Chapter 16

Grissom had been working on the bomb fragments for the last half an hour. Hodges had hovered for a good fifteen minutes before, much to Grissoms relief, he was called away. Grissom had dealt with Hodges for years, had even come to like the abrasive tech. But now, Grissom was finding his usually stoic demeanour tested the longer he was in the other man's presence.

Rationally, Grissom knew he couldn't blame Hodges. He was the one who made the decision, who asked for the divorce. Hodges only sent an email. Unfortunately, Grissom wasn't rational all the time. And the longer the trace teach was around, the shorter his temper became.

So, Grissom worked. Saying very little, focusing solely on the bomb fragments before him. He had managed to piece the thing together, but that only enhanced his confusion. There was something wrong. A bomb like this should have caused a bigger explosion than it did.

"Am I interrupting anything?" A voice called from the hallway. Grissom looked up to see Henry standing a little awkwardly at the door.

"Only my precious thoughts, Henry," Grissom replied. "What is it?"

"I, uh, got the results on the blood from Lady Heathers house." Henry walked into the room, handing the folder over to Grissom. Grissom's brows rose as he read the report.

"All the blood belongs to single a male donor?" He asked.

"Yeah. I check every swab Morgan gave me. Ran it through CODIS, but no hits so far," Henry replied. So, there was an unknown male involved in this. One of Heather's patients, maybe? Patrick Smith was still in the wind.

"Do we have any DNA exemplars for Patrick Smith?" Grissom asked, handing the file back to the DNA tech.

"Russell is bringing some back. I'll compare as soon as he drops them off."

"Thanks, Henry," Grissom said. Turing back to the table. He didn't even notice when the other man left. He couldn't make sense of the DNA, or how the blood got onto the walls of Heathers living room. Until they got a match, there wasn't anything more that blood could tell them. The only thing Grissom could do right then, was focus on the task at hand.

He was just slipping through the pictures of the crime scene, when Greg walked in, accompanied with a young blonde.

"Hey, Grissom," Greg said as they entered. "Catherine said you were in here working on the bomb parts. We've got more for you if you want it." He placed a box on the table and Grissom looked inside to see more fragments.

"Is this from the bomb at Heathers?" Grissom asked, his voice quiet.

"Yeah," Greg replied, his smile slipping a little. "If you don't want…"

"It's alright, Greg," Grissom said, cutting across him. He appreciated the younger man's concern, but Grissom needed to work. Needed something to take his mind of his friend… and Sara. If only for a moment. "Let's take a look."

They started to empty out the box when Grissom's eyes slid to young woman with them. Her face looked familiar, but he couldn't find a name. Sara had mentioned one, but it escaped him at that moment. She looked up at him and gave him a hesitant smile.

"You were at the crime scene," he said. "At Heathers?"

"Yes," she replied. "Morgan. Morgan Brody." She held out her hand. Grissom made to shake it, before realising he was wearing gloves. He held up his palm, apologetically, and Morgan laughed a little.

"Right, you're Ecklie's daughter," Grissom said, the memory clicking back into place. Sara had told him about the young woman when she joined the team.

"Yeah," she said, smiling. Grissom didn't know much about Ecklie's relationship with his ex-wife, or daughter, but he did know it was strained. Looking at the young woman now though, how her face softened at the mention of her father, Grissom guessed the two of them had worked it out.

Good for him.

"We have this, as well," Morgan said, putting another box on the table.

Grissom looked inside and his heart sank. Within the box were all the tools needed to make a bomb. Along with C4 wrappers, and detonation devices. How did they get at Heathers?

"Where did you find this?" He asked, eyes raking over the items Morgan laid out.

"In the basement," she replied. "It looks like that was where the bombs were made. But…" She hesitated, glancing over at Greg. Grissom quirked an eyebrow.

"We found a couple of prints," Greg said, watching his old mentor carefully. "But so far, none of them have matched Lady Heather.

"So, this could have been planted," Grissom said.

"I mean," Greg said, hesitantly. "It's possible. But why?"

"I don't know." His voice was low, thoughtful. What did framing Heather achieve? If Grissom was the target, like Sara feared, why frame Heather? What was the point?

The three of them worked in silence for a while, Greg and Morgan looking through the box of evidence from the basement while Grissom pieced the bomb back together. Every now and then, he would take a piece of their evidence – sometimes right from their hands – and hold it against the explosive he was recreating. Grissom missed the amused looks Greg and Morgan shared each time he did this, too focused on the task at hand.

When it was done, the three of them leant on the table. Surveying the deceives before them.

"My bomb knowledge might be a little shaky," Morgan said, as she looked over the rebuilt bombs. "But wouldn't a bomb like this cause more damage than they did?"

"A bomb like these should have enough explosives to take out half the strip," Greg commented, his voice lilting in disbelief.

"They should," Grissom agreed. The young couple were frowning. Concentrating on what was before them when Morgan gasped. She lifted her head and turned to Grissom. Smiling.

"Hodges said the C4 on the first bomb was dampened? Right?" She asked, Grissom only nodded in agreement. "Which is why the explosion wasn't as big as it should have been."

"Correct," Grissom said, impressed.

"How do you dampen C4?" Greg asked.

