A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you are enjoying the story!
A Return to Vegas
Chapter 13
The weather was perfect, clear blue sky overhead, a bird singing in the distance, and Lindsey could not help humming as she followed the path toward the barn. They were taking the long way, along a narrow creek, around the pond, to the horse paddock because the Grissom children like to splash in the shallow water and Lindsey liked to see them happy.
She stopped when they reached a rock crossing so the kids could play in the water, searching for stones and digging in dirt with a stick. Anthony was the first to throw a handful of small rocks into the water, making a splash that sent water droplets onto their pants. Libby followed with a whoop of glee when her rocks created another big splash.
Lindsey joined them in their laughter by plunking a bigger rock in the stream, all of them squealing as water hit their legs. Their joy and delight with everything that happened was contagious and Lindsey felt she was enjoying missed events in her own childhood.
Just as quickly, their attention turned to stacking rocks across the creek and Lindsey helped to find rocks for them. This creek had been a part of her life as long as she could remember—not the splashing and getting wet—her mother didn't see any fun in that—but her grandfather, before she'd known he was her grandfather, had let her walk in the creek on several occasions. She'd had to be careful to keep her clothes clean.
The creek was wider then, she remembered. Or perhaps her size then and now made it seem bigger.
Around the age of ten, she had figured out that Sam Braun was more than a friend to her grandmother, figured out from an overheard comment that Sam was her mother's father. It was later—Lindsey had been a young teenager—when her mother had attempted to explain the situation but by then Lindsey had known for several years that Sam was wealthy and her grandfather.
Even as a ten-year old, she had great affection for Sam. Anything she asked, he would answer—and asking him for a horse meant she had a horse waiting for her on her next visit to this farm—and a woman to teach her how to ride.
At some point, she had realized one day she would grow up and the farm would belong to her—to her mother first and then to her. Only when she became twenty-one did she learn the farm was hers—had been hers since Sam's death—and more years passed before she'd talked her mother into moving out of Vegas to the farm.
And with that move, Lindsey had agreed to work with her mother in Sam's business enterprises. She hated it. She wanted to—to do other things like have her own kids, play with them every day as she'd never experienced with her mother, and let someone else handle all the company concerns. She knew it was selfish of her but balanced with her mother's independence, Lindsey did not think her mother would mind very much. The Grissom visit had given her the opportunity to abandon the fancy offices with her mother's approval and run around the pasture and play in the barn with Libby and Anthony. She was enjoying every minute.
Suddenly, the rock wall tumbled in one spot and a rush of water covered Lindsey's feet; Libby laughed and Anthony grumbled about Libby's building skills. He was a good-natured happy child with a disposition that was running toward being very much like his father, Lindsey thought. Just then, cupping her hands together, Libby splashed her brother and ran to hide behind Lindsey. The little girl's giggles became a series of happy shouts as her brother chased after her.
Lindsey took this moment to divert their attention by saying, "Let's go check on the horses! Starlight is waiting for you!"
Immediately, the children left their rocks tumbling in the stream and set off toward the barn. She'd walked this path a thousand times and every time, a sigh of contentment escaped her lips. Her own house had been positioned so she could see this barn and the pasture from every rear window of the house.
The picturesque barn stood in the middle of a raised clearing with three fenced-wedged shaped pastures radiating from two sides of the barn. The twin gables and double hay loft doors made it appear to be much older than it was. The horses were already in the pasture—except for the pony in the paddock who had already noticed the three humans walking in her direction.
For the next hour, Lindsey led Starlight around the paddock while one of the kids rode on her back. The other one wiggled and climbed on a low bench along the fence knowing the next round would be hers—or his. Kittens and a piece of white chalk helped pass the time with drawings changing with the child who had the chalk.
Afterwards, they brushed the pony, brought buckets of fresh water and handfuls of hay, and two carrots. Lindsey laughed as the kids debated giving apples to Starlight before deciding they would eat the apples. For a while, they played with the kittens—Lindsey was never sure how the barn always seemed to have three or four kittens running around. Bob, the farm manager, arrived on the golf cart with lunch and rode both kids around the pasture while Lindsey ate, checked her phone, and lazed around until the kids returned to eat.
She had learned the incentive for eating lunch was a pony ride and Starlight, the most laid-back pony in the farm's history, patiently waited as Anthony insisted he could buckle the saddle correctly. Libby talked to the pony in soft, cooing words, letting Starlight nuzzle against her chest as she brushed her long mane.
Lindsey made no promises as the little girl insisted she was getting her own pony—or maybe a unicorn. Looking at Lindsey, Libby said, "Starlight might be a unicorn."
Anthony rolled his eyes and shook his head when Libby wasn't looking. He said, "I think we need a kitten. A kitten would fit in our house. Where would you keep a pony? And there are no unicorns in the world."
His sister ignored his question responding instead with, "There are too unicorns. I've seen two."
