing. "Yes. I was getting close-ups of these."

Fabian observed the out-of-towner. "Why are those samples of blood different? The woman's neck was practically severed off. The blood could have been from her."

"That's true, but look at the position and direction of the droplets — rounded as if they fell from above the victim. Even if she was holding her neck after being cut, and droplets fell from her hands, they would not have fallen from a 90 degree angle, as these droplets suggest."

"So you theorize that someone was standing above the victim and bled on top of her. What? From maybe a nose bleed?"

"That's one theory. Her knuckles and face are bruised, suggesting a struggle," Grissom said. "Dr. Rodeski, would you mind turning over the body a bit?"

With Rodeski holding the body on its side, Grissom took he light to shine on the clothing. Once again he saw a group of droplets with a similar splatter pattern. He snapped several photos and took a sample from the clothing on the back.

After the bodies were taken away, Grissom and Fabian continued to examine the room. "If they were killed here, there should be blood somewhere," Fabian speculated.

"Unless someone cleaned up well," Grissom said.

"Some people clean up better than others," Fabian said, offering a smile.

Grissom offered a friendly smile back as they worked. Johnson had since left the scene, and the two CSIs were alone. They diligently sprayed luminol on various surfaces, but found no results. There were several different freezers of various sizes in the room. The two freezers where the women were stored were wiped clean on the outside, but Fabian found partial prints on the inside walls of the freezers. She found Grissom crouched in front of one of the smaller freezers. "You see something?"

"The scuff marks on the floor. It looks like someone pulled it from the wall." Fabian took photos, checked for prints on the front and sides of the freezer, and found none. At that point, Grissom pulled freezer from the wall to look at the back of it. He smiled after he flashed his beam on the back. There were three perfect fingerprints in blood.

"Well," Fabian said, "I told you some people clean up better than others."

Grissom stood up and stretched his legs as Fabian extracted the prints and took photos. He was lost in his own thoughts. The information Alfonso had given him and Brass seemed to be working out.

Yet Grissom held some apprehension when he considered the evidence he and Fabian collected. What if the DNA and prints came up all to Alfonso or to another unknown? What if Alfonso lied about the whole thing making Grissom the fool?

"Dr. Grissom? You ready to look inside?" Fabian asked.

Grissom peered into the freezer as Fabian opened it. He saw bags of various meats, each riddled with freezer burn. Then there was a large box of Angus burgers. Grissom retrieved it.

"You hungry?" Fabian asked with a laugh. He opened the box and the female CSI's frivolity ceased. She retrieved several evidence bags and her camera. "That's definitely not a steak knife."

Grissom held the weapon in question and surveyed its handle and blade. A test revealed there was human blood on the knife. After cataloguing that piece of evidence, Grissom moved to the other items in the box — blood-stained clothing. The doubts he had moments earlier seemed to subside a bit and he held up the pants.

"I don't know if my waist was that slim before I had my kids," Fabian said. "Whoever wore those pants was skinny."

Grissom knew better than to make any comment to that, which was fine. All his thoughts were on the fact that Alfonso's build was much like his own while Thompson was thin as a rail.

He could hardly wait to see the results of the DNA and prints now.

--

Grissom was satisfied with his findings from his trip to North Carolina. After being away from two days, he returned to the lab with photos and reports from evidence collection. It didn't surprise him that the first person who wanted a report wasn't Ecklie, but Catherine.

"Gil, what the hell? You didn't stay for the autopsy?" Catherine asked and not so politely.

"It's good to see you too, Catherine."

Catherine let out a sigh as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry," she offered sarcastically. "Let me start over. How was your trip? Did you see any sights? Did you meet anyone nice? Did you get laid?"

Grissom looked annoyed after that last question, but before receiving verbal protest, Catherine answered the questions in a much deeper voice. "Well, Catherine. Fine. No. No. And, most definitely, no."

With that Catherine held up her arms. "So. The autopsy?"