"What do you see?" Grissom asked. "Not just the bombs, but everything in context." He had worked it out, while they rebuilt the second bomb. He saw what he was missing before. In fact, it was Morgan who gave him the last piece of the puzzle. Laying it out before him on the table. Greg and Morgan frowned once more, both searching everything that was put out for their examination. He could see the wheels turning in their heads, as they tried to work out his riddle.

This was his favourite form of teaching; answering a question with a question, laying everything down and letting them work it out themselves. And, with no small amount of pride, Grissom saw when it finally clicked in Greg's head.

"The stick," the old lab rat said. Morgan looked up at him in confusion. Greg picked up one of the C4 wrappers, holding it under the light. "He cut the stick. Only using, maybe a third of the C4."

"What do you mean?" Morgan asked. She looked over his shoulder, pushing her hair behind her ear. It was hard to see, Grissom had missed it when he first looked at the wrappings.

"There's discolouring on the paper. Here," he pointed to a faint line on the picture.

"You can see the outline of the brick," Morgan said, looking over his shoulder.

"Yeah. But if you look at this, you can see where he cut it." Greg pointed out faint scratches on the paper, a third of the way into the brick.

"Which suggests?" Grissom asked.

"He didn't use all of it," Morgan replied, understanding dawning on her face. "So, how do we work out how much C4 he actually used?"

"By conducting an experiment," Grissom replied. "We're going to build a bomb."

Greg's face split into a wide smile, lighting his face with excitement. "Excellent."

"Care to help?" Grissom asked him, lifting his eyebrow.

"Hell yeah," Greg replied. "We haven't built a bomb together in years!"

"That's because," Grissom quipped. "The last time, you almost blew us both up."

"And half the lab," Greg laughed. "Don't forget that." Grissom pursed his lips together, trying not to smile. "Ecklie was so pissed."

"You almost blew up the lab?" Morgan asked, incredulously.

"But I didn't," Greg countered. "Unlike Catherine." He shot Grissom a smirk and the former supervisor shook his head, fighting back a laugh. It wasn't funny, not really. Grissom remembered walking with Greg, as the younger man was taken away on a stretcher. Seeing the rest of the staff being treated by paramedics. Sara sitting on the curb, her eyes glazed, and her hand cut open. And the fall out. Greg's tremors. Sara's devil may care attitude. Catherine's face when she realised what she had done.

"She didn't," Morgan said, her eyes wide as she looked at Greg.

"She did."

"Catherine?"

"Catherine what?" A voice called from the doorway. The three of them looked around to see Catherine, Russell and Al Robbins, the coroner, standing in the entrance. Robbins gave Grissom a warm, welcoming smile.

"Oh," Greg said, not at all perturbed by being caught out. "We were just telling Morgan about when you blew up the lab." He grinned at her, and Catherine's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Ok, firstly, that was years ago," Catherine said, folding her arms and staring Greg down. "And secondly, it was an accident."

"Yeah," Greg said. "But you still did it."

"It's not funny, Greg," Catherine said, trying to sound stern.

"Maybe not at the time. But now? It kinda is." Greg grinned at the older woman, and Grissom could see her fighting her own smile. Catherine turned to face Grissom, the amusement from a moment before fading from her face. Grissom frowned when he saw that look.

"Catherine, everything ok?" He asked, looking between the three newcomers. Robbins cleared his throat.

"Um, Gil," the coroner said. "I found something, when I was conducting the autopsy on the woman from Lady Heathers."

"What is it?"

"Um," Robbins hesitated, glancing over at Catherine and Russell.

"We don't think it's Lady Heather," Russell said, his voice soft. Grissom felt the wind leave his body and he gripped the table.

"The body on the table is a female, Caucasian. Roughly 5"6," Robbins said.

"Which fits with Heathers description," Grissom replied.

"Yes," Robbins agreed. "But I estimate her age to be no more than thirty."

"Then who is it?" Morgan asked.

"We think it might be Lucy Jones," Catherine said, watching Grissom carefully. Ready to jump in should he lose his balance.

"But we saw Lady Heather," Greg put in. "I saw her get in that car."

"You saw someone who looks like her," Russell countered. "Even Sara said she thought it only might be her."

"But how do you know it's Lucy Jones?" Morgan asked.

"Lucy and Heather look very similar. It would have been easy to mistake the two, if she were running and you only caught a glimpse of her," Catherine said. "We won't know for sure until DNA comes back."

Grissom couldn't speak. He couldn't think. She's alive. Heather was alive. It wasn't her in that car, it was her patient. But, if it wasn't Heather in that car, where was she? What was she doing?

"Grissom?" Catherine's voice reached him, as if it were at the other end of a tunnel. She touched his arm, but Grissom could barely feel it. A phantom touch he was only aware of because he could see it. He was vaguely aware of the others watching him, but he didn't care. Grissom pulled out his phone and dialled Heather's number. He had tired a few times since he had gotten back but had no luck so far.

Please pick up, he silently begged her. But the call went to voice mail. He tried again, and again. Each time, only reaching her answerphone. He was just about to try a fourth time when Catherine put her hand over the phone, stopping him.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the device started ringing. They looked at the caller ID, Catherine's mouth swung open and Grissom's hand shook. He pressed the green button and held the device to his ear.

"Grissom?"

Oxygen filled his body as Grissom breathed. "Heather."