Chapter 11
Not long after Grissom had left, Greg and Morgan arrived at the scene with Brass. Sara had just finished taking the overalls when the young couple entered. Sara briefly explained the situation: no body, no suspect, just a great big mess.
"Morgan, can you start collecting blood samples," Sara said to the blonde. "We need to get them to DNA as soon as possible and compare against Lady Heather. There's an ensuite bathroom on the first floor. You can get exemplars from there."
Morgan nodded and immediately went to work.
"Where do you want me?" Greg asked.
"Fingerprints. The point of entry seems to be the front door. But be thorough. Check the rest of the house for any other signs of disturbance. I'm going to have a look through Lady Heather's office, see if there's anything there that could link her to the bomber. Or at least point us in the direction of who's behind it," Sara said as she picked up her kit and made her way across the room. Greg followed after her.
"I thought Grissom was with you," he said, quietly.
"I sent him back to the lab. Lady Heather is his friend. This is not the best place for him to be right now."
"Are you two…" Greg hesitated. "Have you had a chance to talk?"
"When would we have done that?" Sara asked. "I went straight to the lab from the hospital, then we came here. There hasn't really been time for any heart-to-hearts, Greg. Nor is this really the most appropriate moment."
"I supposed," Greg said, with a shrug. "How are you? I'm surprised they cleared you for work so soon."
"Technically they didn't. But with everything that's going on, I don't really have the luxury of taking a sick day."
Greg narrowed his eyes and looked her up and down.
"I'm fine, Greg. My throats a little sore, but other than that I feel completely fine." She could tell he didn't believe her, but they didn't have the time to argue the point. The scene needed to be processed. They needed to find Lady Heather. Sara needed to find out exactly how the woman is caught up in all this. She trusted Grissom, but she also needed to follow the evidence. And what the evidence was saying… "Let me know when you're done printing," she said and turned away.
It was a beautiful home. Large open spaces. Grand staircase. State of the art kitchen. She hadn't looked upstairs yet, not on any hurry to process Lady Heathers bedroom. But if the rest of the house was anything to go by, it would be sizeable. Impressive.
Victorian architecture, matching with the woman's style.
Sara walked into Lady Heather's office. It was a large room, the walls lined with dark mahogany bookcases. Sara shone her torch over the books and found most of them related to psychology or sociology, though there were a few scientific journals that Sara herself collected.
In the centre of the room sat a large oak desk, two small black leather chairs facing the window, and a larger one on the opposite side. A red couch, also leather – no surprise there – rested along the far wall, in front of one of the bookcases. Another black chair next to it.
On the desk, Sara found an open laptop. Snapping on her gloves, Sara clicked the space bar and the lock screen popped up. She closed the laptop and placed it in an evidence bag for Archie. Next to the computer was a silver lamp and blank notebook.
Sara pulled at one of the draws, to the left of the laptop, and picked up the camera hanging to her side. Taking a couple of pictures, Sara took out a box of tapes. There were five rows of tapes, each row had six cassettes. Except for the last, which only had three.
They were all labelled, names of Lady Heather's patience's most likely. Sara looked in the draw, trying to see if she could find an address book of some sort. There were only a few scraps of paper and some stationary. The names and address would probably be on her laptop.
Sara put the tapes in another evidence bag, along with the notebook from the desk. There were some indentations on the paper, and she figured they might be able to work out what Lady Heather had written back at the lab.
Brush in hand, Sara dusted the box. Nothing. No prints. No smudges. It had been wiped clean. Evidence without context?
Lady Heather would have no reason to wipe the box down. Her fingerprints would be expected. The tapes were stolen, not removed.
"Hello?" Morgan's voice sounded from the hall and Sara looked up. A woman with brown hair rushed past. Sara frowned, not sure she trusted what she had just seen. This was supposed to be a secure scene. "Dr Kessler?" Morgan's voice sounded again, and Sara ran to the door. Greg and Morgan were following after a tall woman who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
"Dr Kessler?" Sara called and she ran after them. How did she get on the scene? "Dr Kessler!" Sara ran outside and saw the woman. She couldn't see her face, but Sara was sure it was Lady Heather. Greg and Morgan had stopped short. Lady Heather hurried to a car parked on the driveway.
"Heather," Brass called from the squad car, stepping around Akers to reach the fleeing woman. "Heather, we need to speak with you."
"Dr Kessler, stop," Sara called as she rushed around Greg and Morgan, drawing level with Brass. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mitch and Akers draw their guns and Greg pull Morgan away.
Lady Heather practically jumped in her car, and Sara caught sight of her face for a split second before she turned on the ignition.
The world exploded.
Something heavy flew across her face. Her back collided with the SUV behind her and her head hit the door. Everything was spinning. Muffled shouts surrounded her, and Sara could see a shape running towards her.
She blinked and Greg's face came into focus. He was speaking, but Sara couldn't hear what he said. Her ears were ringing.
Something orange caught her eye and Sara looked past Greg to see Brass lying on the floor, his jacket on fire.
"Jim," she called and tried to stand up. Pushing her back down, Greg yelled something over his shoulder. Holding her firmly against the SUV as Sara watched Morgan run to Brass, stripping off her vest to smother the flames.
"Get the fire extinguisher," Sara coughed out. "In the back of the car."
"Stay where you are," Greg ordered, and left her line of sight. He was back within seconds, carrying the red fire extinguisher, and ran to Morgan and Brass. Sara watched as the white foam squirted out, covering the detective. When she could see the fire had been put out, Sara let out a relieved laugh and tried to stand. Just as she got her feet under her, the earth moved, and the ground rose up to meet her.
Strong hands gripped her arms and steadied her.
"I told you to stay," Greg's voice huffed at her.
"I'm not a dog," Sara replied, weakly and Greg laughed.
"No, because if you were a dog, you would have done as you were told," Greg replied, keeping his voice light. "Paramedics are on their way, just hold still."
"Brass?"
"He's fine, Morgan's with him."
"Heather?" Sara asked, already knowing the answer.
"She was in the car, Sara. There's no way she survived that."
Teas pricked at Sara's eyes. How was she going to tell Grissom? Sara wiped them away. But when she looked at her hand, there was blood coating her fingers. She tried to stand once more, but Greg held her down.
"I'm bleeding." Her voice was even, emotionless. Shock starting to set in, depriving her of any feeling.
"Yes," Greg said. "You are. And if you hold still, I might be able to help."
"You need to call Russell," Sara said, her voice still devoid of any emotion. "And Catherine. Let them know what happened."
"I will, just let me make sure you're alright first." He pressed something to her head, causing her to wince in pain. Sara was glad for it. The pain cleared her mind. The shock started to recede. And the scene unfolded before her eyes.
The car was still burning. Morgan was leaning over Brass, his head in her lap. The young CSI was speaking to him, and Sara was relieved to see Brass replying. Mitch and Akers were both speaking into their radios and Greg was hovering beside her. His eyes anxiously searching her face.
"This hasn't really been my week, has it?" She asked and Greg huffed out a laugh.
"Well, if you're making jokes, I'm gunna go out on a limb and say you probably don't have a concussion. Though this might give you a pretty epic scar," he added, nodding to the wound he was pressing his jacket against.
"I've got plenty of those," Sara said, shrugging a little. "What's one more?" Greg rolled his eyes. Sara could hear sirens approaching and Greg looked over his shoulder as two ambulances sped into the drive, followed by a fire engine.