"The bodies were frozen, Catherine. They have to thaw, you know that," Grissom said. "I thought it was best to get back here with the evidence I was able to garner and let them deal with the autopsy and send us the reports. By the time this shift is over, they will be working on the autopsy in North Carolina."

Catherine let out another sigh and acquiesced.

"Besides, you are incorrect on your assumption from one of your questions," Grissom said with a gleam in his eye. He even winked and nudged Catherine's arm.

That just aroused a curiosity that got the best of Catherine. The scuttlebutt around the office was that Sara was in North Carolina. "Really?"

"Yes," Grissom said as he paused and winked again. "I visited the North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences."

The comment spurred another eye roll as Catherine walked away and said, "Let's look at what you've got in the layout room."

Grissom smiled as his hands were in his pockets and his files were tight against his sides. His bowlegged stride worked in overtime to catch up with his friend. "Did you know the building was designed by Durham architect Robert W. Carr, and the gallery includes a reconstructed 40-foot long Acrocanthosaurus dinosaur skeleton, along with whale skeletons, North Carolina wildlife dioramas and gemstone collections?"

"That's great, Gil."

"What? You asked," Grissom said.

-------------

Grissom relaxed at his home after finishing a shift concentrating on other cases and paperwork. He was absentmindedly stroking Hank's head and reading a journal when his cellular rang. He was anxious to take the call.

"Grissom."

He listened intently on the line and wrote notes. "When can we get a copy of the report?" Grissom asked. "That would be great. … When do you plan to work on extradition? Excellent. … We would like to see him first thing in the morning. Does that work for you? … Great. Yes, captain, thank you very much. … You too."

Grissom rubbed his tired face but gave his dog a smile. "Come on boy. Let's go get some ice cream. I feel like celebrating."

Hank perked up and went to the door, waiting for his master. Grissom got the leash on the dog and punched a few numbers on his cell.

"Catherine? It's Grissom. How are you? … Good. I got a call from Johnson in Raleigh. I'd like to secure a meeting with Garrison Thompson tomorrow morning after shift. … Yes, well, I think they found enough from autopsy."

--

Grissom and Catherine drove together to Corlin Correctional. They hoped Brass would be with them, but he got caught up with something at PD and promised to only be five or 10 minutes behind them. The duo went through prison security. While they were allowed to keep their cellulars, because they were not prison personnel or police officers, they were not allowed to walk in with their firearms. Catherine alerted the clerk they would be expecting Captain Jim Brass to join them for the interview.

They made their way to the west wing of the facility to get to Interrogation Room 7 with an escort, when they heard commotion behind them. The guard quickly got them into the room, where Thompson, his lawyer and a guard were already waiting. The guard exited the room with the CSIs' escort. He returned a short time later and explained what was going on.

"We're going to be in here for a while, folks," Officer Beck said. "They had a problem with a few prisoners and are securing the hallways, so we're going to be stuck here for the duration of the lock-down."

Only Alex Milton, Thompson's lawyer, voiced a note of dissent. "Will we be safe in here?"

"Yes sir," Beck assured. "I'm not going anywhere."

Milton seemed uneasy, but still kept a professional reserve. "Very well. Mr. Grissom. Ms. Willows. You requested this interview. We would like to know what is going on."

"The authorities in Raleigh, N.C., are working on extradition papers for your client for the rape and murders of Lydia Ortiz and Lisette Ortiz," Catherine stated matter-of-factly.

Silence enveloped the room, even as noise from the commotion outside in the hallway tried to seep inside the walls. Although Thompson strived to look nonplussed, both Catherine and Grissom noticed a sliver of surprise and anger in his resolve. Milton, on the other hand, did not hide the incredulous look on his face.

"What are you talking about? This is ridiculous! Now you are looking outside the state to try and nail my client with stunning and outrageous charges?!"

"They aren't outrageous charges, Mr. Milton," Grissom said. "On the contrary, we have concrete evidence to support our claims." He turned his attention to the prisoner. "Mr. Thompson, you remember Ms. Ortiz and her mother, right? Lydia Ortiz was Seamus Flemming's source for the story he was working on in Raleigh."