He said, "I've never seen a unicorn and neither have you."
"Oh, yes, I did." The little girl straightened her shoulders, narrowed her eyes, and said, "You weren't looking and when you did, the unicorns went behind a tree."
Lindsey bit her lip to prevent a laugh; Libby was on her way to becoming a fierce female.
Anthony and Lindsey were on the far side of the enclosure when a white truck stirred a cloud of dust as it came in from the back side of the pasture. Lindsey, knowing the back entrance was used by workers and for deliveries, paid little attention to the truck's arrival as she'd heard Bob on a mower earlier in the day and figured whoever was driving up was there to see Bob.
…Alan Caldwell had made it to a parking lot away from the busy center of Vegas, sitting there until darkness, working out some kind of plan. There was no easy plan, he decided. He'd thrown his phone out the window of the car hours earlier. And after two hours, he'd managed to enter a drug store, a dollar store and a convenience store to buy sunglasses, mascara, a ball cap, and snack food.
His plan ended with those purchases until he threw his trash onto the passenger seat and noticed a ring of keys. Keys. He'd taken keys from the Spencer house—had he really killed two people—no, he'd killed three people. Picking up the keys, he studied each key for several minutes and a plan tickled his brain.
Under cover of darkness or as dark as it gets in Vegas, he used the mascara to change the numbers on the car's license plate. A three became an eight; H became B. While not perfect, a quick glance would attract no attention.
Thirty minutes later, he pulled to a stop and backed between two cars parked on the street. Giving the impression of a late night walker, he strolled two blocks to the Spencer house. Yellow police tape surrounded the front of the house; using shadows, he made his way to the front door where the tape was stretched across the door but not stuck to the door. Using the key, he opened the door and slipped underneath the tape, closing the door gently so the tape was undisturbed.
Making his way around in darkness, searching the house until he found a bathroom that had no windows, he turned on the light and stared at the wild looking man in the mirror. He'd had a long day, he thought, and needed time to rest and think. After a shower, he found clothes in a closet that were clean, shoes that fit, and a selection of hats. After that, in the darkness, he searched for food, returning to the bathroom to eat tuna salad and half of a cake that had been prepared by the woman he had killed.
The rest of his plan was vague but this idea had been genius, he thought. He would sleep undisturbed, wake up with a new plan, and drive away in the Spencer's truck. No one was likely to enter the house; he doubted the police would even check the doors.
The next day, Caldwell woke mid-morning in a strange, comfortable bed; he had woken twice in the night with ideas. In the kitchen, he found a cell phone with no security code and an Ipad with a code so simple he'd figured it out on the second try. Drinking orange juice as he read and watched the news announcements about the search for a triple killer, he punched a couple of names in Google. The first name came up with dozens of entries—as he expected.
Catherine Willows was well-known in Vegas and he spent some time reading about her activities, looking at photos, even found the farm where she lived outside of town. There were photos of promotions and political events and openings of Braun enterprises. He grinned, mumbling, "The social butterfly with plenty of money."
The second name was more difficult. Caldwell had been a teenager when he'd paid attention to his mother's chatter about Dr. Grissom, watching the man on television as he talked about solving some big crime. His mother had no contact with this man but she had taken a weird interest in his personal life for a while. Reflecting back, Caldwell thought his hatred for the men his mother worked for had begun around the same time.
Caldwell had found one mention of Gil Grissom's name in the broadcast news and a long-ago memory had clicked. Jim Brass and Grissom were close friends. But the man had disappeared from Vegas and Caldwell could not find anything recent other than the mention on the news.
Going back to look at the map of Catherine's house, his plan formed as he traced a faint line across vacant land to a structure—a barn, he thought—as he enlarged the satellite view. The line became a one-lane road from a county road. He'd ignored Catherine Willows' name as he had developed the virus, but he could do distraction harm to her place—set fire to the barn, perhaps—as he got out of town.
He laughed; he would hide his face with a hat and drive the white truck in the garage, set fire to the building, and give a finger to any security cameras around the barn. He'd be miles away, heading south in a way no one would suspect, before anyone figured out he was driving Dave Spencer's truck.
He packed two bags with food, toasted a bagel, checked the local news again and found headlines of 'Manhunt continues'. Then he put food, extra clothes and shoes, flashlights and a few other items he found in the garage in the truck. Smiling, satisfied with his plans, he checked the street and found it empty, and opened the garage door.
Backing out of the driveway, seeing no one, he kept smiling as he checked the phone's GPS. Twenty minutes away and he was confident his plan would work. He'd pull this off, he thought. He'd get away from Vegas, disappear in California, become a new person. He smiled as he went through three green traffic lights headed to a farm he'd never seen.
A/N: We appreciate all of you who are reading-and we look forward to hearing from the ones who send comments! Now, take a minute and send us a few words! We love to hear from you- and the new CSI looks like we'll get some great GSR moments! YAY!