With that Grissom took out a tape player holding audio evidence of Lydia Ortiz's meeting with Thompson. As the player spewed the Spanish rhetoric, Grissom made sure the part of the tape that recorded Thompson's laugh resounded in the room before he shut off the tape.

"And what was that supposed to be?" Thompson asked.

"What? You don't recognize your own voice?" Catherine retorted. "Sometimes it is hard to recognize your own speech on tape, but we had this tape analyzed along with a tape of your interview with Flemming, and guess what? Audio matches for your voice."

"I have no idea who you speak of," Thompson said. "I do not know any Lydia Ortiz and, as I told you before, I did not know Mr. Flemming when I was in North Carolina."

"But you knew he worked at the Ledger there," Grissom retorted. "You told us yourself at your first interview."

Thompson shifted. "I don't remember that."

"But we do," Catherine added. "We've met quite a few of your colleagues, Thompson. Lyle Mackenzie. …

"I did not know him."

"Fred Lambert…"

Thompson checked himself, recalling he just mentioned that name to his lawyer. "Fred. Yes. I knew him while he was an inmate. Troubled young man."

"Yes he is," Catherine agreed. "You troubled the hell out of him."

"What are you insinuating?" Thompson said, his tone full of malice.

"Fred Lambert told us about your connections inside and outside these prison walls," Catherine continued. "Paul Tran was a guard here who did your bidding. But what happened, Thompson? Why did he offer information to Flemming?"

Milton cut in. "If you think I'm going to sit here and watch you accuse my client with nothing but your own speculation fueled by ridiculous rhetoric from an embittered convict hell bent on getting revenge on a man who tried to counsel him. …"

"We also had an inspiring chat with your protégée, Dennis Haggerty." Now it was time for Catherine to intone her speech with malice. "He did anything you asked of him, didn't he? He lied for you, covered for you, kidnapped for you and murdered for you."

"Dennis was a wounded soul whose path became tragically entwined with the wrong men," Thompson said.

"Yeah, the path that led to you."

"OK, that is quite enough, Ms. Willows," Milton exclaimed. "Where is your evidence? What do you have to substantiate your claims?"

Two words. He only needed two words.

"Alfonso talked."

At that, Thompson lifted his eyes to Grissom's. "Excuse me, sir. I don't believe I know that name."

"That's Victor's real name. But I'm sure you knew that," Grissom said. "In case you don't. I'll reiterate our findings: Chapute talked."

Thompson chest betrayed his calmed face as it lifted and dropped. "Again, Mr. Grissom. I don't believe I know that name."

"We know you are connected to the murders of several people, including Davis Heiden, Max Jenkins, Emily Conway, Paul Tran and Seamus Flemming, to name a few. But like Ernesto Alfonso, a.k.a. Victor Chapute said, you don't like to get your hands dirty," Grissom said, before he gathered photos of the crime scene in Raleigh. "But you got them dirty in Raleigh, didn't you, Mr. Thompson."

The autopsy photos showed the slit throats and bruised bodies of two women. Crime scene photos revealed close-ups and full-frame photos of blood-stained clothing and one photo focused on a bloody and large hunting knife.

"This was your doing, Mr. Thompson," Grissom said confidently. "DNA on their clothing shows you bled on Lydia Ortiz as you beat, raped and killed her. She fought you. We found your DNA under her fingernails. Did she give you a nosebleed when it happened? Because we found blood droplets on her clothing, both on the front and the back that has your DNA markers. We found your bloody fingerprints on the scene as well, both on a freezer where your clothes were stashed and, more importantly, on the hunting knife that an autopsy confirms you used to slit these women's throats."

"Wait a minute," Milton said. "My client hasn't been in North Carolina for five months. If prints were found on the scene from my client, it would have surfaced before now."

"The scene was just discovered three days ago," Grissom said. "I processed it myself."

"Oh, so we're supposed to believe this evidence which is what, six, seven months old will hold up?" Milton said.

"The evidence is fresh, thanks to its preservation in freezers," Grissom said, turning his full attention to Thompson. "You wanted to get rid of all your loose ends, start a new life. You probably saw a good career in your future, isn't that right Mr. Thompson? And then Seamus Flemming comes out of nowhere and tries to dredge up all the skeletons — skeletons you thought were hidden.

"The problem was," Grissom continued, "when you asked Victor to take care of the bodies of the two women you killed, he didn't do it. It became his insurance policy. He found out about Lambert's instructions to make two coffins and assumed you were going to get rid of him."

Grissom leaned back. "So he did what many criminals do. He told us your dirty little secret and told us where the evidence and bodies were buried. And now you're looking at two counts of murder and extradition to your home state."

Hatred filled Thompson's eyes, but Grissom wouldn't back down.

"You might have your followers, Mr. Thompson. But I guess every Christ figure has his Judas."

Grissom expected silence and he received that. He could hear a pin drop.

That was until a renouncing "thud" filled the room and Grissom's face flew hard toward the table, causing his glasses to shatter.

Officer Beck was behind Grissom and he continued to pound his nightstick across Grissom's back and on his head. For a moment, Catherine stood shocked, but she soon went for her firearm.

It wasn't there. She had to leave it up front.

She quickly glanced around the room for something, anything to help her friend. She found the lawyer's briefcase and swung it at Beck's head, hitting him soundly.

The moment gave Grissom respite as he struggled to bring his body in a sitting position. But before Catherine could swing the case again, Beck took his taser and struck Catherine in the shoulder, causing her to scream, stumble and fall. Although he had been cowering in a corner, Alex Milton went to Catherine's aid, and quickly removed the dart-like electrodes before the guard could shock her again.

With a surge of adrenaline, Grissom pushed his body into Beck's. But Beck struck Grissom, grabbed his club again, placed it roughly at Grissom's throat and yanked Grissom to stand up.

Gaining a slight grip on the nightstick, Grissom desperately tried to push it off of his windpipe. But when he pushed enough to relieve the pressure off his neck, Beck used his own body to slam Grissom into the wall. Beck once again pulled on the club, creating a crush that left Grissom struggling to breathe.

Turning Grissom's face toward Thompson, the prisoner's wild eyes pierced Grissom's dazed gaze. Beck's reaction to Grissom's interrogation was spontaneous, and Thompson gleefully enjoyed the show. Here was a man with nothing to lose watching his puppet play a game of cat and mouse with someone he despised. In a hushed tone for Grissom to hear, Thompson leaned in and said, "Say what you will about me, sir. But I believe the number of my followers will trump my one Judas."

He never touched Grissom. His hands were not going to be dirtied as long as Beck was the one holding Grissom.

Thompson's voice then boomed, in full preaching mode. "The obedient spirits of the faithful will always triumph over the lies and trappings of a soulless wanderer who serves to only demean and destroy the true mission of God."

Catherine struggled to sit up after her ordeal. She remembered the skirmish that occurred in the hallway and realized the commotion in this room might go unnoticed. She hoped Brass had made it to the prison by now and was awaiting entry, so she retrieved her cellular from on top of the table and, despite still feeling woozy, quickly sent a text to Brass. "CC I-ROOM 7 W NEED HELP NOW"

Thompson closed the gap between himself, Grissom and Beck. Thompson's movement caused Beck to pull harder on Grissom, making the CSI stand up straighter. Thompson laughed at Grissom, whose nose and bottom lip already began to swell from the impact with the table and wall. One of Grissom's eyes was swollen shut. "Brother Philip is a faithful follower, Mr. Grissom. He has faith in me. Don't you now, my brother?"

Beck never said a word, but Grissom struggled to speak in rasps. "He's an imposter, officer. … Don't let him fool you."

The comment only made Beck pull again. Although furious at Grissom's words, Thompson only laughed. "You speak ill, Mr. Grissom. I'm the chosen one."

"You're … a charlatan … and … a murderer."

Catherine's strength slowly recovered and she watched Beck. She saw the different emotions registering on his face — anger, fear and confusion. But he was a big and strong man who was practically pulling Grissom off his feet with the force of the pressure on Grissom's neck.

"Listen to me Beck," Catherine said in a steady controlled voice. "You saw those photos. He sliced those women's throats. And before that he raped them. You can't ignore that. Please, Beck. Stop."

Catherine stood and Beck brought his right arm to his side and put all the pressure he could from his left arm across the nightstick lodged across Grissom's neck. Beck retrieved his side arm with his right hand, pointed it at Catherine, and then held it to Grissom's right temple. Catherine stopped. Grissom was unable to move in Beck's grip.

Thompson ate the control like a feast. "Brother Philip it's time. Do you have the faith? Do you believe?"

Beck said nothing and didn't move. But Grissom could feel the man's hold drifting slightly. "Don't let him make you do this," Grissom managed to gasp. If he could just turn himself around…

"BROTHER PHILIP!" Thompson yelled, startling the officer. Again the grip tightened. "Do you have the faith? Do you believe? Because now is the time to vanquish the foe. The spirit raging in this man is evil and causing him to spew hateful lies. Look around! There is no one coming to his rescue, not from your brother guards. That is because we are now in a sacred place in which the time has come. The time for thinking is over. You must act. You must have faith in me."

The grip, Grissom thought. It's too much. He wanted to let go and just fall. He was tired. He wanted this over.

But he couldn't. He had to gain some more strength. His mind filled with thoughts and images. Evidence … Sara … photos … Sara … interviews…

"Beck. … Please. … Thompson's … wrong," Grissom struggled to say. "Beck, only … only faith matters. … Faith in God."

With that Beck took his arm off Grissom's neck and slammed the CSI down on the table. Using his left hand, the officer pushed the nightstick against the back of Grissom's neck in a paralyzing vise. Grissom could vaguely hear voices outside the door.

Then he couldn't hear anything.

-----

The sound of the single shot reverberated in the room. It was followed by the breaking in of a door, shouting and the sound of a gun falling onto the table near Grissom's head.

Officers grabbed Beck, whose hands were raised and put behind the back of his head in a gesture of surrender. A guard swiftly entered the room and went to check for a pulse on the shooting victim, knowing full well the shot to the head was fatal.

"Nothing." That's all the guard said.

Grissom didn't need to hear that to understand. He tried to stand and saw Thompson's body on the floor. The prisoner's facial features registered a final look of pain and shock.

Thompson didn't see it coming.

After shoving Grissom to the table, Beck quickly raised his weapon to Thompson's head, successfully wiping the wicked smile off his face.

The trigger was pulled before anyone, including Thompson, could react. The shot hit the inmate in the forehead and blasted through the back of his skull. Blood splattered on Beck's face and chest because of the proximity of the shot.

Catherine made her way to Grissom and helped steady him where he stood. He touched his neck and throat, only to pull his hand away since the area was too tender to the touch. He tore his stare away from Thompson's body when he realized Catherine was at his side.

"Catherine, are you OK?" Grissom asked, his voice hoarse.

"I'm fine," she said.

"You … He stunned you. … Are you sure?"

"It's OK, Gil," Catherine said in a soothing voice. "Come on. Brass is here."

At that, Brass came to help Catherine get Grissom up. "We need to get you two to the hospital."

Grissom nodded and let his friends guide him out of the room. When they exited Brass and Catherine exchanged words, but they did not register with Grissom, even as Brass helped him into a chair in the hallway.

Grissom's head felt heavy and his body was weary. Once again images and thoughts filled his head. He tried to think of one person, but instead a single prayer filled his mind.

Please don't let Thompson become a martyr.

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Epilogue to follow

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A/N: That's right. I got rid of the glasses. Hee hee. BTW, how many times can you thank your betas? Not enough. To the two talented women who supported and edited this story, my hats and gratitude go out to you. God bless you both.

And to you the reader, thank you for reading. Reviews are manna from heaven.